fair game--and he
chuckles to see them brought down. But his sacred person must be
inviolate, and rudely to touch it, is not high treason, it is impiety.
Yet his "ever-honoured friend, the laurel-honouring Laureate," is a
Reviewer--his friend Mr. Thomas Moore is a Reviewer--his friend Dr.
Middleton, Bishop of Calcutta, was the Editor of a Review--almost every
friend he ever had is a Reviewer;--and to crown all, he himself is a
Reviewer. Every person who laughs at his silly Poems--and his
incomprehensible metaphysics, is malignant--in which case, there can be
little benevolence in this world; and while Mr. Francis Jeffrey is alive
and merry, there can be no happiness here below for Mr. Samuel
Coleridge.

And here we come to speak of a matter, which, though somewhat of a
personal and private nature, is well deserving of mention in a Review of
Mr. Coleridge's Literary Life, for sincerity is the first of virtues,
and without it no man can be respectable or useful. He has, in this
Work, accused Mr. Jeffrey of meanness--hypocrisy--falsehood--and breach
of hospitality. That gentleman is able to defend himself--and his
defence is no business of ours. But we now tell Mr. Coleridge, that
instead of humbling his Adversary, he has heaped upon his own head the
ashes of disgrace--and with his own blundering hands, so stained his
character as a man of honour and high principles, that the mark can
never be effaced. All the most offensive attacks on the writings of
Wordsworth and Southey, had been made by Mr. Jeffrey before his visit to
Keswick. Yet, does Coleridge receive him with open arms, according to
his own account--listen, well-pleased, to all his compliments--talk to
him for hours on his Literary Projects--dine with him as his guest at an
Inn--tell him that he knew Mr. Wordsworth would be most happy to see
him--and in all respects behave to him with a politeness bordering on
servility. And after all this, merely because his own vile verses were
crumpled up like so much waste paper, by the grasp of a powerful hand in
the Edinburgh Review, he accuses Mr. Jeffrey of abusing hospitality
which he never received, and forgets, that instead of being the Host, he
himself was the smiling and obsequious Guest of the man he pretends to
have despised. With all this miserable forgetfulness of dignity and
self-respect, he mounts the high horse, from which he instantly is
tumbled into the dirt; and in his angry ravings collects together all
t