"In his second year he stood for the Craven scholarship--a university scholarship, for which under-graduates of any standing are entitled to become candidates. This was in the winter of 1792. Out of sixteen or eighteen competitors, a selection of four were to contend for the prize, and these four were Dr. Butler, late head-master of Shrewsbury, Dr. Keate, the late head-master of Eton, [6] Dr. Bethell, the present Bishop of Bangor, and Coleridge. Dr. Butler was the successful candidate." Coleridge always spoke of this decision as having been in every way just, and due to Butler's merit as a clever and industrious scholar. "But pause a moment," says this writer, "in Coleridge's History, and think of him at this period! Butler! Keate Bethell! and Coleridge! How different the career of each in future life! O Coleridge, through what strange paths did the meteor of genius lead thee! Pause a moment, ye distinguished men! and deem it not the least bright spot in your happier career, that you and Coleridge were once rivals, and for a moment running abreast in the pursuit of honour. I believe that his disappointment at this crisis damped his ardour. Unfortunately, at that period, there was no classical tripos; so that, if a person did not obtain the classical medal, he was thrown back among the totally undistinguished; and it was not allowable to become a candidate for the classical medal, unless you had taken a respectable degree in mathematics. Coleridge had not the least taste for these, and here his case was hopeless; so that he despaired of a Fellowship, and gave up what in his heart he coveted--college honours and a college life. He had seen Middleton (late Bishop of Calcutta) quit Pembroke under similar circumstances. Not _quite_ similar, because Middleton had studied mathematics so as to take a respectable degree, and to enable him to try for the medal; but he failed, and therefore all hopes failed of a Fellowship--most fortunately, as it proved in after-life, for Middleton, though he mourned at the time most deeply, and exclaimed--'I am Middleton, which is another name for misfortune!' 'There is a Providence which shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.' That which Middleton deemed a misfortune drew him from the cobwebs of a college library to the active energies of a useful and honoured life." If, as Shakespeare observes, "there be a providence which shapes our ends," such words as "fortunate" or "unfortunate," in their customary use, will be found, on closer attention, and deeper thought, worthless and full of error. We have each our part allotted to us in the great drama of life. But to return to Coleridge. "When he quitted college, which he did before he had taken a degree, in a moment of mad-cap caprice, and in an inauspicious hour!