COLERIDGE in particular often knew not what he meant himself, but between opium and metaphysics, frequently tied the tail of one idea to the head of another, and called the monstrous and unintelligible coalition a _theory_; a mixture of Platonism, Spinozaism, and the d----l knows what 'ism. And for believing this, the Coleridgeites and Wordsworthites, who are the most intolerant of bigots, would call me an earthy blockhead, and for expressing this, an ignorant, blaspheming fool. Why, I once had almost broken with a friend, because I would not admit that WORDSWORTH was superior to BYRON, and that BYRON stole almost all his beauties from him! And the secret was, that the poor fellow thought he had the Wordsworthian gift, and undeifying WORDSWORTH was undeifying him!' * * * ARE not the circumstances narrated in the following communication from a truly veracious correspondent, 'very remarkable,' to say the least? Can their truth be _doubted_ for a moment, however, by any intelligent reader? Yet 'it's curious, isn't it?' In a note to the Editor, our friend writes: 'I have an uncle 'down East,' a retired sea-captain, who having nothing else to do, frequently writes me long gossipping letters. Sometimes they are very amusing: an extract from one of them I now send you. The story appears almost incredible; but knowing my correspondent to be a strictly conscientious man, who would scorn to draw the long-bow on any occasion, I have no hesitation in believing every word of it, whether others are willing to credit it or not. I give it to you in his own language, for there is a strait-forward simplicity about it, that should command belief:'