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Updated: May 12, 2025
Coleridge, indeed, was a metaphysician of some pretensions, but the "honey dew" on which he fed when he wrote Christabel and Kubla Khan was not the Critique of Pure Reason. But to Shelley Political Justice was the veritable "milk of paradise." We must drink of it ourselves if we would share his banquet.
Christabel seized the opportunity, and took up the thread of conversation before any one else had time to come forward. "Mr Talbot, I've been waiting to ask you a question. Do you know anybody called Vanburgh? The Grange is let at last, and the gentleman's name is Vanburgh. We are simply aching to get to know something about them.
If the Cid, the Vita Nuova, the Canterbury Tales, Shakespeare's Sonnets, and Lycidas pall on a man; if he care not for Malory's Morte d'Arthur and the Red Cross Knight; if he thinks Crusoe and the Vicar books for the young; if he thrill not with The Ode to the West Wind, and The Ode to a Grecian Urn; if he have no stomach for Christabel or the lines written on The Wye above Tintern Abbey, he should fall on his knees and pray for a cleanlier and quieter spirit.
Perhaps it was a new way of telling her she was wrong Christabel, whom she had thought on her side. The bad temper woke up, and would not let her offer a friendly kiss. She hid her face in the pillow, and as soon as Miss Fosbrook had shut the door, went off into a fresh gust of piteous sobs, because Miss Elizabeth Merrifield was the most miserable ill-used child in all the world.
Egad, this would be a lovely story for one of those prying society papers. 'The Philanthropist and the Picture. I've a good mind to send it to the Press myself." Littimer sat down and laughed with pure enjoyment. "And where is the other partridge?" he asked, presently. Christabel seemed to hesitate for a moment, her sense of humour of the situation had departed.
Does she get many letters, Henrietta? She is very reserved, she doesn't tell me much; but, of course, I'm interested in her. She laughed again. 'I am very anxious for her happiness. It would comfort me to know anything you can tell me. Henrietta managed to stand up. 'I know nothing, she said in a slightly broken voice. 'I don't want to know anything. Christabel interrupted smoothly.
A song written with any spirit in this measure has, other things not being quite equal, yet almost a certainty of becoming more popular than one written in any other measure. Most of Barry Cornwall's and Mrs. Heman's songs are written in it. Scott's "Lay of the Last Minstrel," Coleridge's "Christabel," Byron's "Siege of Corinth," Shelley's "Sensitive Plant," are examples of the rhythm.
Now the debate between the sexes is a perennial. It began while we were still in the trees. It has its stereotyped accusations; its stereotyped repartees. The Canterbury Pilgrims had little to learn from Christabel Pankhurst. Man and woman in that duet struggle perpetually for the upper hand, and the man restrains the woman and the woman resents the man.
"Agreed," said Father Malachi, finishing a bumper, and after giving a few preparatory hems, he sang the following "singularly wild and beautiful poem," as some one calls Christabel: "Here's a health to Martin Hanegan's aunt, And I'll tell ye the reason why! She eats bekase she is hungry, And drinks bekase she is dry.
"And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain. Each spoke words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best brother." COLERIDGE'S Christabel.
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