is an image in Kehama drawn from my recollection of the devilish malignity which used sometimes to glow in his dark eyes; though I could not there give the likeness in its whole force, for his countenance used to darken with the blackness of his passion. Happily for the slaves on the family estate, he, though a second brother, was wealthy enough to settle in England; and an anecdote which I heard of him when he was about thirty years of age, will show that I have not spoken of his character too strongly. When he was shooting one day, his dog committed some fault. He would have shot him for this upon the spot, if his companion had not turned the gun aside, and, as he supposed, succeeded in appeasing him: but when the sport was over, to the horror of that companion (who related the story to me), he took up a large stone and knocked out the dog's brains. I have mentioned this wretch, who might otherwise have better been forgotten, for a charitable reason; because I verily believe that his wickedness was truly an original, innate, constitutional sin, and just as much a family disease as gout or scrofula. I think so, because he had a nephew who was placed as a pupil with King, the surgeon at Clifton, and in whom at first sight I recognised a physiognomy which I hope can belong to no other breed. His nephew answered in all respects to the relationship, and to the character which nature had written in every lineament of his face. He ran a short career of knavery, profligacy, and crimes, which led him into a prison, and there he died by his own hand.

Another of my then schoolfellows, who was also

a Creole, came to a like fate, but from very different circumstances. He was the natural son of a wealthy planter by a woman of colour; and went through the school with the character of an inoffensive, gentlemanly, quiet boy, who never quarrelled with anybody, nor ever did an ill-natured thing. When he became a young man, he was liberally supplied with money, and launched into expenses which such means tended to create and seemed to justify. The supplies suddenly ceased, I am not certain whether by an experiment of rigour, or owing to his father's dying without providing for him in his will; the latter I think was the case. Poor H-, however, was arrested for debt, and put an end to his hopeless prospects in prison, by suicide.

Colonel Hugh Baillie, who made himself conspicuous some few months ago, by very properly resenting the unjust expulsion of his son from Christ Church (an act of the late dean's miserable misgovernment), was one of my contemporaries at this school. My old Latin master, Duplanier, kept a French academy next door; and by an arrangement between the two masters, his boys came three mornings in the week to write and cypher with us. Among these intermitting schoolfellows was poor John Morgan, with whom Coleridge lived for several years; Gee, whom I have already mentioned; and a certain HO with whom I had an adventure in after-life, well worthy of preservation.

H

This youth was about three years older than I: of course, I had no acquaintance with him; nor did I ever exchange a word with him, unless it were when

:

the whole school were engaged in playing prisonbase, in which he took the lead as the módas wκùs of his side. His father was a merchant, concerned among other things in the Irish linen trade: my father had some dealings with him; and in his misfortunes found him, what I believe is not a common character, an unfeeling creditor. They were a proud family; and a few years after my father's failure, failed themselves, and, as the phrase is, went to the dogs. This H— O Hwas bred to be an attorney, but wanted either brains or business to succeed in his calling - I dare say both. I had forgotten his person and should never have thought of him again (except when the game of prison-base was brought to my mind), if, in the year 1798, I had not been surprised by hearing one day at Cottle's shop, that he had been there twice or thrice to inquire for me, and had left a message requesting that, if I came into Bristol that day (it was during the year of my abode at Westbury), I would call on him at an attorney's office, at a certain hour. Accordingly, thither I went, rung at the bell, inquired for Mr. O, gave my name, and was ushered into a private room. Nothing could be more gracious than his recognition of a person, whom he must have past twenty times in the street during the last three months: " we had been schoolfellows at such a place, at such a time," &c. &c., all which I knew very well, but how we came to be acquaintances now was what I had to learn; and to explain this cost him a good deal of humming and hawing, plentifully intermixed with that figure of speech which the Irish call blarney, and which is a

much more usual as well as useful figure than any of those, with the hard names of which poor boys used to be tormented in the Latin grammar. From the use which he made of this figure he appeared to know that I was an author of some notoriety, and that one of my books was called Joan of Arc. The compliments which he laid on, were intermingled with expressions of great regret for the deficiencies of his own education: he learnt a little Latin, a little French, but there it had stopt; in short, I knew what must be the extent of his acquirements "for you and I, Mr. Southey, you know, were schoolfellows." At last it came out that, from a consciousness of these deficiencies, he had been led to think that a glossary of the English language was a work very much wanted, and that no one could be more competent to supply such a desideratum, than the gentleman whom he had the honour of addressing. I was as little able to guess what his deficiencies had to do with a glossary as you can be; and not feeling any curiosity to get at a blockhead's meaning, endeavoured to put an end to the interview, by declaring at once my utter inability to execute such a work, for the very sufficient reason that I was wholly ignorant of several languages, the thorough knowledge of which was indispensable in such researches. This produced more blarney, and an explanation that my answer did not exactly apply to what his proposal intended. What he meant was this, there were a great many elegant words, which persons like himself, whose education had been neglected, would often like to use in conversation (he said this

feelingly, it had often been his own case, he felt it, indeed, every day of his life); they would be glad to use these words if they only knew their meaning; and what he wanted was a glossary or dictionary of such words, a little book which might be carried in the pocket. It would certainly command an extensive sale: I could make the book; he had a large acquaintance, and could procure subscribers for it; and we might make a thriving partnership concern in this literary undertaking. Before he arrived at this point, the scene had become far too comical to leave any room in my feelings for anger. I kept my countenance (which has often been put to much harder trials than my temper, and is moreover a much more difficult thing to keep), declined his proposal decidedly but civilly, took my leave in perfect good humour, and hastened back to Cottle's, to relieve myself by telling him the adventure.

LETTER XIII.

VISITORS TO HIS SCHOOLMASTER.

May 27th, 1824.

NEARLY four years have elapsed since I began this series of reminiscences, and I have only written twelve letters, which bring me only into the twelfth year of my age. Alas! this is not the only case in which I feel that the remaining portion of my life,