Mr. Coleridge, in the summer of 1797 presented me with an extract from his "Osorio," which is here given to the reader, from Mr. C.'s own writing. FOSTER-MOTHER'S TALE. _Scene, Spain._ FOSTER-MOTHER. Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be, That joined your names with mine! O my sweet lady As often as I think of those dear times, When you two little ones would stand, at eve, On each side of my chair, and make me learn All you had learnt in the day, and how to talk In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you-- 'Tis more like heaven to come than what _has_ been. MARIA. O my dear mother! this strange man has left us, Troubled with wilder fancies than the moon Breeds in the love-sick maid who gazes at it, Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye She gazes idly!--But that _entrance_, Mother! FOSTER-MOTHER. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! MARIA. No one. FOSTER-MOTHER. My husband's father told it me, Poor Old Leoni--Angels rest his soul! He was a woodman, and could fell and saw With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam Which props the hanging wall of the old Chapel. Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined With thistle beards, and such small locks of wool As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home, And reared him at the then Lord Velez' cost. And so the babe grew up a pretty boy, A pretty boy but most unteachable-- And never learnt a prayer nor told a bead, But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes, And whistled, as he were a bird himself. And all the autumn 'twas his only play To get the seeds of wild flowers and to plant them With earth and water on the stumps of trees. A Friar who gathered simples in the wood, A grey-haired man--he loved this little boy, The boy loved him--and, when the Friar taught him, He soon could write with the pen; and from that time Lived chiefly at the Convent or the Castle. So he became a very learned man. But O! poor youth!--he read, and read, and read, 'Till his brain turned--and ere his twentieth year, He had unlawful thoughts of many things: And though he prayed, he never loved to pray With holy men, nor in a holy place-- But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him. And once as by the north side of the Chapel They stood together, chained in deep discourse, The earth heaved under them with such a groan, That the wall tottered, and had well-nigh fallen Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened: A fever seized the youth; and he made confession Of all the heretical and lawless talk Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized, And cast into that hole. My husband's father Sobbed like a child--it almost broke his heart: And once, as he was working in the cellar, He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's,