We might as well attempt to conceive more than three dimensions of space, as to imagine more than three kinds of living existence—God, man, and beast. And even of these the last (division) is obscure, and scarce endures a fixed contemplation without passing into an unripe or degenerated humanity.
A LIFE-LONG ERROR
My mother told my wife that I was a year younger, and that there was a blunder made either in the baptismal register itself or in the transcript sent for my admission into Christ's Hospital; and Mrs. C., who is older than myself, believes me only 48. Be this as it may, in life, if not in years, I am, alas! nearer to 68.
[S. T. C. was born on October 21, 1772. Consequently, on October 20, 1819, he was not yet forty-seven. He entered his forty-eighth year October 21, 1819.]
AN UNWRITTEN SONNET
N.B.—A sonnet on the child collecting shells and pebbles on the sea-shore or lake-side, and carrying each with a fresh shout of delight and admiration to the mother's apron, who smiles and assents to each "This is pretty!" "Is not that a nice one?" and then when the prattler is tired of its conchozetetic labours lifts up her apron and throws them out on her apron. Such are our first discoveries both in science and philosophy.—S. T. Coleridge, Oct. 21, 1819.
MILTON AND SHAKSPERE