A PECUNIARY DEFICIT.

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their attractions. Having visited the Rev. Derwent Coleridge at Helston, and the Rev. E. Bray, the husband of the novelist, he arrived at Tarring, in Sussex, the residence of his eldest daughter since her marriage. From thence he went to London, where he remained with his old friends of the metropolis for three weeks, when a long arrear of engagements drew him back to Keswick, once his cheerful and happy home.

He now enjoyed for a few short months that pleasure which a broken and afflicted family and an intenser application to business could afford. Yet they were not altogether passed without anxiety. He had devoted much time and labour, not to say expense, to preparing a careful edition of Cowper's life for Messrs. Baldwin and Cradock; and as his task was completed, and he was looking forward to the settlement of their accounts, which would have amounted to a considerable sum, their insolvency was declared. This created a temporary disquietude; but he never was deeply affected by such disappointments, and when the affairs of his publishers were arranged he found himself a no greater loser than for the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds.

His greatest bereavement now fell upon him. His wife, who had been labouring under her mental calamity for upwards of three years, with no hope to her friends of recovery, yet apparently happy in the society and affection of her family, had been for some time wasting away, and on the 16th of Nov. 1837 expired, free, as far

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INCREASING SYMPTOMS.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The last Scene- - Review of Southey's Character and Writings Greta Hall.

FROM this time Southey was no more to the world, and the world no more to him. In his family he was as one that was not. The life still remained: his person was amongst them; but the distinguishing principle of the man, the intellect, had forsaken its seat, and left him as a stranger in a strange land. Those who had been the comfort and consolation of many years of his latter life, whose smile had sweetened every toil, and whose happiness had been his constant study,those he could recognise no more: his mind was a blank. As his recollection became less perfect, events of recent interest first faded. On circumstances that occupied the busiest periods of his life his thoughts then dwelt; and when the veil was drawn over these, objects of a far-off time more closely allied to his feelings lin

THE LOSS OF MEMORY.

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gered in the cells of memory. So sensible was he of the decay of this faculty, that when he failed to recall a name or a place, he would press his hand to his brow, and with a painful emotion exclaim,-" Memory, me mory, where art thou gone ?"

The malady which had thus deprived him of the noblest gift of God, though gradual in its process, was not slow. On his return from Hampshire he passed through London, and it was anxiously and sorrowfully observed by his friends that the fire and vigour of his former conversations were wanting-that his remarks were broken and abrupt—that his discourse was incoherent. This weakness they were at first willing to attribute to an attack of influenza, which had greatly debilitated his physical powers-so fondly do we refuse anticipations of evil.

But those who remembered that, for forty years of his life, his mental application had been intense and unceasing, that his anxiety to provide the means of subsistence had been continuous, that his system was highly nervous, and that the afflictions which he had endured so patiently had shaken him to the root, began to apprehend that there was a more lasting and permanent cause for his mental debility. Still they hoped that the quiet living of his home, a return to his favourite employments, the air of his mountains, and his naturally easy and cheerful disposition, would do much. towards restoring him once more to consciousness.

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MELANCHOLY SYMPTOMS.

Mount, and the latter as containing the most numerous remains of a Druidical temple of any now existing. As he prosecuted his excursion, a different gratification was afforded him in the statue of Joan of Arc at Rouen, and the Castle of Chinon, amongst the ruins of which is still shown the apartment where the Maid of Orleans had her first interview with the king. At Paris the party separated; Captain Jones and Mr. Kenyon proceeding to the Low Countries, Mr. Robinson remaining awhile in that city, and Southey and his son, with Mr. Senhouse, dropping down the Seine in a steamer, to proceed homeward by way of Havre-de-Gracc. At Southampton the small party was again broken up; Mr. Senhouse proceeding to Cumberland, Mr. Cuthbert Southey to Oxford, and Southey to Lymington, where he intended paying a visit to Miss Bowles.

During this excursion, although all passed off plea santly enough, there were occasions when the effects of time, or some other decaying influence, was strongly perceived upon Southey. His step was slower; frequent fits of abstraction, and unwonted indecision, marked his conduct. This might be the result of age, accompanied with a fondness for deep meditation; but there were other symptoms, which seemed to point out the real

cause.

He not unfrequently lost his way in the hotels at which they stopped. The journal, in which he still minutely recorded what he had visited, is broken off abruptly when about two-thirds of the tour is completed;

A SECOND MARRIAGE.

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and a sudden visible change in the handwriting seemed to indicate the progress of the malady fast creeping upon him. He was not insensible himself that his memory was failing; and when detected in an error of date or reference, a smile filled his features with a painful, melancholy light.

It was probably the consciousness of this mental weakness, the apprehension of the mind's disease, so frequently alluded to almost prophetically in some of his letters, that induced him to take the step which followed his return to England. His home-family was now reduced to one daughter,-Miss Bertha having been married to her cousin, the Rev. Herbert Hill. His eldest daughter was far away from him in Sussex; and his son, dividing his time between Oxford and Keswick, left but a small portion of it for the latter. Under these circumstances he resolved upon a second marriage; and Miss Caroline Bowles, well known as one of the most pleasing and natural poetesses of the day, was the affianced bride. Southey knew the apparent inconsistency of the step he was about to take. He felt that it was either the wisest or weakest action" he could commit; but he trusted that he was sufficiently acquainted with the opinions, principles, and likings of the bride, to anticipate a happy result. This event was accordingly solemnised at Boldre church on the 5th of June, 1839; and after a short sojourn in Hamp shire, Mr. and Mrs. Southey returned to Keswick.

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