have bidden him plant it where it has since
flourished forty years or more?

I was fortunate in sharing some of the regard of Mr. and Mrs. Gillman;
after the poet's death, they gave me his inkstand, (a plain inkstand of
wood,) which is before me as I write, and a myrtle on which his eyes
were fixed as he died. It is now an aged and gnarled tree in our
conservatory.[F]

One of the very few letters of Coleridge I have preserved I transcribe,
as it illustrates his goodness of heart and willingness to put himself
to inconvenience for others.

"DEAR SIR,"--it runs,--"I received some five days ago a letter
depicting the distress and urgent want of a widow and a sister,
with whom, during the husband's lifetime, I was for two or
three years a housemate; and yesterday the poor lady came up
herself, almost clamorously soliciting me, not, indeed, to
assist her from my own purse,--for she was previously assured
that there was nothing therein,--but to exert myself to collect
the sum of twenty pounds, which would save her from God knows
what. On this hopeless task,--for perhaps never man whose name
had been so often in print for praise or reprobation had so few
intimates as myself,--when I recollected that before I left
Highgate for the seaside you had been so kind as to intimate
that you considered some trifle due to me,--whatever it be, it
will go some way to eke out the sum which I have with a sick
heart been all this day trotting about to make up, guinea by
guinea. You will do me a real service, (for my health
perceptibly sinks under this unaccustomed flurry of my
spirits,) if you could make it convenient to inclose to me,
however small the sum may be, if it amount to a bank-note of
any denomination, directed 'Grove, Highgate,' where I am, and
expect to be any time for the next eight months. In the mean
time, believe me

"Yours obliged,

"S. T. COLERIDGE.

"4th December, 1828."

I find also, at the back of one of his manuscripts, the following poem,
which I believe to be unpublished; for I cannot trace it in any edition
of his collected works.

LOVE'S BURIAL-PLACE.--A MADRIGAL.

_Lady._ If _Love_ be dead.

_Poet._ And I aver it.

_Lady._ Tell me, Bard, where Love lies buried.

_Poet._ Love lies buried where 'twas born:
O gentle Dame,