rm of
religion. The Church, with her articles, is without relation to him.
And along with obsolete spiritualisms, he sees all manner of obsolete
thrones and big-wigged temporalities; and for them also can prophesy,
and wish, only a speedy doom. Doom inevitable, registered in Heaven's
Chancery from the beginning of days, doom unalterable as the pillars of
the world; the gods are angry, and all nature groans, till this doom of
eternal justice be fulfilled.

With gay audacity, with enthusiasm tempered by mockery, as is the manner
of young gifted men, this faith, grounded for the present on democracy
and hustings operations, and giving to all life the aspect of a
chivalrous battle-field, or almost of a gay though perilous tournament,
and bout of "A hundred knights against all comers,"--was maintained
by Sterling and his friends. And in fine, after whatever loud
remonstrances, and solemn considerations, and such shaking of our wigs
as is undoubtedly natural in the case, let us be just to it and him. We
shall have to admit, nay it will behoove us to see and practically know,
for ourselves and him and others, that the essence of this creed, in
times like ours, was right and not wrong. That, however the ground and
form of it might change, essentially it was the monition of his natal
genius to this as it is to every brave man; the behest of all his clear
insight into this Universe, the message of Heaven through him, which
he could not suppress, but was inspired and compelled to utter in
this world by such methods as he had. There for him lay the first
commandment; _this_ is what it would have been the unforgivable sin to
swerve from and desert: the treason of treasons for him, it were there;
compared with which all other sins are venial!

The message did not cease at all, as we shall see; the message was
ardently, if fitfully, continued to the end: but the methods, the tone
and dialect and all outer conditions of uttering it, underwent most
important modifications!

CHAPTER VIII. COLERIDGE.

Coleridge sat on the brow of Highgate Hill, in those years, looking down
on London and its smoke-tumult, like a sage escaped from the inanity of
life's battle; attracting towards him the thoughts of innumerable
brave souls still engaged there. His express contributions to
poetry, philosophy, or any specific province of human literature or
enlightenment, had been small and sadly intermittent; but he had,
especially among young inquir