Taylor's Liberty of Prophesying." Another unpardonable instance of plagiarism in a man of learning and genius, was Porson's claiming "The Devil's Walk." I have good reason to know, that although Porson might not distinctly say that he was the author of it, yet he used to repeat it in such a way as to lead people to believe it was his own. Even Blackwood's Magazine mentions it as the composition of Porson. Yet the fact is that it was the joint composition of Coleridge and Southey in some playful moments. As you have attributed it to Porson, it is but right that your pages should correct the error: and I now send you what I believe to be a complete copy.

From his brimstone bed, at break of day,

A-walking the Devil is gone,

To look at his snug little farm, the world, And see how his stock went on.

How then was the Devil drest?

He was in his Sunday's best;

His coat was red, and his breeches were blue,

And there was a hole where his tail came through.

Over the hill, and over the dale,

And he went over the plain;

And backward and forward he switch'd his tail,

As a gentleman switches his cane.

He pass'd by a cottage with a double coach-house,

A cottage of gentility;

And he grinn'd at the sight-for his favourite vice

Is pride that apes humility.

He saw a Lawyer killing a viper,

On the dunghill beside his stable;

And the Devil was shock'd, for it put him in mind

Of the story of Cain and Abel.

An Apothecary, on a white horse,
Rode by on his vocation:

And the Devil thought of his old friend,
Death, in the Revelation.

He went into London by Tottenham Court Road,

Rather by chance than by whim, And there he saw Brothers the Prophet, And Brothers the Prophet saw him.

He went into a rich Bookseller's shop; Quoth he, we are both of one collegeFor I sat myself like a cormorant once Upon the Tree of Knowledge.

DURING the months of February and March, in the year 18-, the coast of Kent was visited by a succession of violent storms, which caused a greater quantity of damage to the shipping and villages on the sea-shore than had been known to have occurred in the memory of man. On a certain day in the earlier part of the latter month my duties led me to visit that quarter of my parish which lies on the other side of the last range of hills, and adjoins to the parish, or rather to the outskirts, of the town of Folkestone. The wind was out with a degree of fury, such as even I, who reside so near this tempestuous coast, have seldom witnessed. The clouds were not sailing, but rushing through the sky, in grey fleeces; a huge black mass ever and anon came up upon the blast, driving away from east to west, and sending forth a shower of hailstones, which beat in my face as I ascended the height, and compelled me more than once to cling to a piece of gorze, or fern, for support. The sheep were all cowering under the hill-top for shelter, with their backs turned towards the storm, and huddled closely together; and the shepherds either took their places beside them, or ran home to their different houses, among the glens and hollows near. It was, indeed, a day in which no one who could find a roof to cover him would have chosen to be abroad; so boisterous was the gale, and so keen and cutting were the gusts of hail and sleet which rode from time to time upon it.

It is impossible for one whose habitation, though it be shut out from a view of the ocean, stands within the sound of its waves, when they are in wrath, not to think with peculiar anxiety, during every gale or storm, of the poor mariners who are exposed to its violence. To-day, in particular, I felt myself full of apprehension; for there was a considerable fleet of vessels at anchor in the Downs, and several large India-men had been seen at a late hour last night not far from the Point of Dungeness. They had not passed, VOL. XIX.

my man told me, during the night; indeed, the night had been too dark, and too blustering, to encourage them to lift their anchors; but the gale had increased so much towards sun-rise, and was still so heavy, that I could hardly hope that the anchors had not dragged, or, which might prove even more fatal, that the cables had not parted.

The

As I neared the top of the hill, the noise of the mighty element increased upon me, till its roar would have almost drowned the thunder itself, so loud and so increasing had it become. But if the sense of hearing had impressed me with feelings of awe, these feelings were increased to an indescribable degree by the spectacle which presented itself to the sense of sight. Immediately below me was the ocean, boiling and foaming far and near; one huge caldron of troubled waters, which tossed and tumbled, as if a thousand fires were burning beneath it. coast of France, which, on other days, may be distinctly seen, even to the glancing of a sun-beam on the windows of the houses in Calais, was now entirely hidden. I could not, indeed, send my gaze beyond mid-space between the two shores; and from that point onwards, wave followed wave, in fearful succession, till, one after another, they burst in tremendous force upon the chalky cliffs and pebbly strand of Kent. The town of Folkestone appeared devoted to utter destruction. The tide was pouring through its lower streets, sweeping all live and dead substances before it; the few fishing vessels which had been moored in the harbour were lying high and dry, far up the side of the hill, or floating in broken fragments upon the water; whilst the inhabitants, who had with difficulty escaped, were congregated in the upper parts of the town, to watch with grief and dismay the progress of a power to which human ingenuity could oppose no obstacle. All this was awful enough; but my fears were too much alive for the brave men who were embarked in ships, to think much S

of the state of those who suffered only from a loss of property.

I looked anxiously, first towards the Downs, and afterwards in the direction of Dungeness. From the former point the fleet had entirely disappeared. Many I saw stranded upon the shore; others had probably escaped to a more safe anchorage; and those which had endeavoured to beat out to sea, were just visible on the lower part of the Goodwins. The waves were dashing over their broken hulls, and their very masts were hidden, as every breaker, of a size somewhat larger than the rest, burst upon them. For them and for their crews there was no hope -all must perish-and all did perish before I quitted my station. In the direction of Dungeness, again, only one ship could be descried. She had succeeded, apparently, in working out before the storm had reached its height; and now having secured sea-room, was endeavouring to scud, either for the Downs or the river. Her top-gallantmasts were all struck; the only sail hoisted was the fore-top-sail, and that close-reefed; under which she made way, rapidly indeed, but not without falling every moment faster and faster to leeward. It was, in truth, manifest, that if she persisted in going on, she must run ashore several miles on this side of Deal; and of that her crew appeared to be as fully convinced as those who watched her from the land.

She was now abreast of Folkestone, with a hurricane right on shore, and herself not above a mile and a half from the breakers. Having carried a telescope in my hand, I saw by the help of it that her decks were crowded with people, some of whom held by the rigging and shrouds, others by the binnacles and bulk-heads; whilst some were lashed to the wheel, by which they vainly endeavoured to guide her. An attempt was now made to wear, but it failed. The ship reeled round, and drove towards the shore with a velocity which caused me to shut my eyes, that I might escape at least the horror of beholding her strike. But she did not strike. Two anchors were let go at once from the bow. By little short of a miracle, they held; and as if Heaven itself had desired to save her, the tempest suddenly lulled. The waves, however, ran as they had run before, mountain high; consequently no boat could be launched

to her assistance; and there she rode, straining and pitching her bows and bulwarks under, at the mercy of a couple of cables, and a couple of crooked bits of iron.

Having stood for about half an hour to observe her, and fancying that, as she had hitherto done well, she would continue so to do, especially as I thought that I could observe a clearing up to leeward, indicative of a change of wind, I paid the visit which I set out to pay, and returned to my house. Here the rest of the morning was spent in alternate hope and fear, as the face of the heavens seemed to indicate a total cessation, or a renewal of the storm; but hope gradually gave way to alarm, and alarm grew into despair, soon after darkness began. The sun went down fiery red, like a ball of burning coal. The wind, as if hushing him to sleep, began again to renew its violence. It came for a while, in alternate lulls and gusts; which, succeeding each other more rapidly every moment, ended at length in the same tremendous hurricane which had prevailed during the day. I could not sit quietly in my chair. "I must go," said I, "to see how the Indiaman fares, and I will pray upon the beach for the poor people whom I cannot otherwise serve.' So saying, I put on my great-coat, and, seizing my hat and stick, sallied forth.

The clock struck nine as I laid my hand on the latch; and I rejoiced to find, on crossing the threshold, that it was moon-light. I looked up into the sky, and beheld the fleeces receding in the direction which they had followed in the morning; but not so thick as greatly to obscure the moon's rays; which, on the contrary, shone out clear and bright occasionally, and at all times exerted some influence. I rejoiced at this; not only because I regarded it as a good omen, but because I hoped that it might prove of essential service to the people on board; whose fears, at least, would be more tolerable than if the night had been pitchy dark; and under this impression, I pushed on with a quick pace. But my satisfaction was not of long continuance,-if, indeed, the feeling be worthy of that title, which the mere glancing of the moon's rays had excited.

I had not yet reached the top of the hill, when the report of a gun, heard amidst the roar of the tempest, assured me that the vessel had struck. It came

upon me like the last despairing shriek of a drowning man, who cries out because nature so urges him, though aware that no human aid is at hand. Nor were my prognostications erroneous. When I attained the summit, I beheld a multitude of lights glancing along the shore; I heard voices and shouts, and every other indication which sound could give, that all was over. I ran towards the spot, and beheld the ship, her masts gone and her hull broken, in the midst of the breakers, at a distance of a full mile and a half from the land. Another gun was fired-it was the last. Planks, bulkheads, and spars, began now to drive upon the shingle. A sort of rending noise came from the wreck, which instantly disappeared. She had split up into fragments; and of the living creatures which had hitherto clung to her, the majority found a grave amid the surf.

There are few spectacles more appalling, and at the same time more full of deep excitation, than that of a shipwreck. Not only is your attention drawn to the vessel and its crew, but the hurry and bustle on shore, the real sympathy displayed by men from whose outward appearance little sympathy could be augured-the cries, and exclamations, and movements of the crowd, all tend to give to the thing a degree of additional interest, which, in sober earnest, it hardly requires. It is enough to see a number of our fellow-creatures hovering on the brink of eternity, without having our feelings additionally worked upon by the proceedings of those around us.

A cry was now raised for boats. "Where is the Dauntless?" shouted one: "High and dry," exclaimed another. "Is the Nancy safe?" No, she is in pieces." And so it was, that not a boat or barge of all that usually lay at anchor in the harbour could be brought on the instant into play. But the Kentish fishermen are not restrained from action by trifles. "Launch the Dauntless"-" Down with the Sisters"-"There lies the Pilot," were echoed from mouth to mouth; and in half a second, an hundred hands were at work, hauling the boats named from the beach, where the ebb tide had left them, and rolling them along the shingle. "Hurrah, hurrah," was now the only word uttered. Down they came over the loose stones, till they

neared the reach of the waves, and then having watched a receding billow, the gallant party which dragged them hurled them into the breakers, whilst half a dozen stout fellows sprung into each as it rose upon the foam. "God speed ye, God speed ye-away, away,' and away they went. But the next wave was fatal to two of them. Over they rolled, bottom upwards, and the crews were dashed upon the beach. The third, however, rode it out. She bore one lantern in her bow, and another in her stern; and it was truly a nervous thing to watch these lights appearing and disappearing, as the brave boat rose and fell with the rise and fall of the waters.

In the meanwhile, many eyes were eagerly turned towards the watermark, with the expectation of discovering some human creature who might be washed ashore, on a plank or raft. All such, however, came tenantless. Either the beings who had clung to them lost their hold, or not expecting the ship to part so suddenly as she did, they neglected the precaution of making themselves fast to the spars. Our best hope, accordingly, centred in our own boat, which we saw bravely making her way; the tide being in her favour, though the wind was against her. At length she appeared to have gained her utmost limit. There she lingered, rising and falling, her lights glancing and disappearing to our unspeakable terror, for a full quarter of an hour; when having, as it would seem, done her utmost, she put about, and made towards land. Twenty torches were held up to guide her. Her progress was like that of the lightning, and her crew having watched the opportunity, she mounted upon the top of a wave, and rushed, with all its white foam, far up the beach. Then our party running in, seized her by the bow, and so securing her against the ebbing, in three seconds she was safe.

The search which her dauntless rowers had undertaken, proved all but fruitless. So complete was the wreck, that they could not discern any single portion of the Indiaman more attractive than the rest. Nothing could be observed, indeed, in the darkness of the night, except floating boards, all of them without occupants; and hence their sole success was in saving the life of one man, whom they found

clinging to a hen-coop, and a good deal exhausted. I must do the men of Kent the justice to observe, that the shipwrecked individual had no right to complain of want of hospitality. Each of the spectators appeared more anxious than the rest to afford him accommodation; and it was only because I pressed his removal to the vicarage, that they yielded the point to me. A post-chaise was accordingly prepared, into which we lifted him; and as the distance by the road exceeds not one mile, he was undressed, and laid in our best bed, within half an hour from his landing. Some mulled wine and other cordials being administered to him, he was left to his repose; and it was not till a late hour on the following day, that the ringing of his bell gave testimony that he had awoke from the sleep into which our narcotics had lulled him.

When he joined our family circle next morning, we were all much struck with the appearance and demeanour of the stranger. He was very tall, considerably upwards of six feet-his figure was commanding and noblehis features were fine, but there was an expression of wildness in his dark eye, which could not pass unobserved. His age I should guess to have been about fifty; perhaps it was under that, for black hair soon grows grey; and the lines, which were strongly marked in his forehead, seemed to be the traces rather of violent passion than of time. With respect to his manner, it is not very easy to describe it. No one could mistake that he was a gentleman; but there was a restlessness and incoherence in his conversation, which produced the reverse of an agreeable sensation upon those around him. It was curious enough that he never once alluded, of his own accord, to the events of yesterday. We, of course, referred to them, and were beginning to congratulate him upon his escape, but he abruptly changed the subject, by asking some trifling questions respecting the surrounding country. Had any person entered the parlour ignorant of the mode of his arrival amongst us, he would have imagined that the stranger had landed the day before, in perfect safety, and in an ordinary way, from a voyage. The effect of all this upon the ladies was to create in them feelings of absolute horror, and they soon began to view him with dismay; for

myself I was astonished, and more than half-suspected that the poor gentleman was not altogether in his sound senses.

The stranger continued an inmate of my house for three whole days, and nothing passed between us all this while beyond the common intercourse of social life. I did not deem it consistent with propriety to demand his name, or to make any inquiry into his condition; and he, as it appeared, felt no inclination voluntarily to offer the information. Only once he observed, casually, that he was afraid he must intrude upon my hospitality till he should receive remittances which might enable him to travel, for that there was no money in his pockets when the ship foundered, and that all his effects had perished. Beyond this, however, he communicated to me nothing, and of his company I enjoyed no more than was absolutely indispensable during meals.

Whilst his sojourn lasted, our mode of living was accordingly this: The stranger rose early and walked out; he returned to breakfast, which he hastily swallowed, and then went forth again; and immediately on the conclusion of dinner, he retired to his apartment, where the remainder of the evening was spent in writing. This I learned from my servant who carried up lights when he rang for them; and because he had requested me to supply him with pens, ink, and paper; but whether they were letters, or what the subject of his writings might be, I of course had no means of ascertaining. On the evening of the third day, however, a slight change occurred in his manner. He sat with me after the dinner had been removed, and made an effort to be sociable, but he drank no wine; and ever and anon, after supporting a common-place conversation for several minutes, he relapsed into silence. The ladies soon left us, and then it was that I determined to sound him as delicately as I could, on the state of his mind.