I now perceived a person advance [to the Castalian Stream] whom I knew to be SOUTHEY. His brow was bound up by a wreath of faded laurel, which had every mark of town growth. He appeared quite bewildered, and scarcely could remember his way to the inspiring stream. His voice was chaunting the praises of kings and courts as he advanced — but he dropped some little poems behind him, as he passed me, which were very opposite in tone to what he himself uttered. He was compelled to stoop before he could reach the water,— and the gold vessel, which he used, procured but little at last. He declared that his intention was to make sack of what he obtained. — and set off in uneven paces for St. James's.