A Day with Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Byron May Clarissa Gillington

      "Jealousy!" repeated Coleridge, rolling his fine eyes wildly. It was a word which had little or no meaning for him. "Jealousy of whom? about whom? – I do not understand you in the least."

      "Why, your fine friends the Wordsworths, of course," Poole told him. "Here have you been gadding about with them the whole of this last twelve-month, trapesing the hills night and day and leaving your pupil, forsooth, to sit at home with Madam and Master Baby, a-twiddling his thumbs and scribbling schoolboy verse. You have taken precious little notice of him, – and as for your friends, they think him but a poor thing not worth mention. I say he is a lad of spirit to kick up his heels at last."