Have you seen Cobbett's last number? It is the most _plausible_ and the best written of anything I have seen from _his_ pen, and _apparently_ written in a less fiendish spirit than the average of his weekly effusions. The self-complacency with which he assumes to himself exclusively, truths which he can call his own only as a horse-stealer can appropriate a stolen horse, by adding mutilation and deformities to robbery, is as _artful_ as it is amusing. Still, however, he has given great additional publicity to weighty truths, as _ex. gr._ the hollowness of _commercial_ wealth; and from whatever dirty corner or straw moppet the ventriloquist Truth causes her words to proceed, I not only listen, but must bear witness that it is Truth talking. His conclusions, however, are palpably absurd--give to an over-peopled island the countless back settlements of America, and countless balloons to carry thither man and maid, wife and brat, beast and baggage--and then we might rationally expect that a general crash of trade, manufactures, and credit, might be as mere a summer thunderstorm in Great Britain as he represents it to be in America. One deep, most deep, impression of melancholy, did Cobbett's letter to Lord Liverpool leave on my mind,--the conviction that, wretch as he is, he is an overmatch in intellect for those, in whose hands Providence, in its retributive justice, seems to place the destinies of our country; and who yet rise into respectability, when we compare them with their parliamentary opponents. I am commanded to add an especial request, that it may not be long before you make yourself visible on the banks of Lake Superior. Ever, my dear sir Yours faithfully and affectionately, S. T. COLERIDGE.[105] T. Allsop, Esq. LETTER 178. TO ALLSOP 20th March, 1820. My dear Sir,