I hereby give and bequeath to Joseph Henry Green, Esquire, to Henry Nelson Coleridge, Esquire, and to James Gillman, Esquire, and the survivor of them, and the executors and assignees of such survivor, the sum whatever it may be which in the will aforesaid I bequeathed to my son Hartley Coleridge after the decease of his mother, Sara Coleridge, upon trust. And I hereby request them (the said trustees) to hold the sum accruing to Hartley Coleridge from the equal division of my total bequest between him, his brother Derwent, and his sister Sara Coleridge, after his mother's decease, to dispose of the interest or proceeds of the same portion to or for the use of my dear son Hartley Coleridge at such time or times, in such manner, and under such conditions as they the trustees above named know to be my wish, and shall deem conducive to the attainment of my object in adding this codicil, namely, the anxious wish to ensure for my son the continued means of a home, in which I comprise board, lodging, and raiment. Providing that nothing in this codicil shall be interpreted as to interfere with my son Hartley Coleridge's freedom of choice respecting his place of residence, or with his power of disposing of his portion by will after his decease according as his own judgment and affections may decide.'
TO DERWENT COLERIDGE, Helston, Cornwall.
Grasmere, August 1st, 1834.
We are both alike--both fatherless children. I never felt before--how much we are brothers. Would that I could but see you, talk to you, were it but for a single hour--O Derwent, we have sustained the greatest loss which Time or Death can ever inflict. I never felt, never acknowledged, the value of a father, and of such a father, till I knew that I had no Father. To you this loss must indeed be sore, and you must derive a consolation from the very depth of grief, for your grief is pure and holy; you may remember that the thought of you was a comfort to our dear Parent, that dying, he might yet be glad to live in you, that if you were separated from him, it was by great and happy duties. For me, I can only hope that no painful thought of me adulterated the final out gushing of his spirit, that if he breathed a prayer for me, it was a prayer of comfortable love, foreseeing, in its intensity, its own effect.
I feel, I know, how utterly incommensurate my grief to its