remains kneeling by the side of his accuser until sentence is passed. He must never think of defending himself, for that would argue an amount of self-esteem sufficient to shock the whole community; and, though the charge arise out of a mistake on the part of the accuser, and the proof of its falsity be to hand, the victim must not adduce it, but receive cheerfully and silently the punishment awarded him by his superior. It is also competent at this time for any monk to make complaint of the shortcomings of a brother, who likewise is forbidden to defend himself, and thus an opportunity is given to petty spite and malice (which will find a home even in the most sanctified bosoms) to wreak itself upon its enemies.

In a series of papers entitled "Recollections of Writers," Mrs. Mary Cowden Clarke gives an interesting description of an interview with Coleridge:

It was in the summer of this last-named (1821) year that I first beheld Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It was on the East Cliff at Ramsgate. He was contemplating the sea under its most attractive aspect: in a dazzling sun, with sailing clouds that drew their purple shadows over its bright-green floor, and a merry breeze of sufficient prevalence to emboss each wave with a silvery foam. He might possibly have composed upon the occasion one of the most philosophical, and at the same time most enchanting, of his fugitive reflections, which he has entitled "Youth and Age;" for in it he speaks of "airy cliffs and glittering sands," and

"Of those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,

That fear no spite of wind or tide."

As he had no companion, I desired to pay my respects to one of the most extraordinaryand, indeed, in his department of genius, the most extraordinary man of his age. And, being possessed of a talisman for securing his consideration, I introduced myself as a friend and admirer of Charles Lamb. This password was sufficient, and I found him immediately talking to me in the bland and frank tones of a standing acquaintance. A poor girl had that morning thrown herself from the pier-head in a pang of despair, from having been betrayed by a villain. He alluded to the event, and went on to denounce the morality of the age that will hound from the community the reputed weaker subject, and continue to receive him who has wronged her. He agreed with me that that question never will be adjusted but by the women themselves. Justice will continue in abeyance so long as they visit with severity the errors of their own sex and tolerate those of ours. He then diverged to the great mysteries of life and death, and branched away to the sublimer questionthe immortality of the soul. Here he spread the sail-broad vans of his wonderful imagination, and soared away with an eagle flight, and with an eagle eye, too, compassing the effulgence of his great argument, ever and anon stooping within my own sparrow's range, and then glancing away again, and careering through the trackless fields of ethereal metaphysics. And thus he continued for an hour and a half, never pausing for an instant except to catch his breath (which, in the heat of his teeming mind, he did like a school-boy repeating by rote his task), and gave utterance to some of the grandest thoughts I ever heard from the mouth of man. His ideas, em

my ears like drifts of snow. He was like a cataract filling and rushing over my pennyvial capacity. I could only gasp and bow my head in acknowledgment. He required from me nothing more than the simple recognition of his discourse; and so he went on like a steam-engine-I keeping the machine oiled with my looks of pleasure, while he supplied the fuel: and that, upon the same theme too, would have lasted till now. What would I have given for a short-hand report of that speech! And such was the habit of this wonderful man. Like the old peripatetic philosophers, he walked about, prodigally scattering wisdom, and leaving it to the winds of chance to waft the seeds into a genial soil.

guments, as waifs and strays. Notwithstanding his wealth of language and prodigious power in amplification, no one, I think (unless it were Shakespeare or Bacon), possessed with himself equal power of condensation. He would frequently comprise the elements of a noble theorem in two or three words; and, like the genuine offspring of a poet's brain, it always came forth in a golden halo. I remember once, in discoursing upon the architecture of the middle ages, he reduced the Gothic structure into a magnificent abstraction-and in two words. "A Gothic cathedral," he said, " is like a petrified religion." *

In his prose as well as in his poetry, Coleridge's comparisons are almost uniformly short and unostentatious; and not on that account the less forcible: they are scriptural in character; indeed, it would be difficult to find one more apt to the purpose than that which he has used; and yet it always appears to be unpremeditated. Here is a random example of what I mean: it is an unimportant one, but it serves for a casual illustration of his force in comparison. It is the last line in that strange and impressive fragment in prose, "The Wanderings of Cain"-"And they three passed over the white sands, and between the rocks, silent as their shadows." It will be difficult, I think, to find a stronger image than that, to convey the idea of the utter negation of sound, with motion.

My first suspicion of his being at Ramsgate had arisen from my mother observing that she had heard an elderly gentleman in the public library, who looked like a Dissenting minister, talking as she never heard man talk. Like his own "Ancient Mariner," when he had once fixed your eye he held you spellbound, and you were constrained to listen to his tale; you must have been more powerful than he to have broken the charm; and I know no man worthy to do that. He did, indeed, answer to my conception of a man of genius, for his mind flowed on "like to the Pontic Sea," that "ne'er feels retiring ebb." It was always ready for action; like the hare, it slept with its eyes open. He would at any given moment range from the subtlest and most abstruse question in metaphysics to the architectural beauty in contrivance of a flower of the field; and the gorgeousness of his imagery would increase and dilate and flash forth such coruscations of similes and startling theories that one was in a perpetual aurora borealis of fancy. As Hazlitt once said of him: "He would talk on forever, and you wished him to talk on forever. His thoughts never seemed to come with labor or effort, but as if borne on the gusts of genius, and as if the wings of his imagination lifted him off his feet." This is as truly as poetically described. He would not only illustrate a theory or an argument with a sustained and superb figure, but in pursuing the current of his thought he would bubble up with a sparkle of fancy so fleet and brilliant that the attention, though startled and arrested, was not broken. He | JOURNAL.

Like all men of genius, and with the gift of eloquence, Coleridge had a power and subtilty in interpretation that would persuade an ordinary listener against the conviction of his senses. It has been said of him that he could persuade a Christian he was a Platonist, s Deist that he was a Christian, and an atheist that he believed in a God. The preface to his ode of "Fire, Famine, and Slaughter," wherein he labors to show that Pitt the prime-minister was not the object of his invective at the time of his composing that famous war-eclogue, is at once a triumphant specimen of his talent for special pleading and ingenuity in sophistication.

* Are we to assume this to be the origin of Mrs. Jameson's definition, "petrified music!"-ED.

Notices.

THE PAY-ROLL TO GO TO AMERICAN OPERATIVES. Of the successful concerns in the State of New Jersey we may mention the pen-factory of R. Esterbrook & Co., with factory at Camden, and warehouse 26 John Street, New York.

Gillott for years had almost the monopoly of the steel-pen business, but the Esterbrooks have so persistently pushed the business, so successfully have they competed with Birmingham, that within a few months we understand that orders from the leading houses were on the books of the company, taking turr. in the product of a fac

tory of 250 hands. The Messrs. Esterbrook have brought a liberal and off-hand policy 'nto their business, and the result is that when their monthly accounts are made out they include the leading staioners and dealers in pens in all the States of the Union, and of the Territories too. The Esterbrooks have as g eat a variety of pens

as there are tints in an autumn foliage.

Thus year by year we become more independent of the foreign labor market. With he deepening of the English coal-beds the cost of coal will increase in England and the natural tariff presented our vast coal arts, and our improved and improving machinery, must develop more and more our ability to rake our pencils, our pens, and it is to be hoped our silks and our broadcloth. American money to go into the hands of American operatives is our ambition, and daily we are, in one branch or another of industry, seeing our ambition gratified.New Jersey Journal (Elizabeth), August 18, 1875.

SCIENTIFIC BOOKS. -Send 10 cents for General Catalogue of Works on Architec

ture, Astronomy, Chemistry. Engineering, Mechanics, Geology, Mathematics, etc. Publisher, 23 Murray Street, New York.

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MONTHLY PARTS OF APPLETONS' JOURNAL. APPLETONS' JOURNAL is put up in Monthly Parts, sewed and trimmed. Two out of every three parts contain four weekly numbers; the third contains five weekly numbers. Price of parts containing four weekly numbers, 40 cents; five numbers, 50 cents. Subscription price per annum, $4.50. For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers D. APPLETON & Co., Publishers, 549 & 551 Broadway, New York.

Thy fields, in summer's glow that smile,
Reflect their beauty in my verses;
But fame of other Fields, the while,
'Tis fit my song rehearses.

The tongue and pen by turn they wield, And stir the land to quiet wonder; While one has made himself a FieldAcross the seas and under!

Once a weird spell on thy pure air
Wrought error's madness in thy prophet,
And drove the world to fright and prayer,
Till time made nothing of it!

One nameless here-that men may guess,
Not once to man or God a traitor,
In wisdom great, nor judgment less,
But in pure goodness greater.

Fair Stockbridge, for the Sedgwick race, 'Mid all her storied charms is prouder, And, with their name and dwelling-place, Her happy fame rings louder.

- There the great Edwards leaves his name
Carven in Scotia's sunny granite;
- His stronger books project his fame
For a world's gaze to scan it.

Forbear the serious task, my song,
The roll of Berkshire's worthies calling;
Thy silence cannot do them wrong
In reverence on them falling.

Fit service this for happier pen,

Dipped in the fount of praise perennial,

To fire the hearts of Berkshire men,
At Berkshire's bi-centennial!

THE LITTLE JOANΝΑ.*

A NOVEL.

BY KAMBA THORPE.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE CONSEQUENCE OF CARVING A NAME.

"A COMFORT and a consolation to 'Mela:" this Joanna had firmly resolved to be. But, unfortunately for the success of this praiseworthy intention, favorable conditions were wanting. Miss Basil had grown suspicious, and would not now be followed about as of old. When Joanna, bent upon being a comfort and a consolation, pleaded hard for the privilege of sitting with her at work, of fanning her, of threading her needles, the distrustful woman complained bitterly that the child grew more troublesome every day.

So Joanna fell back upon her own resources again. A week went by, and the long, uneventful summer days came and passed, one day like another, just as she had foreseen when she bade young Hendall goodby at the gate. She could not help sighing a little for his return, and she sighed more than a little, when, one morning she happened to overhear his aunt say, in reply to some question Miss Basil had asked about his room, that he would not return for a