← catalogue

Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey

by Joseph Cottle · English · Gutenberg #8580 · 889,184 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey

Author: Joseph Cottle


        
Release date: July 1, 2005 [eBook #8580]
                Most recently updated: December 26, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8580

Credits: Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Thomas Berger, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REMINISCENCES OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE AND ROBERT SOUTHEY ***




Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Thomas Berger, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.




[Illustration: Portrait.]

       *       *       *       *       *

REMINISCENCES OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE AND ROBERT SOUTHEY


by JOSEPH COTTLE

       *       *       *       *       *

INTRODUCTION.


It is with a solemnized feeling that I enter on these Reminiscences.
Except one, I have survived all the associates of my earlier days. The
young, with a long life in perspective, (if any life can be called long,
in so brief an existence) are unable to realize the impressions of a man,
nearer eighty than seventy, when the shadows of evening are gathering
around, and, in a retrospective glance, the whole field of past vision
appears, in all its complexities, like the indistinct tumults of a dream.
The acute reasoner--the fiery politician--the eager polemic--the emulous
aspirant after fame; and many such have I known, where are they? and how
mournful, if any one of them should be found, at last, to have directed
his solicitudes, alone, to material objects;--should have neglected to
cultivate his own little plot of earth, more valuable than mines! and
have sown no seeds for eternity. It is not a light motive which could
have prompted me, when this world of "Eye and Ear" is fast receding,
while grander scenes are opening, and so near! to call up almost
long-forgotten associations, and to dwell on the stirring, by-gone
occurrences that tend, in some measure, to interfere with that calm which
is most desirable, and best accords with the feelings of one who holds
life by such slender ties. Yet through the goodness of the Almighty,
being at the present moment exempt from many of the common infirmities of
age, I am willing, as a last act, to make some sacrifice to obtain the
good which I hope this recurrence to the past is calculated to produce.

With respect to Mr. Coleridge, it would be easy and pleasant to sail with
the stream; to admire his eloquence; to extol his genius; and to forget
his failings; but where is the utility, arising out of this homage paid
to naked talent? If the attention of posterity rested here, where were
the lessons of wisdom to be learnt from his example? His path through the
world was marked by strong outlines, and instruction is to be derived
from every feature of his mind, and every portion of his eventful and
chequered life. In all the aspects of his character, he was probably the
most singular man that has appeared in this country during the preceding
century, and the leading incidents of whose life ought to stand fairly on
record. The facts which I have stated are undeniable, the most important
being substantiated by his own letters; but higher objects were intended
by this narrative than merely to elucidate a character, (however
remarkable), in all its vicissitudes and eccentricities. Rising above
idle curiosity, or the desire of furnishing aliment for the
sentimental;--excitement the object, and the moral tendency disregarded,
these pages take a wider range, and are designed for the good of many,
where if there be much to pain the reader, he should moderate his
regrets, by looking through the intermediate to the end.

There is scarcely an individual, whose life, if justly delineated, would
not present much whence others might derive instruction. If this be
applicable to the multitude, how much more essentially true is it, in
reference to the ethereal spirits, endowed by the Supreme with a lavish
portion of intellectual strength, as well as with proportionate
capacities for doing good? How serious therefore is the obligation to
fidelity, when the portraiture of a man is to be presented, like Samuel
Taylor Coleridge, in whom such diversified and contrary qualities
alternately predominated! Yet all the advantages to be derived from him,
and similar instructors of mankind, must result from a faithful
exhibition of the broad features of their earthly conduct and character,
so that they might stand out as landmarks, and pharos-towers, to guide,
or warn, or encourage, all succeeding voyagers on the Ocean of Life.

In preparing the following work, I should gladly have withheld that one
letter of Mr. Coleridge to Mr. Wade, had not the obligation to make it
public been imperative. But concealment would have been injustice to the
living, and treachery to the dead. This letter is the solemnizing voice
of conscience. Can any reflecting mind, deliberately desire the
suppression of this document, in which Mr. Coleridge, for the good of
others, generously forgets its bearing on himself, and makes a full and
voluntary confession of the sins he had committed against "himself, his
friends, his children, and his God?" In the agony of remorse, at the
retrospection, he thus required that this his confession should hereafter
be given to the public. "AFTER MY DEATH, I EARNESTLY ENTREAT, THAT A FULL
AND UNQUALIFIED NARRATIVE OF MY WRETCHEDNESS, AND ITS GUILTY CAUSE, MAY
BE MADE PUBLIC, THAT AT LEAST SOME LITTLE GOOD MAY BE EFFECTED BY THE
DIREFUL EXAMPLE." This is the most redeeming letter Samuel Taylor
Coleridge ever penned. A callous heart could not have written it. A
Christian, awaking from his temporary lethargy, might. While it
powerfully propitiates the reader, it almost converts condemnation into
compassion.

No considerate friend, it might be thought, would have desired the
suppression of this letter, but rather its most extended circulation; and
that, among other cogent reasons, from the immense moral lesson, enforced
by it, in perpetuity, on all consumers of opium; in which they will
behold, as well as in some of the other letters, the "tremendous
consequences," (to use Mr. Coleridge's own expressions) of such
practices, exemplified in his own person; and to which terrible effects,
he himself so often, and so impressively refers. It was doubtless a deep
conviction of the beneficial tendencies involved in the publication, that
prompted Mr. C. to direct publicity to be given to this remarkable
letter, after his decease.

The incidents connected with the lives of Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Southey,
are so intimately blended, from relationship, association, and kindred
pursuits, that the biography of one, to a considerable extent, involves
that of the other. The following narrative, however, professes to be
annals of, rather than a circumstantial account of these two remarkable
men.

Some persons may be predisposed to misconstrue the motive for giving
publicity to the following letter, but others, it is hoped, will admit
that the sole object has been, not to draw the reader's attention to the
writer, but to confer _credit on Southey_. Many are the individuals who
would have assisted, to a greater extent than myself, two young men of
decided genius, like Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Robert Southey, who
required, at the commencement of their literary career, encouragement,
and a little assistance. Few however, would have exhibited the
magnanimity which Southey displayed, in seasons of improved
circumstances, by referring to slender acts of kindness, long past, and
scarcely remembered but by himself. Few are the men, who, after having
surmounted their difficulties by honourable exertion, would have referred
to past seasons of perplexity, and have desired--that occurrences "might
be seen hereafter," which little minds would sedulously have concealed,
as discredit, rather than as conferring conspicuous honour.

Ten years after the incidents had occurred to which the following letter
refers, in writing to Mr. Southey, among other subjects, I casually
expressed a regret, that when I quitted the business of a bookseller, I
had not returned him the copy-rights of his "Joan of Arc;" of his two
volumes of Poems; and of his letters from Spain and Portugal. The
following was his reply.

    "Wednesday evening, Greta Hall, April 28, 1808.

    My dear Cottle,

    ... What you say of my copy-rights affects me very much. Dear Cottle,
    set your heart at rest on that subject. It ought to be at rest. They
    were yours; fairly bought, and fairly sold. You bought them on the
    chance of their success, what no London bookseller would have done;
    and had they not been bought, they could not have been published at
    all. Nay, if you had not published 'Joan of Arc,' the poem never
    would have existed, nor should I, in all probability, ever have
    obtained that reputation which is the capital on which I subsist, nor
    that power which enables me to support it.

    But this is not all. Do you suppose, Cottle, that I have forgotten
    those true and most essential acts of friendship which you showed me
    when I stood most in need of them? Your house was my house when I had
    no other. The very money with which I bought my wedding ring, and
    paid my marriage fees, was supplied by you. It was with your sisters
    that I left my Edith, during my six months' absence; and for the six
    months after my return, it was from you that I received, week by
    week, the little on which we lived, till I was enabled to live by
    other means. It is not the settling of our cash account that can
    cancel obligations like these. You are in the habit of preserving
    your letters, and if you were not, _I would entreat you to preserve
    this, that it might be seen hereafter_. Sure I am, that there never
    was a more generous, nor a kinder heart than yours, and you will
    believe me when I add, that there does not live that man upon earth,
    whom I remember with more gratitude, and more affection. My heart
    throbs, and my eyes burn with these recollections. Good night my dear
    old friend and benefactor.

    Robert Southey."

Gratitude is a plant indigenous to Heaven. Specimens are rarely found on
Earth. This is one.

Mr. Southey, on previous occasions had advised me to write my
"Recollections of Persons and Things," and it having been understood that
I was about to prepare a memoir of Mr. Coleridge, (1836) Mr. S. renewed
his solicitation, as will appear by the following extracts.

    "Keswick, April 14, 1836.

    My dear Cottle,

    There is I hope, time enough for you to make a very interesting book
    of your own 'Recollections,' a book which will be of no little value
    to the history of our native city, and the literature of our times.
    Your prose has a natural ease which no study could acquire. I am very
    confident you could make as delightful a book on this subject as
    Isaac Walton has in his way. If you are drawing up your
    'Recollections of Coleridge,' you are most welcome to insert anything
    of mine which you may think proper. To be employed in such a work,
    with the principles and frame of mind wherewith you would engage in
    it, is to be instructing and admonishing your fellow-creatures; it is
    employing your talents, and keeping up that habitual preparation for
    the enduring inheritance in which the greater part of your life has
    been spent. Men like us, who write in sincerity, and with the desire
    of teaching others so to think, and to feel, as may be best for
    themselves and the community, are labouring as much in their vocation
    as if they were composing sermons, or delivering them from the
    pulpit....

    God bless you, my dear old friend. Always yours most affectionately,

    Robert Southey."

On another occasion Mr. S. thus wrote.

    "My dear Cottle,

    I both wish and advise you to draw up your '_Reminiscences_', I
    advise you for your own sake, as a valuable memorial, and wish it for
    my own, that that part of my life might be faithfully reported by the
    person who knows it best...." "You have enough to tell which is
    harmless, as well as interesting, and not harmless only, but
    instructive, and that ought to be told, _and which only you can
    tell._"

It may be proper to notice that the title here adopted, of
"REMINISCENCES" is to be understood as a general, rather than as a
strictly applicable phrase, since the present miscellaneous work is
founded on letters, and various memoranda, that for the most part, have
lain in a dormant state for many years, and which were preserved as
mementos of past scenes, personally interesting, but without, in the
first instance, the least reference to ultimate publication.

I cannot withhold a final remark, with which my own mind is greatly
affected; from revolving on a most unexpected, as it is a singular
fact,--that these brief memorials of Mr. Coleridge, and Mr. Southey,
should be written by the _same individual_ who, more than _half a
century_ before, contributed his humble efforts to assist, and encourage
them, in their first entrance on a literary life. The whole of the events
thus recorded, appear through the dim vista of memory, already with the
scenes before the flood! while all the busy, the aspiring, and the
intellectual spirits here noticed, and once so well known, have been
hurried off our mortal stage!--Robert Lovell!--George Burnet!--Charles
Lloyd!--George Catcott!--Dr. Beddoes!--Charles Danvers!--Amos
Cottle!--William Gilbert!--John Morgan!--Ann Yearsley!--Sir H.
Davy!--Hannah More!--Robert Hall!--Samuel Taylor Coleridge!--Charles
Lamb!--Thomas Poole!--Josiah Wade!--Robert Southey!--and John
Foster!--confirming, with fresh emphasis,

  "What shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue!"

Bristol, April 20, 1847.

J. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

CONTENTS.

    Pantisocracy and Robert Lovell

    Mr. Southey and Mr. Burnet arrive in Bristol

    Mr. Coleridge arrives in Bristol

    Fears for the Pantisocritans dissipated

    A London bookseller offers Mr. Coleridge six guineas for the
    copyright of his Poems

    Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Southey each sells his 1st volume of Poems, for
    thirty guineas

    Mr. Southey sells his Joan of Arc for fifty guineas

    Mr. Coleridge begins his lectures in Bristol

    Specimen of Mr. C.'s lecture

    Liberty's letter to Famine

    Mr. C.'s political lectures, &c.

    Death of Robert Lovell

    Mr. Southey's course of historical lectures

    Mr. Coleridge disappoints his audience

    Excursion to Tintern Abbey

    Dissension between Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Southey

    Incidents connected with Mr. Coleridge's volume of Poems

    Mr. Coleridge married to Miss Sarah Fricker

    Household articles required

    Notices of Wm. Gilbert, Ann Yearsley, H. More, and Robert Hall

    Mr. Coleridge removes, first to Bristol and then to Stowey

    --- --------- again to Bristol

    --- --------- woeful letter

    Mr. Coleridge's Poems now published

    --- --------- projects his "Watchman"

    --- --------- seven letters, while on his journey to collect
    subscribers to the "Watchman"

    --- --------- inaugural sermon at Bath

    Mr. Lloyd domesticates with Mr. Coleridge

    Mr. Coleridge's melancholy letter

    Mr. Coleridge's views of Epic Poetry

    Quarrel between Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Southey. Reconciled

    Mr. Coleridge's letter to Miss Cruikshanks

    --- -------- diagram of the second bottle

    --- -------- Theological letter

    Mr. Coleridge prepares for a second edition of his Poems

    Mr. Coleridge's letter to George Catcott

    --- -------- on hexameters, &c.

    --- -------- Foster-mother's tale (extract)

    --- -------- ludicrous interview with a country woman

    --- -------- Poem relating to Burns

    --- -------- character of Mr. Wordsworth

    Herbert Croft and Chatterton (Note)

    Coleridge's character of Thelwall

    Letters from Charles Lamb

    Mr. Coleridge's lines to Joseph Cottle

    Sara's lines to the same

    Three Sonnets, by Nehemiah Higginbotham

    Coleridge, Lloyd, and Lamb, quarrel

    Lamb's sarcastic Theses to Mr. Coleridge

    Coleridge goes to Shrewsbury on probation

    Mr. Coleridge receives an annuity of £150 from the Messrs. Thomas and
    Josiah Wedgewood

    Letters from Mr. Wordsworth,--Lyrical Ballads

    Mr. Wordsworth caballed against

    Disasters attending a dinner with Mr. Wordsworth

    Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Wordsworth depart for Germany

    Mr. Coleridge's character of Mr. Southey

    Mr. Southey marries Miss Edith Fricker

    Three letters of Mr. Southey, from Falmouth and Portugal

    Sundry letters from Mr. Southey to Joseph Cottle

    George Dyer, and a ludicrous incident

    Mr. Southey's rhyming letter from Lisbon

    Mr. Churchey, and incidents concerning him

    Mr. Southey in danger from an enraged author

    Mr. Southey and Wat Tyler

    Mr. Foster explains how Wat Tyler came to be published

    J. Morgan's ruined circumstances. Mr. S.'s proposal for a
    subscription

    List of Mr. Southey's contributions to the Quarterly

    Discovery of first edition of Pilgrim's Progress

    Mr. Coleridge's letter on travelling in Germany

    Slow sale at first of Mr. Wordsworth's Lyrical Ballads

    Mr. Humphrey Davy arrives in Bristol

    Dr. Beddoe and the Pneumatic Institution

    Mr. Davy's dangerous experiments with the gases

    Mr. Coleridge's and Mr. Davy's anecdotes

    Mr. Coleridge relates his military adventures

    Mr. Coleridge's Epigrams from the German

    Character of Coleridge, by Professor Wilson, Mr. Sergeant Talfourd,
    Dr. Dibdin, Mr. Justice Coleridge, Rev. Archdeacon Hare, Quarterly
    Review, Rev. C. V. Le Grice

    Mr. Coleridge's letter to Mr. Cottle on his return from Malta, 1807

    Rev. J. Foster's letter concerning Coleridge

    Mr. Coleridge's singular escape from Italy

    --- ----------- letter on the Trinity

    --- ----------- views of Unitarianism

    --- ----------- character of Sir H. Davy

    Sir H. Davy's rebuke of an Infidel

    Mr. Coleridge's character of Holcroft, the Atheist

    Rev. J. Foster's letter respecting his Essay on Doddridge

    Mr. Coleridge's letter to Mr. G. Fricker

    Mr. De Quincey presents Mr. Coleridge with £300

    Mr. Coleridge's letter on Narrative Poems

    Reasons why Mr. Coleridge's opium habits should not be concealed

    Mr. Coleridge ill in Bath

    Mr. Coleridge engages to Lecture in Bristol, 1814. Disappoints his
    Audience, by an excursion into North Wales

    Mr. Coleridge's lines for a transparency at the capture of Buonaparte

    Mr. Coleridge's approval of Infant Schools

    Mr. Cottle's letter of remonstrance respecting opium

    Mr. Coleridge's distressing letters in reply

    Mr. Coleridge wishes to be placed in an Asylum

    Mr. Southey's letters respecting Mr. Coleridge

    Mr. Coleridge's contrivance to cheat the doctor

    Mr. Coleridge leaves Bristol for Calne

    Letters of Mr. Southey respecting Mr. Coleridge

    Letter of Mr. Coleridge from Calne

    Mr. Coleridge's letter, requiring the truth to be told of his opium
    habits, after his death

    Mr. Coleridge's letter to his god-son, Kinnaird

    Letters from Mr. Southey concerning Mr. Allsop, and the scheme of
    Pantisocracy, and Mr. Coleridge

    Letters from Mr. Southey concerning "Early Recollections"

    Letter from Mr. Southey: his Western journey

    Letter from Mr. Southey. Melancholy foreboding

    Mr. Southey's mental malady

    Letter from Mr. Foster, relating to Mr. Southey

    Mr. Cottle's letter to Mr. Foster, respecting Mr. Southey

    Sixteen letters from Mr. Coleridge to Thomas and Josiah Wedgewood,
    Esqs.

    List of works promised by Mr. Coleridge, but not written

    Mr. Coleridge sound in health, in 1800

    --- --------- his health undermined by opium soon after

    Dr. Carlyon, relating to Mr. Coleridge (Note)

    Extracts from Mr. Poole's letters, respecting Mr. Coleridge

    Dr. Adam's letter to Mr. Gillman, respecting Mr. Coleridge

    Mr. Coleridge domesticates with Mr. Gillman

    Letter of Mr. Foster, respecting Mr. Coleridge

    Prayer of Mr. Coleridge, 1831

    Mr. Coleridge's Epitaph on himself

    Mr. Coleridge's monument

APPENDIX.

    Character of John Henderson

    Controversy of Rowley and Chatterton

    The Weary Pilgrim, a Poem

       *       *       *       *       *

REMINISCENCES.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ten years ago I published "Recollections of S. T. Coleridge." This work I
have revised, and embodied in the present "Reminiscences of S. T.
Coleridge, and Robert Southey." My views and motives have been explained
in the Introduction.

If some Readers should consider that there are occasional documents
introduced into the following work, too unimportant and derogatory to
legitimate biography, I would observe, that it was designed that nothing
should be admitted which was not characteristic of the individual; and
that which illustrates _character_ in a man of genius, cannot well be
esteemed trifling and deserving of rejection.--In preparing those
Reminiscences, some effort has been required. I have endeavoured to
forget the intervening space of forty or fifty years, and, as far as it
was practicable, to enter on the scenes and circumstances described with
all the feelings coincident with that distant period. My primary design
has been to elucidate the incidents referring to the early lives of the
late Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Southey: yet I purposed, in addition, to
introduce brief notices of some other remarkable characters, known in
Bristol at this time.

To account for my introduction to all the persons subsequently noticed,
it is necessary to apprise the Reader that I was a bookseller in Bristol
from the year 1791 to 1798; from the age of 21 to 28: and having imbibed
from my tutor and friend, the late John Henderson, (one of the most
extraordinary of men) some little taste for literature, I found myself,
during that period, generally surrounded by men of cultivated minds.[1]
With these preliminary remarks I shall commence the narrative.

At the close of the year 1794, a clever young man, of the Society of
Friends, of the name of Robert Lovell, who had married a Miss Fricker,
informed me that a few friends of his from Oxford and Cambridge, with
himself, were about to sail to America, and, on the banks of the
Susquehannah, to form a Social Colony, in which there was to be a
community of property, and where all that was selfish was to be
proscribed. None, he said, were to be admitted into their number, but
tried and incorruptible characters; and he felt quite assured that he and
his friends would be able to realize a state of society free from the
evils and turmoils that then agitated the world, and to present an
example of the eminence to which men might arrive under the unrestrained
influence of sound principles. He now paid me the compliment of saying
that he would be happy to include _me_ in this select assemblage who,
under a state which he called PANTISOCRACY, were, he hoped, to regenerate
the whole complexion of society; and that, not by establishing formal
laws, but by excluding all the little deteriorating passions; injustice,
"wrath, anger, clamour, and evil speaking," and thereby setting an
example of "Human Perfectibility."

Young as I was, I suspected there was an old and intractable leaven in
human nature that would effectually frustrate these airy schemes of
happiness, which had been projected in every age, and always with the
same result. At first the disclosure so confounded my understanding, that
I almost fancied myself transported to some new state of things, while
images of patriarchal and pristine felicity stood thick around, decked in
the rain-bow's colours. A moment's reflection, however, dissolved the
unsubstantial vision, when I asked him a few plain questions.

"How do you go?" said I. My young and ardent friend instantly replied,
"We freight a ship, carrying out with us ploughs, and other implements of
husbandry." The thought occurred to me, that it might be more economical
to purchase such articles in America; but not too much to discourage the
enthusiastic aspirant after happiness, I forebore all reference to the
accumulation of difficulties to be surmounted, and merely inquired who
were to compose his company? He said that only four had as yet absolutely
engaged in the enterprise; Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from Cambridge; (in
whom I understood the plan to have originated;) Robert Southey and George
Burnet, from Oxford, and himself. "Well," I replied, "when do you set
sail?" He answered, "Very shortly. I soon expect my friends from the
Universities, when all the preliminaries will be adjusted, and we shall
joyfully cross the blue waves of the Atlantic." "But," said I "to freight
a ship, and sail out in the high style of gentlemen agriculturists, will
require funds. How do you manage this?" "We all contribute what we can,"
said he, "and I shall introduce all my dear friends to you, immediately
on their arrival in Bristol."

Robert Lovell (though inexperienced, and constitutionally sanguine) was a
good specimen of the open frankness which characterizes the well-informed
members of the Society of Friends; and he excited in me an additional
interest, from a warmth of feeling, and an extent of reading, above even
the ordinary standard of the estimable class to which he belonged. He now
read me some of the MS. poems of his two unknown friends, which at once
established their genius in my estimation.[2]

My leisure having been devoted for many years to reading and composition,
and having a small volume of Poems at that time in the press, I
anticipated great pleasure from an introduction to two poets, who
superadded to talents of a high order, all the advantages arising from
learning, and a consequent familiarity with the best models of antiquity.
Independently of which, they excited an interest, and awakened a peculiar
solicitude, from their being about so soon to leave their father land,
and to depart permanently for a foreign shore.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: Portrait.]

       *       *       *       *       *

One morning shortly after, Robert Lovell called on me, and introduced
Robert Southey. Never will the impression be effaced, produced on me by
this young man. Tall, dignified, possessing great suavity of manners; an
eye piercing, with a countenance full of genius, kindliness, and
intelligence, I gave him at once the right hand of fellowship, and to the
moment of his decease, that cordiality was never withdrawn. I had read so
much of poetry, and sympathized so much with poets in all their
eccentricities and vicissitudes, that, to see before me the realization
of a character, which in the abstract most absorbed my regards, gave me a
degree of satisfaction which it would be difficult to express.

I must now make a brief reference to George Burnet, who, in this epidemic
delusion, had given his sanction to, and embarked all his prospects in
life on this Pantisocratical scheme. He was a young man, about the age of
twenty; the son of a respectable Somersetshire farmer, who had bestowed
on him his portion, by giving him an University education as an
introduction to the Church, into which he would probably have entered but
for this his transatlantic pursuit of happiness. His talents were not
conspicuous, but his manners were unpresuming, and honesty was depicted
on his countenance. He possessed also that habitual good temper, and
those accommodating manners, which would prove a desirable accession in
any society; and it soon appeared, without indicating any disrespect,
that his was a subordinate part to act in the new drama, and not the less
valuable for its wanting splendour.

After some considerable delay, it was at length announced, that on the
coming morning Samuel Taylor Coleridge would arrive in Bristol, as the
nearest and most convenient port; and where he was to reside but a short
time before the favouring gales were to waft him and his friends across
the Atlantic. Robert Lovell at length introduced Mr. C. I instantly
descried his intellectual character; exhibiting as he did, an eye, a
brow, and a forehead, indicative of commanding genius. Interviews
succeeded, and these increased the impression of respect. Each of my new
friends read me his productions. Each accepted my invitations, and gave
me those repeated proofs of good opinion, ripening fast into esteem, that
I could not be insensible to the kindness of their manners, which, it may
truly be affirmed, infused into my heart a brotherly feeling, that more
than identified their interests with my own.

I introduced them to several intelligent friends, and their own merits
soon augmented the number, so that their acquaintance became
progressively extended, and their society coveted. Bristol was now found
a very pleasant residence; and though the ship was not engaged, nor the
least preparation made for so long a voyage, still the delights and
wide-spreading advantages of Pantisocracy formed one of their everlasting
themes of conversation; and, considering the barrenness of the subject,
it was in no common degree amusing, to hear these young enthusiasts repel
every objection to the practicability of their scheme, and magnify the
condition to which it was to introduce them; where thorns and briars
were, no doubt, to be expelled, and their couch to be strewed with down
and roses.

It will excite merely an innocent smile in the reader at the extravagance
of a youthful and ardent mind, when he learns that Robert Lovell stated
with great seriousness, that, after the minutest calculation and inquiry
among practical men, the demand on their labour would not exceed two
hours a day; that is, for the production of absolute necessaries. The
leisure still remaining, might be devoted, in convenient fractions, to
the extension of their domain, by prostrating the sturdy trees of the
forest, where "lop and top," without cost, would supply their cheerful
winter fire; and the trunks, when cut into planks, without any other
expense than their own pleasant labour, would form the sties for their
pigs, and the linnies for their cattle, and the barns for their produce;
reserving their choicest timbers for their own comfortable log-dwellings.
But after every claim that might be made on their manual labour had been
discharged, a large portion of time, would still remain for their own
individual pursuits, so that they might read, converse, and even write
books.

Cowper, in an unpublished letter now before me, says, "I know well that
publication is necessary to give an edge to the poetic turn, and that
what we produce in the closet, is never a vigorous birth, if we intend
that it should die there. For my own part I could no more amuse myself
with writing verse, if I did not print it when written, than with the
study of tactics, for which I can never have any real occasion." But our
young and ardent friends seemed to entertain a strong impression that the
mere pleasure of writing, that is, like virtue, writing for its own sake,
was all the mental and rational gratification wise men could desire.
Views and times alter, and these richly-endowed young men, in after life,
were prompt, and amongst the first to confess the fallacious schemes of
their youth; but at this time the pleasurable alone occupied their field
of vision, and confidence never stood more unencumbered with doubt.

If any difficulties were now started, and many such there were, a
profusion of words demonstrated the reasonableness of the whole design;
impressing all who heard, with the conviction that the citadel was too
strong for assault. The Mercury at these times was generally Mr.
Coleridge, who, as has been stated, ingeniously parried every adverse
argument, and after silencing his hardy disputants, announced to them
that he was about to write and publish a quarto volume in defence of
Pantisocracy, in which a variety of arguments would be advanced in
defence of his system, too subtle and recondite to comport with
conversation. It would then, he said, become manifest that he was not a
projector raw from his cloister, but a cool calculating reasoner, whose
efforts and example would secure to him and his friends the permanent
gratitude of mankind.

From the sentiments thus entertained, I shall represent Mr. Coleridge, in
the section of his days which devolves on me to exhibit, just as he was,
and that with a firm belief that by so doing, without injuring his
legitimate reputation, I shall confer an essential benefit on those to
come, who will behold in Mr. C. much to admire and imitate; and certainly
some things to regret. For it should be remembered, Mr. Coleridge, from
universal admission, possessed some of the highest mental endowments, and
many pertaining to the heart; but if a man's life be valuable, not for
the incense it consumes, but for the instruction it affords, to state
even defects, (in one like Mr. C. who can so well afford deduction
without serious loss) becomes in his biographer, not optional, but a
serious obligation.

It is proper additionally to remark, that some apology or propitiation
may be necessary toward those who regard every approximation to poverty,
not as a misfortune, but a crime. Pecuniary difficulties, especially such
as occur in early life, and not ascribable to bad conduct, reflect no
discredit on men of genius. Many of them, subsequently, surmounted their
first embarrassments by meritorious exertion; and some of our first men
(like travellers, after having successfully passed through regions of
privation and peril) delight even to recall their former discouragements,
and, without the shame that luxuriates alone in little minds,
undisguisedly to tell of seasons, indelible in their memories, when, in
the prostration of hope, the wide world appeared one desolate waste! but
they ultimately found, that these seasons of darkness, (however
tenaciously retained by memory) in better times often administer a new
and refreshing zest to present enjoyment. Despair, therefore ill becomes
one who has follies to bewail, and a God to trust in. Johnson and
Goldsmith, with numerous others, at some seasons were plunged deep in the
waters of adversity, but halcyon days awaited them: and even those sons
of merit and misfortune whose pecuniary troubles were more permanent, in
the dimness of retrospection, only stand out invested in softer hues.

Cervantes is not the less read, because the acclamations of praise were
heard by him in his abode of penury. Butler, Otway, Collins, Chatterton,
and Burns, and men like them, instead of suffering in public estimation
from the difficulties they encountered, absolutely challenge in every
generous mind an excess of interest from the very circumstances that
darkened the complexion of their earthly prospects.

In corroboration of this remark, in our own day, the son of Crabbe, who
must have cherished the deepest solicitude for his father's reputation,
has laid bare to general inspection his parent's early perplexities, by
which impartial disclosures we behold the individual in his deepest
depressions; worth enriched by trial, and greatness, by a refining
process, struggling successfully with adversity. Does the example of such
a man nobly bearing up against the pressures that surrounded him inflict
obduracy on our hearts? On the contrary, while we feelingly sympathize
with the poet, and deplore the tardy hand of deliverance, we pause only
to transfer a reflex portion of praise to him whose magnanimous conduct
has furnished so ample a scope for the tenderest emotions of our nature.
This reflection will induce me not to withhold from false delicacy,
occurrences, the disclosure of which none but the inconsiderate will
condemn; and by which all the features of Mr. Coleridge's character will
be exhibited to the inspection of the inquisitive and philosophical mind.

I proceed, therefore, to state that the solicitude I felt lest these
young and ardent geniuses should in a disastrous hour, and in their
mistaken apprehensions, commit themselves in this their desperate
undertaking, was happily dissipated by Mr. Coleridge applying for the
loan of a little cash,--to pay the voyager's freight? or passage?
No,--LODGINGS. They all lodged, at this time, at No. 48, College-Street.
Never did I lend money with such unmingled pleasure, for now I ceased to
be haunted day and night with the spectre of the ship! the ship! which
was to effect such incalculable mischief! The form of the request was the
following:


My dear Sir,

Can you conveniently lend me five pounds, as we want a little more than
four pounds to make up our lodging bill, which is indeed much higher than
we expected; seven weeks, and Burnet's lodging for twelve weeks,
amounting to eleven pounds.

Yours, affectionately,

S. T. COLERIDGE.


Till this time, not knowing what the resources of my young friends were,
I could not wholly divest myself of fear; but now an effectual barrier
manifestly interposed to save them from destruction. And though their
romantic plan might linger in their minds, it was impossible not to be
assured that their strong good sense would eventually dissipate their
delusions.

Finding now that there was a deficiency in that material, deemed of the
first consequence in all civilized states, and remembering Burgh's
feeling lamentation over the improvidence, or rather the indifference
with which many men of genius regard the low thoughts that are merely of
a pecuniary nature, I began to revolve on the means by which the two
poets might advantageously apply their talents.

Soon after, finding Mr. Coleridge in rather a desponding mood, I urged
him to keep up his spirits, and recommended him to publish a volume of
his poems. "Oh," he replied, "that is a useless expedient." He continued:
"I offered a volume of my poems to different booksellers in London, who
would not even look at them! The reply being, 'Sir, the article will not
do.' At length, one, more accommodating than the rest, condescended to
receive my MS. poems, and, after a deliberate inspection, offered me for
the copy-right, six guineas, which sum, poor as I was, I refused to
accept." "Well," said I, "to encourage you, I will give you twenty
guineas." It was very pleasant to observe the joy that instantly diffused
itself over his countenance. "Nay," I continued, "others publish for
themselves, I will chiefly remember you. Instead of giving you twenty
guineas, I will extend it to thirty, and without waiting for the
completion of the work, to make you easy you may have the money as your
occasions require." The silence and the grasped hand, showed that at that
moment one person was happy.

Every incident connected with the lives of literary men, especially at
the commencement of their career, always excites interest. I have been,
therefore, the more particular in detailing this circumstance, (except
for its connexion, of no consequence) and proceed further to state, that
now, meeting Mr. Southey, I said to him, "I have engaged to give Mr.
Coleridge thirty guineas for a volume of his poems; you have poems equal
to a volume, and if you approve of it, I will give you the same." He
cordially thanked me, and instantly acceded to my proposal.

I then said to him, "you have read me several books of your 'Joan of Arc'
which Poem I perceive has great merit. If it meet with your concurrence,
I will give you fifty guineas for this work, and publish it in quarto,
when I will give you, in addition, fifty copies to dispose of amongst
your friends." Without a moment's hesitation, to this proposal also he
acceded.

I could say much of Mr. Southey at this time; of his constitutional
cheerfulness; of the polish of his manners; of his dignified, and at the
same time, of his unassuming deportment; as well as of the general
respect which his talents, conduct, and conversation excited.[3] But
before reference be made to more serious publications, some notice will
be taken of other objects of pursuit.

Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Southey, now determined by their best efforts, in
other ways than those detailed, to raise money for their projected
expedition. They resolved therefore, to give the citizens of Bristol
individual lectures, or series of lectures, on different subjects. Mr.
Coleridge chose Political and Moral subjects;[4] Mr. Southey chose
History. On examining my old papers, I find most of the notices or
prospectuses relating to these subjects.

Mr. Coleridge's first two lectures were delivered in the Corn Market in
Wine-Street.

Mr. Coleridge's next two lectures were delivered the latter end of
February, 1795, and afterwards were thrown into a small pamphlet, printed
under the title of _"Conciones ad Populum_, or Addresses to the people."
After this he consolidated two other of his lectures, and published them
under the title of "The Plot Discovered." Two detached lectures were
given at the Corn Market, and one at a room in Castle Green. All these
lectures were anti-Pitt-ite.

The next lecture given by Mr. Coleridge was in reprobation of the Slave
Trade. The following was the prospectus:--

    "To-morrow evening, June 16th, 1795, S. T. Coleridge, of Jesus
    College, Cambridge, will deliver, (by particular desire) a lecture on
    the Slave Trade, and the duties that result from its continuance.

    To begin at eight o'clock in the evening, at the Assembly Coffee
    House, on the Quay. Admission, One shilling."

His next lecture was (it is believed) on the Hair Powder Tax, in which
his audience were kept in good feeling, by the happy union of wit,
humour, and argument. Mr. C.'s lectures were numerously attended, and
enthusiastically applauded.

It may amuse and gratify the reader, to receive a specimen of a
lecture,[5] descriptive of Mr. C.'s composition and reasoning, delivered
at this time, and by which it will appear that his politics were not of
that inflammable description which would set a world in flames.

    "... But of the propriety and utility of holding up the distant mark
    of attainable perfection, we shall enter more fully toward the close
    of this address. We turn with pleasure to the contemplation of that
    small but glorious band, whom we may truly distinguish by the name of
    thinking and disinterested patriots.[6] These are the men who have
    encouraged the sympathetic passions till they have become
    irresistible habits, and made their duty a necessary part of their
    self-interest, by the long-continued cultivation of that moral taste,
    which derives our most exquisite pleasures from the contemplation of
    possible perfection.

    Accustomed to regard all the affairs of man as a process, they never
    hurry, and they never pause. Theirs is not the twilight of political
    knowledge, which gives us just light enough to place one foot before
    the other: as they advance, the scene still opens upon them, and they
    press right onward, with a vast and varied landscape of existence
    around them. Calmness and energy mark all their actions. Benevolence
    is the silken thread that runs through the pearl-chain of all their
    virtues. The unhappy children of vice and folly, whose tempers are
    adverse to their own happiness, as well as to the happiness of
    others, will at times awaken a natural pang, but he looks forward
    with gladdened heart to that glorious period when justice shall have
    established the universal fraternity of love. These soul-ennobling
    views bestow the virtues which they anticipate. He whose mind is
    habitually impressed with them, soars above the present state of
    humanity, and may be justly said to dwell in the presence of the Most
    High. Regarding every event, as he that ordains it, evil vanishes
    from before him, and he views the eternal form of universal beauty."

At one of his lectures, Mr. Coleridge amused his audience by reciting the
following letter from Liberty to his dear friend Famine; the effect of
which was greatly heightened by Mr. C.'s arch manner of recitation. It
should be understood that there was at this time a great scarcity in the
land.

    Dear Famine,

    You will doubtless be surprised at receiving a petitionary letter
    from a perfect stranger, but, _Fas est vel ab hoste_. All whom I once
    supposed my unalterable friends, I have found unable, or unwilling to
    assist me. I first applied to GRATITUDE, entreating her to whisper
    into the ear of Majesty, that it was I who had placed his forefathers
    on the throne of Great Britain. She told me that she had frequently
    made the attempt, but had as frequently been baffled by FLATTERY:
    and, that I might not doubt the truth of her apology, she led me (as
    the Spirit did the prophet Ezekiel) "to the door of the COURT, and I
    went in and saw--and behold! every form of creeping things." I was
    however somewhat consoled, when I heard that RELIGION was high in
    favour there, and possessed great influence. I myself had been her
    faithful servant, and always found her my best protectress: her
    service being indeed perfect freedom. Accordingly, in full confidence
    of success, I entered her mansion, but, alas! instead of my kind
    mistress, horror-struck, I beheld a painted, patched-up old ----. She
    was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and
    precious stones and pearls, and on her forehead was written
    "MYSTERY." I shrieked, for I knew her to be the dry-nurse of that
    detested Imp, DESPOTISM.

    I next addressed myself to PRUDENCE, and earnestly besought her to
    plead my cause to the Ministers; to urge the distresses of the lower
    orders, and my fears lest, so distressed, they should forget their
    obedience. For the prophet Isaiah had informed me "that it shall come
    to pass, that when the people shall be hungry, they shall fret
    themselves and curse the King." The grave matron heard me, and,
    shaking her head, learnedly replied, "_Quos Deus vult perdere
    dementat._" Again I besought her to speak to the rich men of the
    nation, concerning Ministers, of whom it might soon become illegal
    even to complain--of long and ruinous wars, and whether _they_ must
    not bear the damage. All this quoth PRUDENCE, I have repeatedly
    urged, but a sly imposter named EXPEDIENCE has usurped my name, and
    struck such a panick of property, as hath steeled the hearts of the
    wealthy, and palsied their intellects. Lastly I applied to
    CONSCIENCE. She informed me that she was indeed a perfect
    ventriloquist, and could throw her voice into any place she liked,
    but that she was seldom attended to unless when she spoke out of the
    _pocket_.

    Thus baffled and friendless, I was about to depart, and stood a
    fearful lingerer on the isle which I had so dearly loved--when
    tidings were brought me of your approach. I found myself impelled by
    a power superior to me to build my last hopes on you. Liberty, the
    MOTHER of PLENTY, calls Famine to her aid. O FAMINE, most eloquent
    Goddess! plead thou my cause. I in the mean time, will pray fervently
    that heaven may unstop the ears of her Vicegerent, so that they may
    listen to your _first_ pleadings, while yet your voice is faint and
    distant, and your counsels peaceable.

    "I remain your distressed suppliant,

    LIBERTY.

The following is the prospectus of Mr. Coleridge's series of Political
lectures.

    S. T. Coleridge proposes to give, in Six Lectures, a comparative view
    of the English Rebellion under Charles the First, and the French
    Revolution.

    The subjects of the proposed Lectures are,

    FIRST. The distinguishing marks of the French and English character,
    with their probable causes. The national circumstances precursive
    to--1st, the English Rebellion.--2nd, the French Revolution.

    SECOND. The Liberty of the Press. Literature; its Revolutionary
    powers. Comparison of the English, with the French Political Writers,
    at the time of the several Revolutions. Milton. Sydney.
    Harrington.--Brissot. Sieyes. Mirabeau. Thomas Paine.

    THIRD. The Fanaticism of the first English and French Revolutionists.
    English Sectaries. French Parties. Feuillans. Girondists. Faction of
    Hebert. Jacobins. Moderants. Royalists.

    FOURTH. 1st, Characters of Charles the First, and Louis the
    Sixteenth. 2nd, of Louis the Fourteenth and the present Empress of
    Russia. 3rd, Life and Character of Essex and Fayette.

    FIFTH. Oliver Cromwell, and Robespierre.--Cardinal Mazarine, and
    William Pitt.--Dundas, and Barrere.

    SIXTH. On Revolution in general. Its moral causes, and probable
    effects on the Revolutionary People, and surrounding nations.

    It is intended that the Lectures should be given once a week; on
    Tuesday Evenings, at eight o'clock, at the Assembly Coffee House, on
    the Quay. The First Lecture, on Tuesday, June 23d, 1795. As the
    author wishes to ensure an audience adequate to the expenses of the
    room, he has prepared subscription tickets for the whole course,
    price Six Shillings, which may be had at the Lecture Room, or of Mr.
    Cottle, or Mr. Reed, Booksellers.

Mr. Coleridge's Theological lectures succeeded, of which the following is
the prospectus.

    Six Lectures will be given by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, on Revealed
    Religion, its Corruptions, and its Political Views.

    These Lectures are intended for two classes of men, Christians and
    Infidels; to the former, that they be able to give a reason for the
    hope that is in them; to the latter, that they may not determine
    against Christianity, from arguments applicable to its corruptions
    only.

    The subjects of the FIRST LECTURE, are--The Origin of Evil. The
    Necessity of Revelation deduced from the Nature of man. An
    Examination and Defence of the Mosaic Dispensation.

    SECOND.--The Sects of Philosophy, and the Popular Superstitions of
    the Gentile World, from the earliest times to the Birth of Christ.

    THIRD.--Concerning the Time of the Appearance of Christ. The Internal
    Evidences of Christianity. The External Evidences of Christianity.

    FOURTH.--The External Evidences of Christianity continued. Answers to
    Popular and Philosophical objections.

    FIFTH.--The Corruptions of Christianity, in Doctrines. Political
    Application.

    SIXTH.--The grand Political Views of Christianity--far beyond other
    Religions, and even Sects of Philosophy. The Friend of Civil Freedom.
    The probable state of Society and Governments, if all men were
    Christians.

    Tickets to be had of Mr. Cottle, Bookseller.

Sometimes a single Lecture was given. The following is an Advertisement
of one of them.

    To-morrow Evening, Tuesday, June 16th, 1795, S. T. Coleridge will
    deliver (by particular desire) a Lecture on the Slave Trade, and the
    duties that result from its continuance.

    To begin at 8 o'clock, at the Assembly Coffee House, on the Quay.
    Admittance, One Shilling.

It may be proper to state that all three of my young friends, in that day
of excitement, felt a detestation of the French war then raging, and a
hearty sympathy with the efforts made in France to obtain political
ameliorations. Almost every young and unprejudiced mind participated in
this feeling; and Muir, and Palmer, and Margarot, were regarded as
martyrs in the holy cause of freedom. The successive enormities, however,
perpetrated in France and Switzerland by the French, tended to moderate
their enthusiastic politics, and progressively to produce that effect on
them which extended also to so many of the soberest friends of rational
freedom. Mr. Coleridge's zeal on these questions was by far the most
conspicuous, as will appear by some of his Sonnets, and particularly by
his Poem of "Fire, Famine, and Slaughter;" though written some
considerable time after. When he read this Poem to me, it was with so
much jocularity as to convince me that, without bitterness, it was
designed as a mere joke.

In conformity with my determination to state occurrences, plainly, as
they arose, I must here mention that strange as it may appear in
Pantisocritans, I observed at this time a marked coolness between Mr.
Coleridge and Robert Lovell, so inauspicious in those about to establish
a "Fraternal Colony;" and, in the result, to renovate the whole face of
society! They met without speaking, and consequently appeared as
strangers. I asked Mr. C. what it meant. He replied, "Lovell, who at
first, did all in his power to promote my connexion with Miss Fricker,
now opposes our union." He continued, "I said to him, 'Lovell! you are a
villain!'" "Oh," I replied, "you are quite mistaken. Lovell is an honest
fellow, and is proud in the hope of having you for a brother-in-law. Rely
on it he only wishes you from prudential motives to delay your union." In
a few days I had the happiness of seeing them as sociable as ever.

This is the last time poor Robert Lovell's name will be mentioned in this
work, as living. He went to Salisbury, caught a fever, and, in eagerness
to reach his family, travelled when he ought to have lain by; reached his
home, and died! We attended his funeral, and dropt a tear over his grave!

Mr. Coleridge, though at this time embracing every topic of conversation,
testified a partiality for a few, which might be called stock subjects.
Without noticing his favorite Pantisocracy, (which was an everlasting
theme of the laudatory) he generally contrived, either by direct
amalgamation or digression, to notice in the warmest encomiastic
language, Bishop Berkeley, David Hartley, or Mr. Bowles; whose sonnets he
delighted in reciting. He once told me, that he believed, by his constant
recommendation, he had sold a whole edition of some works; particularly
amongst the fresh-men of Cambridge, to whom, whenever he found access, he
urged the purchase of three works, indispensable to all who wished to
excel in sound reasoning, or a correct taste;--Simpson's Euclid; Hartley
on Man; and Bowles's Poems.

In process of time, however, when reflection had rendered his mind more
mature, he appeared to renounce the fanciful and brain-bewildering system
of Berkeley; whilst he sparingly extolled Hartley; and was almost silent
respecting Mr. Bowles. I noticed a marked change in his commendation of
Mr. B. from the time he paid that man of genius a visit. Whether their
canons of criticisms were different, or that the personal enthusiasm was
not mutual; or whether there was a diversity in political views; whatever
the cause was, an altered feeling toward that gentleman was manifested
after his visit, not so much expressed by words, as by his subdued tone
of applause.

The reflux of the tide had not yet commenced, and Pantisocracy was still
Mr. Coleridge's favourite theme of discourse, and the banks of the
Susquehannah the only refuge for permanent repose. It will excite great
surprise in the reader to understand that Mr. C.'s cooler friends could
not ascertain that he had received any specific information respecting
this notable river. "It was a grand river;" but there were many other
grand and noble rivers in America; (the Land of Rivers!) and the
preference given to the Susquehannah, seemed almost to arise solely from
its imposing name, which, if not classical, was at least poetical; and it
probably by mere accident became the centre of all his pleasurable
associations. Had this same river been called the Miramichi or the
Irrawaddy, it would have been despoiled of half its charms, and have sunk
down into a vulgar stream, the atmosphere of which might have suited well
enough Russian boors, but which would have been pestiferous to men of
letters.

The strong hold which the Susquehannah had taken on Mr. Coleridge's
imagination may be estimated by the following lines, in his Monody on
Chatterton.

  "O, Chatterton! that thou wert yet alive;
    Sure thou would'st spread the canvass to the gale,
  And love with us the tinkling team to drive
    O'er peaceful freedom's UNDIVIDED dale;
  And we at sober eve would round thee throng,
  Hanging enraptured on thy stately song!
  And greet with smiles the young-eyed POSEY
  All deftly masked, as hoar ANTIQUITY.
  Alas, vain phantasies! the fleeting brood
  Of woe self-solaced in her dreamy mood!
  Yet I will love to follow the sweet dream,
  Where Susquehannah pours his untamed stream,
  And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side
  Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tide;
  And I will build a cenotaph to thee,
  Sweet harper of time-shrouded minstrelsy!
  And there soothed sadly by the dirgeful wind,
  Muse on the sore ills I had left behind."

In another poem which appeared only in the first edition, a reference is
again made to the American "undivided dell," as follows:

  TO W. J. H.

  While playing on his flute.

  Hush! ye clamorous cares! be mute.
    Again, dear Harmonist! again,
  Through the hollow of thy flute,
    Breathe that passion-warbled strain:

  Till memory each form shall bring
    The loveliest of her shadowy throng;
  And hope that soars on sky-lark whig,
    Carol wild her gladdest song!

    O skill'd with magic spell to roll
  The thrilling tones, that concentrate the soul!
  Breathe through thy flute those tender notes again,
    While near thee sits the chaste-eyed maiden mild;
  And bid her raise the poet's kindred strain
    In soft empassioned voice, correctly wild.

  "In freedom's UNDIVIDED DELL
  Where toil and health, with mellowed love shall dwell,
    Far from folly, far from men,
    In the rude romantic glen,
    Up the cliff, and through the glade,
    Wand'ring with the dear-loved maid,
    I shall listen to the lay,
    And ponder on thee far away."


Mr. Coleridge had written a note to his Monody on Chatterton, in which he
caustically referred to Dean Milles. On this note being shown to me, I
remarked that Captain Blake, whom he occasionally met, was the son-in-law
of Dean Milles. "What," said Mr. Coleridge, "the man with the great
sword?" "The same," I answered. "Then," said Mr. C. with an assumed
gravity, "I will suppress this note to Chatterton; the fellow might have
my head off before I am aware!" To be sure there was something rather
formidable in his huge dragoon's sword, constantly rattling by his side!
This Captain Blake was a member of the Bristol Corporation, and a
pleasant man, but his sword, worn by a short man, appeared
prodigious!--Mr. C. said, "The sight of it was enough to set half a dozen
poets scampering up Parnassus, as though hunted by a wild mastodon."

In examining my old papers I found this identical note in Mr. Coleridge's
hand writing, and which is here given to the reader; suggesting that this
note, like the Sonnet to Lord Stanhope, was written in that portion of
C.'s life, when it must be confessed, he really was hot with the French
Revolution. Thus he begins:

    By far the best poem on the subject of Chatterton, is, "Neglected
    Genius, or Tributary Stanzas to the memory of the unfortunate
    Chatterton." Written by Rushton, a blind sailor.

    Walpole writes thus. "All the House of Forgery are relations,
    although it be but just to Chatterton's memory to say, that his
    poverty never made him claim kindred with the more enriching
    branches; yet he who could so ingeniously counterfeit styles, and the
    writer believes, hands, might easily have been led to the more facile
    imitation of Prose Promissory Notes!" O, ye who honor the name of
    man, rejoice that this Walpole is called a Lord! Milles, too, the
    editor of Rowley's Poem's, a priest; who (though only a Dean, in
    dulness and malignity was most episcopally eminent) foully
    calumniated him.--An Owl mangling a poor dead nightingale! Most
    injured Bard!

      "To him alone in this benighted age
      Was that diviner inspiration given
      Which glows in Milton's, and in Shakspeare's page,
      The pomp and prodigality of heaven!"

Mr. Southey's course of Historical Lectures, comprised the following
subjects, as expressed in his prospectus.

    Robert Southey, of Baliol College, Oxford, proposes to read a course
    of Historical Lectures in the following order.

    1st.  Introductory: on the origin and Progress of Society.
    2nd.  Legislation of Solon and Lycurgus.
    3rd.  State of Greece, from the Persian War to the Dissolution
          of the Achaian League.
    4th.  Rise, Progress, and Decline of the Roman Empire.
    5th.  Progress of Christianity.
    6th.  Manners and Irruptions of the Northern Nations.
          Growth of the European States. Feudal System.
    7th.  State of the Eastern Empire, to the Capture of
          Constantinople by the Turks; including the Rise and
          Progress of the Mahommedan Religion, and the Crusades.
    8th.  History of Europe, to the Abdication of the Empire
          by Charles the Fifth.
    9th.  History of Europe, to the Establishment of the Independence
          of Holland.
    10th. State of Europe, and more particularly of England,
          from the Accession of Charles the First, to the Revolution,
          in 1688.
    11th. Progress of the Northern States. History of Europe
          to the American War.
    12th. The American War.

    Tickets for the whole course, 10s. 6d. to be had of Mr. Cottle,
    bookseller, High-Street.

These Lectures of Mr. Southey were numerously attended, and their
composition was greatly admired; exhibiting as they did a succinct view
of the various subjects commented upon, so as to chain the hearers'
attention. They at the same time evinced great self-possession in the
lecturer; a peculiar grace in the delivery; with reasoning so judicious
and acute, as to excite astonishment in the auditory that so young a man
should concentrate so rich a fund of valuable matter in lectures,
comparatively so brief, and which clearly authorized the anticipation of
his future eminence. From this statement it will justly be inferred, that
no public lecturer could have received stronger proofs of approbation
than Mr. S. from a polite and discriminating audience.

Mr. Coleridge had solicited permission of Mr. Southey, to deliver his
fourth lecture, "On the Rise, Progress, and Decline of the Roman Empire,"
as a subject to which he had devoted much attention. The request was
immediately granted, and at the end of the third lecture it was formally
announced to the audience, that the next lecture would be delivered by
Mr. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, of Jesus College, Cambridge.

At the usual hour the room was thronged. The moment of commencement
arrived. No lecturer appeared! Patience was preserved for a quarter,
extending to half an hour!--but still no lecturer! At length it was
communicated to the impatient assemblage, that a circumstance,
exceedingly to be regretted! would prevent Mr. Coleridge from giving his
lecture that evening, as intended. Some few present learned the truth,
but the major part of the company retired not very well pleased, and
under the impression that Mr. C. had either broken his leg, or that some
severe family affliction had occurred. Mr. C's rather habitual absence of
mind, with the little importance he generally attached to engagements,[7]
renders it likely that at this very time he might have been found at No.
48, College-Street; composedly smoking his pipe, and lost in profound
musings on his divine Susquehannah!

Incidents of the most trifling nature must sometimes be narrated; when
they form connecting links with events of more consequence.

Wishing to gratify my two young friends and their ladies elect with a
pleasant excursion, I invited them to accompany me in a visit to the Wye,
including Piercefield and Tintern Abbey; objects new to us all. It so
happened the day we were to set off was that immediately following the
woeful disappointment! but here all was punctuality. It was calculated
that the proposed objects might be accomplished in two days, so as not to
interfere with the Friday evening's lecture, which Mr. Southey had now
wisely determined to deliver himself.

The morning was fine. The party of five all met in high spirits,
anticipating unmingled delight in surveying objects and scenery, scarcely
to be surpassed in the three kingdoms. We proceeded to the Old Passage;
crossed the Severn, and arrived at the Beaufort Arms, Chepstow, time
enough to partake of a good dinner, which one of the company noticed
Homer himself had pronounced to be no bad thing: a sentiment in which we
all concurred, admiring his profound knowledge of human nature! But prior
to our repast, we visited the fine old Castle, so intimately connected
with by-gone days; and as soon as possible we purposed to set off toward
the Abbey, distant about six or seven miles; taking Piercefield in our
way.

Proceeding on my principle of impartial narration, I must here state,
that, after dinner, an unpleasant altercation occurred between--no other
than the two Pantisocritans! When feelings are accumulated in the heart,
the tongue will give them utterance. Mr. Southey, whose regular habits
scarcely rendered it a virtue in him, never to fail in an engagement,
expressed to Mr. Coleridge his deep feelings of regret, that _his_
audience should have been disappointed on the preceding evening;
reminding him that unless he had determined punctually to fulfil his
voluntary engagement he ought not to have entered upon it. Mr. C. thought
the delay of the lecture of little or no consequence. This excited a
remonstrance, which produced a reply. At first I interfered with a few
conciliatory words, which were unavailing; and these two friends, about
to exhibit to the world a glorious example of the effects of concord and
sound principles, with an exemption from all the selfish and unsocial
passions, fell, alas! into the common lot of humanity, and in so doing
must have demonstrated, even to themselves, the rope of sand to which
they had confided their destinies!

In unspeakable concern and surprise I retired to a distant part of the
room, and heard with dismay the contention continued, if not extending;
for now the two young ladies entered into the dispute, (on adverse sides,
as might be supposed) each confirming or repelling the arguments of the
belligerents. A little cessation in the storm afforded me the opportunity
of stepping forward and remarking that, however much the disappointment
was to be regretted, it was an evil not likely again to occur, (Mr. S.
shook his head) and that the wisest way, was to forget the past and to
remember only the pleasant objects before us. In this opinion the ladies
concurred, when placing a hand of one of the dissentients in that of the
other, the hearty salutation went round, and with our accustomed spirits,
we prepared once more for Piercefield and the Abbey.

Being an indifferent walker (from a former dislocation of my ancle,
arising out of a gig accident) I had engaged a horse, while the four
pedestrians set forward, two on each side of my Rosinante. After quitting
the extensive walks of Piercefield, we proceeded toward that part of the
road, where we were to turn off to the right, leading down to Tintern
Abbey. We had been delayed so long at Chepstow, and afterward, by various
enchanting scenes, particularly that from the Wind-cliff, that we were
almost benighted, before we were aware. We recalled all our minute
directions. Every object corresponded. A doubt expressed, at a most
unlucky moment, whether we were to turn to the right, or to the left,
threw ice into some hearts; but at length we all concurred, that it was
to the right, and that this must be the road.

These complicated deliberations, allowed the night rapidly to advance,
but the grand preliminaries being settled, we approached the "road" and
strove to penetrate with our keenest vision into its dark recesses. A
road! this it could not be. It was a gross misnomer! It appeared to our
excited imaginations, a lane, in the tenth scale of consanguinity to a
road; a mere chasm between lofty trees, where the young moon strove in
vain to dart a ray! To go or not to go, that was the question! A new
consultation was determined upon, what proceeding should be adopted in so
painful a dilemma. At length, with an accession of courage springing up
as true courage always does in the moment of extremity, we resolutely
determined to brave all dangers and boldly to enter on the road, lane, or
what it was, where perchance, Cadwallader, or Taliesen, might have
trodden before!

On immerging into the wood, for such it was, extending the whole downward
way to Tintern, we all suddenly found ourselves deprived of sight;
obscurity aggravated almost into pitchy darkness! We could see nothing
distinctly whilst we floundered over stones, embedded as they appeared in
their everlasting sockets, from the days of Noah. The gurgling of the
unseen stream, down in the adjacent gully, (which we perchance might soon
be found, reluctantly to visit!) never sounded so discordant before.
Having some respect for my limbs (with no bone-setter near) I dismounted,
resolving to lead my steed who trembled as though conscious of the
perilous expedition on which he had entered. Mr. Coleridge who had been
more accustomed to rough riding than myself, upon understanding that I
through cowardice had forsaken the saddle, without speaking a word put
his foot in the stirrup and mounting, determined to brave at all hazards,
the dangers of the campaign.

Our General on his charger floundered on before us over channels that the
storms had made, and the upstarting fragments of rocks that seemed
confederated to present an insurmountable barrier to every rash and
roving wight. We were in a forlorn condition! and never before did we so
feelingly sympathize with the poor babes in the wood; trusting, in the
last extremity, (should it occur) a few kind robins with their sylvan
pall, would honour also our obsequies. This kind of calming ulterior hope
might do very well for poets, but it was not quite so consolatory to the
ladies, who with all their admiration of disinterested pity, wished to
keep off the dear tender-hearted robins a little longer.

These desponding thoughts were of short continuance, for whether the moon
had emerged from clouds, or that our sight had become strengthened by
exercise, we rejoiced now in being able to see a little, although it
might be to reveal only sights of woe. Mr. Southey marched on like a
pillar of strength, with a lady pressing on each arm, while the relator
lagged in the rear, without even a pilgrim's staff to sustain his
tottering steps. Our condition might have been more forlorn, had not Mr.
Coleridge from before cheered on his associates in misfortune; and
intrepidity produces intrepidity.

The deepest sorrow often admits of some alleviation, and at present our
source of beguilement was to invent some appropriate name, in designation
of this most[*] horrible channel of communication between man and man.
Various acrimonious epithets were propounded, but they all wanted an
adequate measure of causticity; when Mr. Southey censuring in us our want
of charity, and the rash spirit that loaded with abuse objects which
if beheld in noon-day might be allied even to the picturesque,
proposed that our path-way, whatever it was, should simply be
called--"Bowling-green-lane."

[* Transcriber's note: Corrected from original 'mot'.]

We should have smiled assent, but we had just arrived at a spot that
overshadowed every countenance with ten-fold seriousness! This was no
moment for gratuitous triflings. We had arrived at a spot, where there
was just light enough to descry three roads, in this bosom of the wood,
diverging off in different directions! two of them must be collaterals;
and to fix on the one which was honest, where all had equal claims to bad
pre-eminence, exceeded our divining power. Each awhile ruminated in
silence; reflecting that we were far from the habitations of man, with
darkness only not intense around us! We now shouted aloud, in the faint
hope that some solitary woodman might hear, and come to our relief. The
shrill voices of the ladies, in the stillness of night, formed the
essence of harmony. All was silence! No murmur! No response! The three
lanes lay before us. If we pursued one, it might by the next morning,
conduct us safe back to Chepstow; and if we confided in the other, it
might lead us in due time, half-way toward Ragland Castle! What was to be
done? One in the company now remarked, "Of what service is it to boast a
pioneer, if we do not avail ourselves of his services?" Mr. Coleridge
received the hint, and set off up one of the lanes at his swiftest speed,
namely, a cautious creep; whilst we four stood musing on the wide extent
of human vicissitudes! A few hours before, surrounded by a plethora of
enjoyments, and now desponding and starving in the depth of what appeared
an interminable forest. To augment our trouble, fresh anxieties arose!
From Mr. Coleridge's long absence, we now almost feared whether hard
necessity might not force us to go in search of our way-bewildered or
quagmired companion!

To our great joy, we now faintly heard, in the stillness of night, the
horse's hoofs sliding over the loose stones! The sound drew nearer. Mr.
Coleridge approached and pensively said, that could not be the way, for
it led to an old quarry which the quick sight of his steed discovered
just in time to save both their necks! Mr. C. was next ordered instantly
to explore one of the other two ominous lanes; when like a
well-disciplined orderly man, he set off gallantly on his new commission.
After waiting a time, which in our state of suspense might almost be
called a period, he leisurely returned, significantly saying, that
neither man nor beast could pass that way! rubbing his thorn-smitten
cheek. Now came the use of the syllogism, in its simplest form. "If the
right road must be A, B, or C, and A and B were wrong, then C must be
right." Under this conviction, we marched boldly on, without further
solicitude or exploration,' and at length joyfully reached--Tintern
Abbey!

On arriving at this celebrated place, to which so many travellers resort,
(thanks now to his Grace of Beaufort for a better road than ours) the
first inquiry that hunger taught us to make of a countryman, was for the
hotel. "Hotel! Hotel! Sir? Oh, the sign of the Tobacco Pipe! There it is
over the way." Rusticity and comfort often go together. We entered the
inn, homely as it was, quite certain that any transition must be
paradisaical, compared with our late hopeless condition.

After supper, I proposed to avail ourselves of the darkness, and to
inspect the Abbey by torch-light. This being acceded to, we all set off
to view the beautiful but mouldering edifice, where, by an artificial
light, the ruins might present a new aspect, and, in dim grandeur, assist
the labouring imagination. At the instant the huge doors unfolded, the
horned moon appeared between the opening clouds, and shining through the
grand window in the distance. It was a delectable moment; not a little
augmented by the unexpected green sward that covered the whole of the
floor, and the long-forgotten tombs beneath; whilst the gigantic ivies,
in their rivalry, almost concealed the projecting and dark turrets and
eminences, reflecting back the lustre of the torch below. In this season,
which ought to have been consecrated to reflection and silence, the daws,
nestling in their abodes of desolation, aroused from their repose by the
unusual glare, sailed over our heads in sable multitudes that added depth
to the darkness of the sky, while, in their hoarsest maledictions, they
seemed to warn off the intruders on "their ancient solitary reign."

On returning late to the Inn, I informed my companions, that there was at
no great distance a large iron foundry, never seen to perfection but at
night, and proposed our visiting it. Mr. Coleridge felt downright horror
at the thought of being again moved; considering that he had had quite
enough exercise for one day, and infinitely preferring the fire of his
host to the forge of the Cyclops. The ladies also rather shrunk from
encountering a second night expedition; but Mr. Southey cordially
approved the suggestion, and we ushered forth, in the dreariness of
midnight, to behold this real spectacle of sublimity! Our ardour indeed,
was a little cooled when, by the glimmering of the stars, we perceived a
dark expanse stretched by our path,--an ugly mill-pond, by the side of
which we groped, preserving, as well as we could, a respectful distance,
and entering into a mutual compact that if (after all) one should fall
in, the other should do all that in him lay to pull him out.

But I leave further extraneous impositions on the reader's
attention,--the Wye, and other etceteras, briefly to remark, that we
safely returned the next day, after an excursion where the reality
exceeded the promise: and it may be added, quite in time to enable Mr.
Southey to prepare for, and deliver his Lecture, "on the Rise, Fall, and
Decline of the Roman Empire." Mr. Coleridge was not present.

The publication of Mr. C.'s volume of Poems having been attended with
some rather peculiar circumstances, to detail them a little may amuse the
reader. On my expressing to him a wish to begin the printing as early as
he found it convenient, he sent me the following note.


"My dear friend,

The printer may depend on copy on Monday morning, and if he can work a
sheet a day, he shall have it.

S. T. C."


A day or two after, and before the receipt of the copy, I received from
Mr. C. the following cheerful note.


"Dear Cottle,

By the thick smoke that precedes the volcanic eruptions of Etna,
Vesuvius, and Hecla, I feel an impulse to fumigate, at [now] 25,
College-Street, one pair of stairs room; yea, with our Oronoko, and if
thou wilt send me by the bearer, four pipes, I will write a panegyrical
epic poem upon thee, with as many books as there are letters in thy name.
Moreover, if thou wilt send me "the copy book" I hereby bind myself, by
to-morrow morning, to write out enough copy for a sheet and a half.

God bless you!

July 31st, 1795.

S. T. C."


This promising commencement was soon interrupted by successive and
long-continued delays. The permission I had given to anticipate payment
was remembered and complied with, before the work went to the press.
These delays I little heeded, but they were not quite so acceptable to
the printer, who grievously complained that his types, and his leads, and
his forms, were locked up, week after week, to his great detriment.

Being importuned by the printer, I stated these circumstances to Mr.
Coleridge in a note, expressed in what I thought the mildest possible
way, but which excited, it appeared, uncomfortable feelings in his mind,
never in the least noticed to or by myself, but evidenced to my surprise,
by the following passage in a note to Mr. Wade.


"My very dear Friend,

... Mr. Cottle has ever conducted himself towards me with unbounded
kindness, and one unkind act, no, nor twenty, can obliterate the grateful
remembrance of it. By indolence, and frequent breach of promise, I had
deserved a severe reproof from him, although my present brain-crazing
circumstances, rendered this an improper time for it....

S. T. C."


I continued to see Mr. Coleridge every day, and occasionally said to him,
smiling, "Well, how much copy;" "None, to day," was the general reply,
"but to-morrow you shall have some." To-morrow produced, if any, perhaps
a dozen lines; and, in a favourable state of mind, so much, it might be,
as half a dozen pages: and here I think I can correctly state, that Mr.
C. had repeated to me at different times nearly all the poems contained
in his volume, except the "Religious Musings," which I understood to be
wholly a new poem. It may amuse the reader to receive one or two more of
Mr. C.'s little apologies.


"My dear Friend,

The Printer may depend on copy by to-morrow.

S. T. C."


"My dear Cottle,

The Religious Musings are finished, and you shall have them on Thursday.

S. T. C."


Sometimes sickness interfered.


"Dear Cottle,

A devil, a very devil, has got possession of my left temple, eye, cheek,
jaw, throat, and shoulder. I cannot see you this evening. I write in
agony.

Your affectionate Friend and Brother,

S. T. C."


Sometimes his other engagements were of a pressing nature.


"Dear Cottle,

Shall I trouble you (I being over the mouth and nose, in doing something
of importance, at Lovell's) to send your servant into the market, and buy
a pound of bacon, and two quarts of broad beans; and when he carries it
down to College St. to desire the maid to dress it for dinner, and tell
her I shall be home by three o'clock. Will you come and drink tea with
me, and I will endeavour to get the etc. ready for you.

Yours affectionately,

S. T. C."


Whatever disappointments arose, plausible reasons were always assigned
for them, but when ingenuity was fairly taxed with excuses, worn out, Mr.
C. would candidly admit, that he had very little "finger industry," but
then, he said, his mind was always on "full stretch."--The Herculean
labour now appeared drawing to a close; as will be clear from the
following letter.


"My dear, very dear Cottle,

I will be with you at half past six; if you will give me a dish of tea,
between that time and eleven o'clock at night, I will write out the whole
of the notes, and the preface, as I give you leave to turn the lock and
key upon me.

I am engaged to dine with Michael Castle, but I will not be one minute
past my time. If I am, I permit you to send a note to Michael Castle,
requesting him to send me home to fulfil engagements, like an honest man.

S. T. C."


Well knowing that it was Mr. Coleridge's intention to do all that was
right, but aware at the same time that, however prompt he might be in
resolving, he had to contend, in the fulfilment, with great
constitutional indecision, I had long resolved to leave the completion of
his work wholly to himself, and not to urge him to a speed which would
render that a toil, which was designed to be a pleasure.

But we must instantly leave, alike excuses, and printer, and copy, to
notice a subject of infinitely more importance!

It was now understood that Mr. Coleridge was about to be married. Aware
of his narrow circumstances, and not doubting the anxieties he must
necessarily feel, in the prospect of his altered condition, and to render
his mind as easy in pecuniary affairs, as the extreme case would admit; I
thought it would afford a small relief to tell him that I would give him
one guinea and a-half, (after his volume was completed,) for every
hundred lines he might present to me, whether rhyme or blank verse. This
offer appeared of more consequence in the estimation of Mr. C., than it
did in his who made it; for when a common friend familiarly asked him
"how he was to keep the pot boiling, when married?" he very promptly
answered, that Mr. Cottle had made him such an offer, that he felt no
solicitude on that subject.

Mr. Coleridge, in prospect of his marriage, had taken a cottage at
Clevedon, a village, happily on the banks not of the Susquehannah, but
the Severn. He was married to Miss Sarah Fricker, October the 4th, 1795,
and immediately after set off for his country abode.

The following is a copy of the certificate:--

    "ST. MARY REDCLIFFE CHURCH, BRISTOL.

    Married,

    Samuel Taylor Coleridge, to Sarah Fricker, Oct. 4th, 1795.

    Benj. Spry, Vicar.

    Witnesses,--Martha Fricker, Josiah Wade."

It happened in this case, as it often does where a duty devolves equally
on two; both neglect it. The cottage at Clevedon, it appeared, had walls,
and doors, and windows; but only such furniture as became a philosopher
who was too well disciplined to covet inordinately, non-essentials.
Beside which there might have been more of system in this deliberate
renunciation of luxury. For would it have been consistent in those who
anticipated a speedy location on the marge of one of the great American
rivers, to intrench themselves in comforts that must so soon be exchanged
for little more than primeval supplies and the rugged privations of the
desert? (For even at this time Mr. C. still fondly dwelt on the joys of
the Susquehannah.)

Two days after his marriage, I received a letter from Mr. Coleridge
(which now lies before me) requesting the kindness of me to send him
down, with all dispatch, the following little articles.

    "A riddle slice; a candle box; two ventilators; two glasses for the
    wash-hand stand; one tin dust pan; one small tin tea kettle; one pair
    of candlesticks; one carpet brush; one flower dredge; three tin
    extinguishers; two mats; a pair of slippers; a cheese toaster; two
    large tin spoons; a bible; a keg of porter; coffee; raisins;
    currants; catsup; nutmegs; allspice; cinnamon; rice; ginger; and
    mace."

With the aid of the grocer, and the shoemaker, and the brewer, and the
tinman, and the glassman, and the brazier, &c., I immediately sent him
all that he had required, and more; and the next day rode down to pay my
respects to the new-married couple; being greeted, not with the common,
and therefore vulgar, materials of cake and wine, but with that which
moved the spirit, hearty gratulations!

I was rejoiced to find that the cottage possessed every thing that heart
could desire. The situation also was peculiarly eligible. It was in the
western extremity, not in the centre of the village. It had the benefit
of being but one story high, and as the rent was only five pounds per
ann., and no taxes, Mr. Coleridge had the satisfaction of knowing, that
by fairly "mounting his Pegasus," he could write as many verses in a week
as would pay his rent for a year. There was also a small garden, with
several pretty flowers; and the "tallest rose tree," was not failed to be
pointed out, which "peeped at the chamber window," (and which has been
honoured with some beautiful lines). I observed, however, that the
parlour, from my perverted taste, looked rather awkward in being only
whitewashed, and the same effected in rather the "olden time;" to remedy
which fanciful inconvenience, on my return to Bristol, I sent an
upholsterer[8] down to this retired and happy abode with a few pieces of
sprightly paper, to tarnish the half immaculate sitting-room walls.

Mr. Coleridge being now comfortably settled at Clevedon, I shall there
for the present leave him to write verses on his beloved Sarah, while in
the mean time, I introduce the reader to an ingenious young barrister
whom I had known some years previously under the following peculiar
circumstances.

William Gilbert, author of the "Hurricane," was the son of the eminent
philanthropist, Nathaniel Gilbert, of Antigua, who is usually noticed as
"The excellent Gilbert who first set an example to the planters, of
giving religious instruction to the slaves." In the year 1787, a want of
self-control having become painfully evident, he was placed by his
friends in the Asylum of Mr. Richard Henderson at Hanham, near Bristol,
when I first knew him. He occasionally accompanied John Henderson into
Bristol, on one of which occasions he introduced him to my brother and
myself, as the "Young Counsellor!" I spent an afternoon with them, not
readily to be forgotten. Many and great talkers have I known, but William
Gilbert, at this time, exceeded them all. His brain seemed to be in a
state of boiling effervescence, and his tongue, with inconceivable
rapidity, passed from subject to subject, but with an incoherence that
was to me, at least, marvellous. For two hours he poured forth a verbal
torrent, which was only suspended by sheer physical exhaustion.

John Henderson must have perceived a thousand fallacies in his
impassioned harangue; but he allowed them all to pass uncommented upon,
for he knew there was no fighting with a vapour. He continued in the
Asylum about a year, when his mind being partially restored, his friends
removed him, and he wholly absented himself from Bristol, till the year
1796, when he re-appeared in that city.

Being so interesting a character, I felt pleasure in introducing him to
Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Southey, with whom he readily coalesced, and they,
I believe, truly respected him, soon however perceiving there was
"something unsound in Denmark;" but still there was so much general and
obvious talent about him, and his manners were so conciliating, that they
liked his company, and tolerated some few peculiarities for the sake of
the much that was good. The deference he paid Mr. C. and Mr. S. was some
evidence that reason had partly reassumed her seat in his mind, for when
before them, he withheld many of his most extravagant notions, and
maintained such a comparative restraint on his tongue, as evidently arose
from the respect with which he was impressed.

At one time he very gravely told me, that to his certain knowledge there
was in the centre of Africa, bordering on Abyssinia, a little to the
south-east, an extensive nation of the Gibberti, or Gilberti, and that
one day or other he intended to visit them, and claim kindred.[9]

One morning, information was brought to us that W. Gilbert, at an early
hour, had departed precipitately from Bristol, without speaking to any
one of his friends. We felt great concern at this unexpected movement,
and by comparing recent conversations, we thought it highly probable
that, in obedience to some astrological monition he had determined,
forthwith, to set off on a visit to his relatives in Africa. So convinced
was Mr. Southey that this long-cherished design had influenced poor
Gilbert in his sudden withdrawment, that he wrote to Mr. Roscoe, at
Liverpool, begging him to interfere, to prevent any African captain from
taking such a person as Mr. S. described. Mr. Roscoe appeared to have
taken much trouble; but after a vigilant inquiry, he replied, by saying
that no such person had sailed from, or appeared in Liverpool. So that we
remained in total uncertainty as to what was become of him; many years
afterwards it appeared he had gone to Charleston, United States, where he
died.

Mr. Southey thus refers to W. Gilbert in his "Life of Wesley."

    "In the year 1796, Mr. G. published the 'Hurricane, a Theosophical
    and Western Eclogue,' and shortly afterwards placarded the walls of
    London with the largest bills that had at that time been seen,
    announcing 'the Law of Fire.' I knew him well and look back with a
    melancholy pleasure to the hours which I have passed in his society,
    when his mind was in ruins. His madness was of the most
    incomprehensible kind, as may be seen in the notes to his
    'Hurricane;' but the Poem possesses passages of exquisite beauty. I
    have among my papers some memorials of this interesting man. They who
    remember him (as some of my readers will,) will not be displeased at
    seeing him thus mentioned, with the respect and regret which are due
    to a noble mind."

Mr. Wordsworth, also at the end of his "Excursion," has quoted the
following note to the "Hurricane," with the remark that it "is one of the
finest passages of modern English prose."

    "A man is supposed to improve by going out into the world, by
    visiting London. Artificial man does, he extends with his sphere;
    but, alas! that sphere is microscopic; it is formed of minutiae, and
    he surrenders his genuine vision to the artist, in order to embrace
    it in his ken. His bodily senses grow acute, even to barren and
    inhuman pruriency; while his mental become proportionally obtuse. The
    reverse is the man of mind. He who is placed in the sphere of nature
    and of God, might be a mock at Tattersall's and Brookes's, and a
    sneer at St. James's: he would certainly be swallowed alive by the
    first Pizarro that crossed him; but when he walks along the river of
    Amazons; when he rests his eye on the unrivalled Andes: when he
    measures the long and watered savannah, or contemplates from a sudden
    promontory, the distant, vast Pacific, and feels himself in this vast
    theatre, and commanding each ready produced fruit of this wilderness,
    and each progeny of this stream--his exaltation is not less than
    imperial. He is as gentle too as he is great: his emotions of
    tenderness keep pace with his elevation of sentiment; for he says,
    'These were made by a good Being, who, unsought by me, placed me here
    to enjoy them.' He becomes at once a child and a king. His mind is in
    himself; from hence he argues and from hence he acts, and he argues
    unerringly, and acts magisterially. His mind in himself is also in
    his God; and therefore he loves, and therefore he soars.'"

As these pages are designed, by brief incidental notices, to furnish a
view of the Literature of Bristol during a particular portion of time;
and having introduced the name of Ann Yearsley, I here, in reference to
her, subjoin a few additional remarks.

       *       *       *       *       *

I was well acquainted with Ann Yearsley, and my friendship for Hannah
More did not blind my eyes to the merits of her opponent. Candour exacts
the acknowledgment that the Bristol Milkwoman was a very extraordinary
individual. Her natural abilities were eminent, united with which, she
possessed an unusually sound masculine understanding; and altogether
evinced, even in her countenance, the unequivocal marks of genius. If her
education and early advantages had been favourable, there is no limiting
the distinction to which she might have attained; and the respect she did
acquire, proves what formidable barriers may be surmounted by native
talent when perseveringly exerted, even in the absence of those
preliminary assistances which are often merely the fret-work, the
entablature, of the Corinthian column.

Ann Yearsley's genius was discoverable in her Poems, but perhaps the
extent of her capacity chiefly appeared in her Novel, "The Man in the
Iron Mask;" in itself a bad subject, from the confined limit it gives to
the imagination; but there is a vigour in her style which scarcely
appeared compatible with a wholly uneducated woman. The late Mr. G.
Robinson, the bookseller, told me that he had given Ann Yearsley two
hundred pounds for the above work, and that he would give her one hundred
pounds for every volume she might produce. This sum, with the profits of
her Poems, enabled her to set up a circulating library, at the Hot Wells.
I remember, in the year 1793, an imposition was attempted to be practised
upon her, and she became also involved in temporary pecuniary
difficulties, when by timely interference and a little assistance I had
the happiness of placing her once more in a state of comfort. From a
grateful feeling she afterwards sent me a handsome copy of verses.

It has been too customary to charge her with ingratitude, (at which all
are ready to take fire,) but without sufficient cause, as the slight
services I rendered her were repaid with a superabundant expression of
thankfulness; what then must have been the feelings of her heart toward
Mrs. Hannah More, to whom her obligations were so surpassing?

The merits of the question involved in the dissension between Ann
Yearsley and Mrs. H. More, lay in a small compass, and they deserve to be
faithfully stated; the public are interested in the refutation of charges
of ingratitude, which, if substantiated, would tend to repress assistance
toward the humbler children of genius. The baneful effects arising from a
charge of ingratitude in Ann Yearsley towards her benefactress, might be
the proximate means of dooming to penury and death some unborn
Chatterton, or of eclipsing the sun of a future Burns.

Hannah More discovered that the woman who supplied her family daily with
milk, was a really respectable poetess. She collected her productions,
and published them for her benefit, with a recommendatory address. The
Poems, as they deserved, became popular; doubtless, in a great degree,
through the generous and influential support of Mrs. H. More, and the
profits of the sale amounted to some hundreds of pounds.

The money, thus obtained, the milkwoman wished, to receive herself: for
the promotion of herself in life, and the assistance of her two promising
sons, who inherited much of their mother's talent. Hannah More on the
contrary, in conjunction with Mrs. Montague, thought it most advisable to
place the money in the Funds, in the joint names of herself and Mrs. M.
as trustees for Ann Yearsley, so that she might receive a small permanent
support through life. In this, Hannah More acted with the purest
intention. If any judicious friend had stated to her that Ann Yearsley,
whom she had so greatly served, was a discreet woman and would not be
likely to squander her little all: that she wanted to educate her two
sons, and to open for herself a circulating library, neither of which
objects could be accomplished without trenching on her capital, no doubt
could have been entertained of her instantly acceding to it.

The great error on the part of the milkwoman, was in not prevailing on
some friend thus to interfere, and calmly to state her case; instead of
which, in a disastrous moment, she undertook to plead her own cause; and,
without the slightest intention of giving offence, called on her
patroness. Both parties meant well, but from the constitution of the
human mind, it was hardly possible for one who had greatly obliged
another in a subordinate station to experience the least opposition
without at least an uncomfortable feeling. There must have existed a
predisposition to misconstrue motives, as well as a susceptibility, in
the closest alliance with offence. And now the experiment commenced.

Here was a strong-minded illiterate woman on one side, impressed with a
conviction of the justice of her cause; and further stimulated by a deep
consciousness of the importance of success to herself and family; and on
the other side, a refined mind, delicately alive to the least
approximation to indecorum, and, not unreasonably, requiring deference
and conciliation. Could such incongruous materials coalesce? Ann
Yearsley's suit, no doubt was urged with a zeal approaching to
impetuosity, and not expressed in that measured language which propriety
might have dictated; and any deficiency in which could not fail to offend
her polished and powerful patroness.

Ann Yearsley obtained her object, but she lost her friend. Her name, from
that moment, was branded with ingratitude; and severe indeed was the
penalty entailed on her by this act of indiscretion! Her good name, with
the rapidity of the eagle's pinion, was forfeited! Her talents, in a
large circle at once became questionable, or vanished away. Her assumed
criminality also was magnified into audacity, in daring to question the
honour, or oppose the wishes of two such women as Mrs. H. More, and Mrs.
Montague! and thus, through this disastrous turn of affairs, a dark veil
was suddenly thrown over prospects, so late the most unsullied and
exhilarating; and the favorite of fortune sunk to rise no more!

Gloom and perplexities in quick succession oppressed the Bristol
milkwoman, and her fall became more rapid than her ascent! The eldest of
her sons, William Cromartie Yearsley, who had bidden fair to be the prop
of her age; and whom she had apprenticed to an eminent engraver, with a
premium of one hundred guineas, prematurely died; and his surviving
brother soon followed him to the grave! Ann Yearsley, now a childless and
desolate widow, retired, heart-broken from the world, on the produce of
her library; and died many years after, in a state of almost total
seclusion, at Melksham. An inhabitant of the town lately informed me that
she was never seen, except when she took her solitary walk in the dusk of
the evening! She lies buried in Clifton church-yard.

In this passing notice of the Bristol milkwoman, my design has been to
rescue her name from unmerited obloquy, and not in the remotest degree to
criminate Hannah More, whose views and impressions in this affair may
have been somewhat erroneous, but whose intentions it would be impossible
for one moment to question.[10]

The reader will not be displeased with some further remarks on Mrs.
Hannah More, whose long residence near Bristol identified her so much
with that city.

Mrs. H. More lived with her four sisters, Mary, Elizabeth, Sarah, and
Martha, after they quitted their school in Park-Street, Bristol, at a
small neat cottage in Somersetshire, called Cowslip Green. The Misses M.
some years afterward built a better house, and called it Barley Wood, on
the side of a hill, about a mile from Wrington. Here they all lived, in
the highest degree respected and beloved: their house the seat of piety,
cheerfulness, literature, and hospitality; and they themselves receiving
the honour of more visits from bishops, nobles, and persons of
distinction, than, perhaps, any private family in the kingdom.

My sisters having been educated by them, and myself having two intimate
friends, who were also the friends of the Misses More; the Rev. James
Newton,[11] and my old tutor, John Henderson, they introduced me to the
family in Park Street, and the acquaintance then commenced was
progressively ripened into respect that continued to the termination of
all their lives. Hannah More gave me unrestricted permission to bring
down to Barley-Wood, any literary or other friend of mine, at any time;
and of which privilege, on various occasions I availed myself.

Many years before, I had taken down, then by express, invitation, Mr.
Southey, to see these excellent ladies; and in the year 1814, I conducted
Mr. Coleridge to Barley Wood, and had the pleasure of introducing him to
Hannah More and her sisters. For two hours after our arrival, Mr. C.
displayed a good deal of his brilliant conversation, when he was listened
to with surprise and delight by the whole circle; but at this time,
unluckily, Lady--was announced, when Mrs. Hannah, from politeness,
devoted herself to her titled visitant, while the little folks retired to
a snug window with one or two of the Misses More, and there had their own
agreeable converse.

Hannah More's eminently useful life manifested itself in nothing more
than the effort she made to instruct the ignorant through the medium of
moral and religious _tracts_, and by the establishment of schools. These
were made blessings on a wide scale, whilst their good effects are
continued to this time, and are likely to be perpetuated.

It is here proper to mention that after superintending these various
schools, either personally or by proxy, for more than a quarter of a
century, and after the decease of her four benevolent and excellent
sisters, Hannah More found it necessary to leave Barley Wood, and to
remove to Clifton. Here her expenses were reduced one half, and her
comforts greatly increased. The house she occupied, No. 4, Windsor
Terrace, Clifton, was even more pleasant than the one she had left, and
the prospects from it much more enlivening. I remember to have called on
her with the late Robert Hall, when she discovered a cheerfulness which
showed that Barley Wood was no longer regretted. She brought us to the
windows of her spacious drawing room, and there, in the expanse beneath,
invited us to behold the new docks, and the merchants' numerous ships,
while the hill of Dundry appeared (at the distance of four miles) far
loftier than her own Mendip, and equally verdant. From the window of her
back room also, directly under her eye, a far more exquisite prospect
presented itself than any Barley Wood could boast; Leigh Woods, St.
Vincent's Rocks, Clifton Down, and, to crown the whole, the winding Avon,
with the continually shifting commerce of Bristol; and we left her with
the impression that the change in her abode was a great accession to her
happiness.

In a letter to Mr. Wilberforce, Hannah More thus rather pleasantly
writes:--


"4, Windsor Terrace, Oct. 29, 1828.

My Very Dear Friend,

... I am diminishing my worldly cares. I have sold Barley Wood. I have
exchanged the eight "pampered minions," for four sober servants. As I
have sold my carriage and horses, I want no coachman: as I have no
garden, I want no gardener. I have greatly lessened my house expenses,
which enables me to maintain my schools, and enlarge my charities. My
schools alone, with clothing, rents, &c., cost me £150 a year."


Mrs. H. More was sometimes liberally assisted in the support of these
schools (as I learned from Miss Martha More,) by three philanthropic
individuals, the late Mr. Henry Thornton, the late Mr. Wilberforce, and
the late Sir W. W. Pepys, Bart.

Mrs. H. More, in a letter to Sir W. W. Pepys, acknowledging the receipt
of one hundred pounds, says, "My most affectionate respects to Lady
Pepys. The young race, of course, have all forgotten me; but I have not
forgotten the energy with which your eldest son, at seven years old, ran
into the drawing room, and said to me, "After all, Ferdinand would never
have sent Columbus to find out America if it had not been for Isabella:
it was entirely her doing." How gratifying it would have been to H. More,
had she lived two or three years longer, to have found in the round of
human things, that this energetic boy of seven years, had become (1837)
the Lord High Chancellor of England! and now again in 1846.

All the paintings, drawings, and prints which covered the walls of the
parlour, on Hannah More's quitting Barley Wood, she gave to her friend,
Sir T. D. Ackland, Bart, with the exception of the portrait, by Palmer,
of John Henderson, which she kindly presented to myself.

       *       *       *       *       *

As I purposed, in projecting the present work, to allow myself a certain
latitude in commenting on persons of talent connected recently with
Bristol, and with whom Mr. C. and Mr. S. were acquainted, and especially
when those persons are dead, I shall here in addition briefly refer to
the late Robert Hall.

Mr. Hall is universally admitted to have possessed a mind of the first
order. He united qualities, rarely combined, each of which would have
constituted greatness; being a writer of pre-eminent excellence, and a
sacred orator that exceeded all competition.

Posterity will judge of Robert Hall's capacity by his writings alone, but
all who knew him as a preacher, unhesitatingly admit that in his pulpit
exercises (when the absorption of his mind in his subject rendered him
but half sensible to the agony of internal maladies which scarcely knew
cessation, and which would have prostrated a spirit less firm) that in
these exercises, the superiority of his intellect became more undeniably
manifest than even in his deliberate compositions. Here some might
approach, who could not surpass; but, as a preacher, he stood, collected,
in solitary grandeur.

Let the reader who was never privileged to see or hear this extraordinary
man, present to his imagination a dignified figure[12] that secured the
deference which was never exacted; a capacious forehead; an eye, in the
absence of excitement, dark, yet placid, but when warmed with argument,
flashing almost coruscations of light, as the harmonious accompaniments
of his powerful language.

But the pulpit presented a wider field for the display of this
constitutional ardour. Here, the eye, that always awed, progressively
advanced in expression; till warmed with his immortal subject it kindled
into absolute radiance, that with its piercing beams penetrated the very
heart, and so absorbed the spirit that the preacher himself was forgotten
in the magnificent and almost overpowering array of impassioned thoughts
and images. With this exterior, let the reader associate a voice, though
not strong, eminently flexible and harmonious; a mind that felt, and
therefore never erred in its emphasis; alternately touching the chord of
pathos, or advancing with equal ease into the region of argument or
passion; and then let him remember that every sentiment he uttered was
clothed in expressions as mellifluous as perhaps ever fell from the
tongue of man.

Few would dispute the testimony of Dugald Stewart on subjects of
composition; and still fewer would question his authority in ascribing,
as he does, to Robert Hall, the excellencies of Addison, Johnson, and
Burke, without their defects: and to the works of Mr. H. reference will
hereafter doubtless be made, as exhibiting some of the finest specimens
that can be adduced, of the harmony, the elegance, the energy, and
compass of the English tongue.

After noticing the excellencies of Mr. Hall as a Christian advocate, it
appears almost bordering on the anti-climax, to name, that a great
accession to this his distinction as a writer arose from his exquisite
taste in composition, sedulously cultivated through life; and which (as
the reward of so chastened a judgment, attained with such labour) at
length superseded toil in the arrangement of his words,'since every
thought, as it arose in his mind, when expression was given to it,
appeared spontaneously, clothed in the most appropriate language.

Often has Mr. H. expatiated to me on the subject of style, so as to
manifest the depth and acuteness of his criticisms; as well as to leave a
firm conviction that the superiority he had acquired arose from no lax
endeavour and happy casualty, but from severe and permanent effort,
founded on the best models; at least, in that period of his life when the
structure of his mind was formed, or forming. He said that _Cicero_ had
been his chief model.

This habit of minute and general analysis, combined as it was with his
fine luminous intellect, enabled him with almost intuitive discernment,
to perceive promptly whatever was valuable or defective in the
productions of others; and this faculty being conjoined with solid
learning, extensive reading, a retentive memory, a vast |tore of
diversified knowledge, together with a creative fancy and a logical mind,
gave him at all times, an unobtrusive reliance on himself; with an
inexhaustible mental treasury that qualified him alike to shine in the
friendly circle, or to charm, and astonish, and edify, in the crowded
assembly.

That the same individual should so far excel both as a preacher and a
writer, and at the same time be equally distinguished for his brilliant
conversational talent, is scarcely conceivable, and would be too much
reputation for any man, unless tempered, as it was in Mr. Hall, by no
ordinary measure of Christian humility, and a preference ever expressed,
for the moral over the intellectual character.

It is not meant to imply that Mr. Hall was perfect, (a condition reserved
for another state) but he made gigantic strides towards that point, at
which all should aim. That such rare talents should have been devoted,
through a long and consistent life, to the cause of his Redeemer, must
excite thankfulness in the breast of every Christian, and at the same
time deepen the hue with which he contemplates some others, whose talents
and influences, were, and are, all banefully exercised, from what might
appear a design to corrupt man, and madly to oppose and defy the Supreme
himself!

Some of Mr. Hall's later admirers may resist the idea that there ever was
a period when his ministerial exercises were more eloquent than at the
last; but without hesitation, I adopt a different opinion. The estimate
formed of him in this place is chiefly founded on the earlier part of
life, when, without any opposing influences, a more unbridled range was
given to his imagination; when there was an energy in his manner, and a
felicity and copiousness in his language, which vibrated on the very
verge of human capability.

It is incredible to suppose that intense and almost unceasing pain,
should not partially have unnerved his mind; that he should not have
directed a more undiverted concentration of thought, and revelled with
more freedom and luxuriance of expression, before, rather than during the
ravages of that insidious and fatal disease, under which he laboured for
so many years, and which never allowed him, except when in the pulpit, to
deviate from a recumbent posture. However combated by mental firmness,
such perpetual suffering must have tended in some degree to repress the
vehemence of his intellectual fire; and the astonishment prevails, that
he possessed fortitude enough to contend so long with antagonists so
potent. Except for the power of religion, and the sustaining influence of
faith, nothing could have restrained him from falling back on despondency
or despair. Yet even to his final sermon, he maintained his preeminence;
and in no one discourse of his last years, did he decline into
mediocrity, or fail to remind the elder part of his audience of a period
when his eloquence was almost superhuman.[13]

After allowing, that many humble but sincere preachers of the gospel of
Christ may be as accepted of God, and be made as useful to their
fellow-men as the most prodigally endowed, yet the possession of great
and well-directed talents must not be underrated. Different soils require
different culture, and that which is inoperative on one man may be
beneficial to another, and it is hardly possible for any one to form a
due estimate of the elevation of which pulpit oratory is susceptible who
never heard Robert Hall. This character of his preaching refers more
particularly to the period when his talents were in their most vigorous
exercise; a little before the time when he published his celebrated
sermon on "Infidelity."

This sermon I was so happy as to hear delivered, and have no hesitation
in expressing an opinion that the oral was not only very different from
the printed discourse, but greatly its superior. In the one case he
expressed the sentiments of a mind fully charged with matter the most
invigorating, and solemnly important; but, discarding notes, (which he
once told me always "hampered him") it was not in his power to display
the same language, or to record the same evanescent trains of thought; so
that in preparing a sermon for the press, no other than a general
resemblance could be preserved. In trusting alone to his recollection,
when the stimulus was withdrawn of a crowded and most attentive auditory,
the ardent feeling; the thought that "burned," was liable, in some
measure, to become deteriorated by the substitution of cool philosophical
arrangement and accuracy for the spontaneous effusions of his overflowing
heart; so that what was gained by one course was more than lost by the
other.

During Mr. Hall's last visit to Bristol, (prior to his final settlement
there) I conducted him to view the beautiful scenery in the
neighbourhood, and no one could be more alive to the picturesque than Mr.
H. On former occasions, when beholding the expanse of water before him,
he has said, with a pensive ejaculation, "We have no water in
Cambridgeshire;" and subsequently, in noticing the spreading foliage of
Lord de Clifford's park, he has observed with the same mournful accent;
"Ah, sir, we have no such trees as these in Leicestershire." And when at
this time he arrived at a point which presented the grandest assemblage
of beauty, he paused in silence to gaze on the rocks of St. Vincent, and
the Avon, and the dense woods, and the distant Severn, and the dim blue
mountains of Wales, when with that devotional spirit which accorded with
the general current of his feelings, in an ecstacy he exclaimed; "Oh, if
these outskirts of the Almighty's dominion can, with one glance, so
oppress the heart with gladness, what will be the disclosures of
eternity, when the full revelation shall be made of the things not seen,
and the river of the city of God!"

But "Recollections" of Mr. Hall are not intended, although it may be
named, he stated, in one of these rides, that he had arisen from his bed
two or three times in the course of the night, when projecting his
"Sermon on the Death of the Princess Charlotte" to record thoughts, or to
write down passages that he feared might otherwise escape his memory.
This, at least, showed the intensity of the interest he felt, though a
superabundance of the choicest matter was ever at his command; and if one
idea happened accidentally to be lost, one that was better immediately
supplied its place.

Perhaps this notice may be deemed, by some, too extended, if not
misplaced; but if the present occasion of referring to Mr. Hall, had been
neglected, no other might have occurred. The man whose name is recorded
on high stands in no need of human praise; yet survivors have a debt to
pay, and whilst I disclaim every undue bias on my mind in estimating the
character of one who so ennobled human nature, none can feel surprise
that I should take a favorable retrospect of Mr. H. after an intercourse
and friendship of more than forty years. Inadequate as is the present
offering, some satisfaction is felt at the opportunity presented of
bestowing this small tribute to the memory of one whom I ever venerated,
and, in so doing, of adding another attestation to the merits of so good
and great a man.

       *       *       *       *       *

The reader after this long digression, will have his attention directed
once more, to Mr. Coleridge, who was left at Clevedon in the possession
of domestic comfort, and with the hope, if not the prospect, of
uninterrupted happiness. It could hardly be supposed, that in the element
of so much excitement, the spirit of inspiration should remain
slumbering. On my next seeing Mr. C. he read me, with more than his
accustomed enthusiasm, those tenderly affectionate lines to his "Sara,"
beginning

  "My pensive Sara, thy soft cheek reclined." &c,

Mr. Coleridge now began to console himself with the suspicion, not only
that felicity might be found on this side the Atlantic, but that Clevedon
concentrated the sum of all that Earth had to bestow. He was now even
satisfied that the Susquehannah itself retired into shade before the
superior attractions of his own native Severn. He had, in good truth,
discovered the grand secret; the abode of happiness, after which all are
so sedulously inquiring; and this accompanied with the cheering
assurance, that, by a merely pleasurable intellectual exertion, he would
be able to provide for his moderate expenses, and experience the
tranquillizing joys of seclusion, while the whole country and Europe were
convulsed with war and changes.

Alas, repose was not made for man, nor man for repose! Mr. Coleridge at
this time little thought of the joys and sorrows, the vicissitudes of
life, and revolutions of feeling, with which he was ordained ere long to
contend! Inconveniences connected with his residence at Clevedon, not at
first taken into the calculation, now gradually unfolded themselves. The
place was too far from Bristol. It was difficult of access to friends;
and the neighbours were a little too tattling and inquisitive. And then
again, Mr. Coleridge could not well dispense with his literary
associates, and particularly with his access to that fine institution,
the Bristol City Library; and, in addition, as he was necessitated to
submit to frugal restraints, a walk to Bristol was rather a serious
undertaking; and a return the same day hardly to be accomplished, in the
failure of which, his "Sara," was lonely and uneasy; so that his friends
urged him to return once more to the place he had left; which he did,
forsaking, with reluctance, his rose-bound cottage, and taking up his
abode on Redcliff-hill. There was now some prospect that the printer's
types would be again set in motion, although it was quite proper that
they should remain in abeyance while so many grand events were
transpiring in the region of the domestic hearth. This was late in the
year 1795.

After Mr. Coleridge had been some little time settled in Bristol, he
experienced another removal. To exchange the country, and all the
beauties of nature, for pent-up rooms on Redcliff-hill, demanded from a
poet, sacrifices for which a few advantages would but ill compensate. In
this uneasy state of mind, Mr. C. received an invitation from his friend,
Mr. T. Poole, of Stowey, Somersetshire, to come and visit him in that
retired town, and to which place Mr. and Mrs. Coleridge repaired.

The volume of poems, that, in the presence of so many more important
affairs, had retired into shade, was now about to reappear, as will be
found by the following letter.


"Stowey,

My dear Cottle,

I feel it much, and very uncomfortable, that, loving you as a brother,
and feeling pleasure in pouring out my heart to you, I should so seldom
be able to write a letter to you, unconnected with business, and
uncontaminated with excuses and apologies. I give every moment I can
spare from my garden and the Reviews (i. e.) from my potatoes and meat to
the poem, (Religious Musings) but I go on slowly, for I torture the poem
and myself with corrections; and what I write in an hour, I sometimes
take two or three days in correcting. You may depend on it, the poem and
prefaces will take up exactly the number of pages I mentioned, and I am
extremely anxious to have the work as perfect as possible, and which I
cannot do, if it be finished immediately. The "Religious Musings" I have
altered monstrously, since I read them to you and received your
criticisms. I shall send them to you in my next. The Sonnets I will send
you with the Musings. God love you!

From your affectionate friend,

S. T. Coleridge."


Mr. Coleridge at this time meditated the printing of two volumes of his
poems. He thus expresses his intention.

"I mean to have none but large poems in the second volume; none under
three hundred lines; therefore I have crowded all my little pieces into
this."

He speaks in the same letter, of two poems which I never saw. Perhaps
they were composed in his own mind, but never recorded on paper; a
practice which Mr. C. sometimes adopted. He thus writes. "The 'Nativity'
is not quite three hundred lines. It has cost me much labour in
polishing; more than any poem I ever wrote, and I believe deserves it
more. The epistle to Tom. Poole, which will come with the 'Nativity,' is
I think one of my most pleasing compositions."

In a letter of Mr. C. dated from Stowey, Mr. Coleridge also says, "I have
written a Ballad of three hundred lines, and also a plan of general
study." It appeared right to make these statements, and it is hoped the
productions named may still be in existence.

Mr. Coleridge now finding it difficult to superintend the press at so
great a distance as Stowey, and that it interfered also with his other
literary engagements, he resolved once more to remove to Bristol, the
residence of so many friends; and to that city he repaired, the beginning
of 1796. A conviction now also rested on his mind, as there was the
prospect of an increase in his family, that he must bestir himself, and
effectually call his resolutions into exercise. Soon after he was fairly
settled, he sent me the following letter.


"My dear Cottle,

I have this night and to-morrow for you, being alone, and my spirits
calm. I shall consult my poetic honour, and of course your interest, more
by staying at home, than by drinking tea with you. I should be happy to
see my poems out even by next week, and I shall continue in stirrups,
that is, shall not dismount my Pegasus, till Monday morning, at which
time you will have to thank God for having done with

Your affectionate friend always, but author evanescent.

S. T. C."


Except for the serious effect, unintentionally produced, a rather
ludicrous circumstance some time after this occurred, that is, after Mr.
C. had "mounted his Pegasus" for the last time, and, permitted, so long
ago, "the lock and key to be turned upon him."

The promised notes, preface, and some of the text, not having been
furnished, I had determined to make no further application, but to allow
Mr. C. to consult his own inclination and convenience. Having a friend
who wanted an introduction to Mr. Coleridge, I invited him to dinner, and
sent Mr. C. a note, to name the time, and to solicit his company. The
bearer of the note was simply requested to give it to Mr. C. and not
finding him at home, inconsiderately brought it back. Mr. Coleridge
returning home soon after, and learning that I had sent a letter, which
was taken back, in the supposition that it could relate but to _one
subject_, addressed to me the following astounding letter.


"Redcliff-hill, Feb. 22, 1796.

My dear Sir,

It is my duty and business to thank God for all his dispensations, and to
believe them the best possible; but, indeed, I think I should have been
more thankful, if he had made me a journeyman shoemaker, instead of an
author by trade. I have left my friends: I have left plenty; I have left
that ease which would have secured a literary immortality, and have
enabled me to give the public, works conceived in moments of inspiration,
and polished with leisurely solicitude, and alas! for what have I left
them? for--who deserted me in the hour of distress, and for a scheme of
virtue impracticable and romantic! So I am forced to write for bread!
write the flights of poetic enthusiasm, when every minute I am hearing a
groan from my wife. Groans, and complaints, and sickness! The present
hour I am in a quick-set hedge of embarrassment, and whichever way I
turn, a thorn runs into me! The future is cloud, and thick darkness!
Poverty, perhaps, and the thin faces of them that want bread, looking up
to me! Nor is this all. My happiest moments for composition are broken in
upon by the reflection that I must make haste. I am too late! I am
already months behind! I have received my pay beforehand! Oh, wayward and
desultory spirit of genius! Ill canst thou brook a taskmaster! The
tenderest touch from the hand of obligation, wounds thee like a scourge
of scorpions.

I have been composing in the fields this morning, and came home to write
down the first rude sheet of my preface, when I heard that your man had
brought a note from you. I have not seen it, but I guess its contents. I
am writing as fast as I can. Depend on it you shall not be out of pocket
for me! I feel what I owe you, and independently of this, I love you as a
friend; indeed, so much, that I regret, seriously regret, that you have
been my copyholder.

If I have written petulantly, forgive me. God knows I am sore all over.
God bless you, and believe me that, setting gratitude aside, I love and
esteem you, and have your interest at heart full as much as my own.

S. T. Coleridge."


At the receipt of this painful letter, which made me smile and sigh at
the same moment, my first care was to send the young and desponding Bard
some of the precious metal, to cheer his drooping spirits; to inform him
of his mistake; and to renew my invitation; which was accepted, and at
this interview he was as cheerful as ever. He saw no difference in my
countenance, and I perceived none in his. The "thick cloud" and the
"thorn" had completely passed away, whilst his brilliant conversation
charmed and edified the friend for whose sake he had been invited.

At length, Mr. Coleridge's volume of poems was completed. On the blank
leaf of one of the copies, he asked for a pen, and wrote the following:


"Dear Cottle,

On the blank leaf of my poems, I can most appropriately write my
acknowledgments to you, for your too disinterested conduct in the
purchase of them. Indeed, if ever they should acquire a name and
character, it might be truly said, the world owed them to you. Had it not
been for you, none perhaps of them would have been published, and some
not written.

Your, obliged and affectionate friend,

S. T. Coleridge.

Bristol, April 15, 1796."


The particulars respecting the publication of Mr. Coleridge's volume of
Poems have been continued unbroken, to the exclusion of some antecedent
circumstances, which will now be noticed.

If it were my object to give a fictitious, and not a real character; to
remove, scrupulously, all protuberances that interfered with the polish,
I might withhold the following letter, which merely shows the solicitude
with which Mr. C. at this time, regarded small profits. His purse, soon
after his return to Bristol, being rather low, with the demands on it
increasing, he devised an ingenious, and very innocent plan for
replenishing it, in a small way, as will thus appear.


"My ever dear Cottle,

Since I last conversed with you on the subject, I have been thinking over
again the plan I suggested to you, concerning the application of Count
Rumford's plan to the city of Bristol. I have arranged in my mind the
manner, and matter of the Pamphlet, which would be three sheets, and
might be priced at one shilling.

           'Considerations
  Addressed to the Inhabitants of Bristol,
        on a subject of importance,
       (unconnected with Politics.)
              BY S. T. C.'

Now I have by me the history of Birmingham, and the history of
Manchester. By observing the names, revenues, and expenditures of their
different charities, I could easily alter the calculations of the
"Bristol Address," and, at a trifling expense, and a few variations, the
same work might be sent to Manchester and Birmingham. "Considerations
addressed to the inhabitants of Birmingham." &c. I could so order it,
that by writing to a particular friend, at both places, the pamphlet
should be thought to have been written _at_ each place, as it certainly
would be _for_ each place. I think therefore 750 might be printed in all.
Now will you undertake this? either to print it and divide the profits,
or (which indeed I should prefer) would you give me three guineas, for
the copy-right? I would give you the first sheet on Thursday, the second
on the Monday following, the third on the Thursday following. To each
pamphlet I would annex the alterations to be made, when the press was
stopped at 250.[14]

God love you!

S. T. C."


Mr. Coleridge used occasionally to regret, with even pungency of feeling,
that he had no relation in the world, to whom, in a time of extremity, he
could apply "for a little assistance." He appeared like a being dropped
from the clouds, without tie or connection on earth; and during the years
in which I knew him, he never once visited any one of his relations, nor
exchanged a letter with them. It used to fill myself and others with
concern and astonishment, that such a man should, apparently, be
abandoned. On some occasions I urged him to break through all
impediments, and go and visit his friends at Ottery; this his high spirit
could not brook. I then pressed him to dedicate his Poems to one of his
relatives, his brother George, of whom he occasionally spoke with
peculiar kindness. He was silent; but some time after, he said in a
letter, "You, I am sure will be glad to learn, that I shall follow your
advice."

In the poem which thus arose, what can be more touching than these lines
in his dedication to his brother? (Second edition.)

  "To me the Eternal Wisdom hath dispensed
  A different fortune, and more different mind--
  Me from the spot where first I sprang to light
  Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had fixed
  Its first domestic loves; and hence through life
  Chasing chance--started friendships. A brief while,
  Some have preserved me from life's pelting ills."

In certain features of their character, there was a strong resemblance
between Chatterton and S. T. Coleridge, with a reverse in some points,
for Chatterton was loved and cherished by his family, but neglected by
the world. In the agony of mind which Mr. C. sometimes manifested on this
subject, I have wished to forget those four tender lines in his Monody on
Chatterton.

  "Poor Chatterton! farewell! Of darkest hues,
    This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tomb:
  But dare no longer on the sad theme muse,
    Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom!"

Mr. C. would not have felt so much, if his own natural and unshaken
affections had been less ardent.

Before I enter on an important incident in Mr. Coleridge's Bristol life,
I must previously observe, that his mind was in a singular degree
distinguished for the habit of projecting. New projects and plans, at
this time, followed each other in rapid succession, and while the
vividness of the impression lasted, the very completion could scarcely
have afforded more satisfaction than the vague design. To project, with
him, was commonly sufficient. The execution, of so much consequence in
the estimation of others, with him was a secondary point. I remember him
once to have read to me, from his pocket book; a list of eighteen
different works which he had resolved to write, and several of them in
quarto, not one of which he ever effected. At the top of the list
appeared the word "Pantisocracy! 4to." Each of these works, he could have
talked, (for he often poured forth as much as half an 8vo. volume in a
single evening, and that in language sufficiently pure and connected to
admit of publication) but talking merely benefits the few, to the
exclusion of the many. The work that apparently advanced the nearest to
completion, was "Translations of the modern Latin Poets;" two vols. 8vo.
This work, which no man could better have accomplished than himself, he
so far proceeded in, as to allow of the Proposals being issued. It was to
be published by subscription, and he brought with him from Cambridge a
very respectable list of university subscribers. His excuses for not
showing any part of the work, justified the suspicion that he had not
advanced in it further than these said "Proposals."

Another prominent feature in Mr. Coleridge's mind, was procrastination.
It is not to be supposed that he ever made a promise or entered on an
engagement without intending to fulfil it, but none who knew him could
deny that he wanted much of that steady, persevering determination which
is the precursor of success, and the parent of all great actions. His
strongest intentions were feebly supported after the first paroxysms of
resolve, so that any judicious friend would strenuously have dissuaded
him from an undertaking that involved a race with time. Mr. Coleridge,
however, differently regarded his mental constitution, and projected at
this time a periodical miscellany, called "The Watchman."

When the thought of this magazine first suggested itself to his mind, he
convened his chief friends one evening at the Rummer Tavern, to determine
on the size, price, and time of publishing, with all other preliminaries,
essential to the launching this first-rate vessel on the mighty deep.
Having heard of the circumstance the next day, I rather wondered at not
having also been requested to attend, and while ruminating on the
subject, I received from Mr. C. the following communication.


"My dear friend,

I am fearful that you felt hurt at my not mentioning to you the proposed
'Watchman,' and from my not requesting you to attend the meeting. My dear
friend, my reasons were these. All who met were expected to become
subscribers to a fund; I knew there would be enough without you, and I
knew, and felt, how much money had been drawn from you lately.

God Almighty love you!

S. T. C."


In a few days the following prospectus of the new work was circulated far
and near.

    "To supply at once the places of a Review, Newspaper, and Annual
    Register.

    On Tuesday, the 1st of March, 1796, will be published, No. 1, price
    fourpence, of a Miscellany, to be continued every eighth day, under
    the name of

    THE WATCHMAN,
    BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE,

    This Miscellany will be comprised in two sheets, or thirty-two pages,
    closely printed in 8vo. the type, long primer.

    ITS CONTENTS.

    1st. A History of the Domestic and Foreign Policy of the preceding
    days.

    2nd. The Speeches in both Houses of Parliament, and during the
    recess. Select Parliamentary Speeches, from the commencement of the
    reign of Charles the First, to the present Aera, with Notes,
    Historical and Biographical.

    3rd. Original Essays and Poetry.

    4th. Review of interesting and important Publications.

    ITS ADVANTAGES.

    FIRST. There being no Advertisements, a greater quantity of Original
    matter will be given, and the Speeches in Parliament will be less
    abridged.

    SECOND. From its form, it may be bound up at the end of the year, and
    become an Annual Register.

    THIRD. This last circumstance may induce men of letters to prefer
    this miscellany to more perishable publications as the vehicle of
    their effusions.

    FOURTH. Whenever the Ministerial and Opposition Prints differ in
    their accounts of occurrences, &c. such difference will always be
    faithfully stated."

Of all men, Mr. Coleridge was the least qualified to display periodical
industry. Many of his cooler friends entertained from the beginning no
sanguine expectations of success, but now that the experiment was fairly
to be tried, they united with him in making every exertion to secure it.

As a magazine it was worth nothing without purchasers. Bristol was the
strong-hold, where about two hundred and fifty subscribers were obtained
by myself, and one hundred and twenty by Mr. Reed. These were
insufficient. What was to be done? A bold measure was determined upon.
Mr. Coleridge, conceiving that his means of subsistence depended upon the
success of this undertaking, armed himself with unwonted resolution, and
expressed his determination to travel over half England and take the
posse comitatus by storm.

In conformity with such resolution, he obtained letters of introduction
to influential men in the respective towns he meant to visit, and, like a
shrewd calculator, determined to add the parson's avocation to that of
the political pamphleteer. The beginning of Jan. 1796, Mr. Coleridge,
laden with recommendatory epistles, and rich in hope, set out on his
eventful journey, and visited in succession, Worcester, Birmingham,
Nottingham, Lichfield, Derby, Manchester, Sheffield, Liverpool, &c. and
as a crowning achievement, at the last, paid his respects to the great
metropolis; in all which places, by bills, prospectuses, advertisements,
and other expedients, the reading public were duly apprised of the "NEW
REVIEW, NEWSPAPER, and ANNUAL REGISTER," about to be published.

The good people, in all the towns through which Mr. Coleridge passed,
were electrified by his extraordinary eloquence. At this time, and during
the whole of his residence in Bristol, there was, in the strict sense,
little of the true, interchangeable conversation in Mr. C. On almost
every subject on which he essayed to speak, he made an impassioned
harangue of a quarter, or half an hour; so that inveterate talkers, while
Mr. Coleridge was on the wing, generally suspended their own flight, and
felt it almost a profanation to interrupt so impressive and mellifluous a
speaker. This singular, if not happy peculiarity, occasioned even Madame
de Stael to remark of Mr. C. that "He was rich in a Monologue, but poor
in a Dialogue."

From the brilliant volubility before noticed, admiration and astonishment
followed Mr. C. like a shadow, through the whole course of his
peregrinations. This new "Review, Newspaper, and Annual Register," was
largely patronized; for who would not give fourpence every eighth day, to
be furnished, by so competent a man as Mr. Coleridge, with this
quintessence, this concentration of all that was valuable, in Politics,
Criticism, and Literature; enriched in addition, with Poetry of the first
waters, luminous Essays, and other effusions of men of letters? So choice
a morçeau was the very thing that every body wanted; and, in the course
of his journey, subscriptions poured in to the extent of one thousand;
and Mr. C. on his return, after what might be called a triumph,
discovered the elasticity of his spirit; smiling at past depressions, and
now, on solid ground, anticipating ease, wealth, and fame.

The first of March arrived. The "Watchman" was published. Although
deprived of the pleasure of contributing to Mr. Coleridge's fund, I
determined to assist him in other ways, and that far more effectually. On
the publication of the first Number, besides my trouble in sending round
to so many subscribers,--with all the intense earnestness attending the
transaction of the most weighty concerns, it occupied Mr. Coleridge and
myself four full hours to arrange, reckon, (each pile being counted by
Mr. C. after myself, to be quite satisfied that there was no extra 3-1/2
d. one slipped in unawares,) pack up, and write invoices and letters for
the London and country customers, all expressed thus, in the true
mercantile style:


Bristol, March 1st, 1796.

Mr. Pritchard, (Derby)

Dr. to Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

To 73 No. 1 of the Watchman ... 3-1/2 d. ... £1 1 3-1/2


This routine was repeated with every fresh number. My part was zealously
and cheerfully discharged, with the encouraging hope that it would
essentially serve my anxious and valued friend. But all would not do!

A feeling of disappointment prevailed early and pretty generally, amongst
the subscribers. The Prospectus promised too much. In the Review
department, no one article appeared embodying any high order of talent.
The Newspaper section pleased no one, from the confined limits to which
the editor was restricted, independently of which, nearly all the
subscribers had seen the Debates in their length, through other mediums;
and yet this profitless part of the work gave most trouble to the
compiler. Its dulness, I know, fretted Mr. Coleridge exceedingly.[15]

The theory of publishing was delightful; but the exemplification--the
practice, proved, alas! teasing, if not tormenting. One pitiful
subscriber of fourpence, every eighth day, thought his boys did not
improve much under it. Another expected more from his "Annual Register!"
Another wanted more Reviews! Another, more Politics! and those a little
sharper. As the work proceeded, joys decreased, and perplexities
multiplied! added to which, subscribers rapidly fell off, debts were
accumulated and unpaid, till, at the Tenth Number, the Watchman at the
helm cried "Breakers" and the vessel stranded!--It being formally
announced, that "The work did not pay its expenses!"

The "Address to the readers of the Watchman," in the last page, was the
following:

    "This is the last Number of the Watchman.--Henceforward I shall cease
    to cry the state of the Political atmosphere. While I express my
    gratitude to those friends who exerted themselves so liberally in the
    establishment of this Miscellany, I may reasonably be expected to
    assign some reason for relinquishing it thus abruptly. The reason is
    short and satisfactory.--The work does not pay its expences. Part of
    my subscribers have relinquished it, because it did not contain
    sufficient original composition; and a still larger number, because
    it contained too much. Those who took it in as a mere journal of
    weekly events, must have been unacquainted with 'FLOWER'S CAMBRIDGE
    INTELLIGENCER;' a Newspaper, the style and composition of which would
    claim distinguished praise, even among the productions of literary
    leisure; while it breathes everywhere the severest morality; fighting
    fearlessly the good fight against tyranny, yet never unfaithful to
    that religion, whose service is perfect freedom. Those, on the other
    hand, who expected from it much and varied original composition, have
    naturally relinquished it in favour of the 'NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE;' a
    work which has almost monopolized the talent of the country, and with
    which I should have continued a course of literary rivalship, with as
    much success as might be expected to attend a young recruit, who
    should oppose himself to a phalanx of disciplined warriors. Long may
    it continue to deserve the support of the patriot and the
    philanthropist; and while it teaches its readers NATIONAL LIBERTY,
    prepare them for the enjoyment of it; strengthening the intellect by
    SCIENCE, and softening our affections by the GRACES! To return to
    myself. I have endeavoured to do well: and it must be attributed to
    defect of ability, not of inclination or effort, if the words of the
    Prophet be altogether applicable to me.

      "O, Watchman! thou hast watched in vain."

Many readers will feel a concern in the arrangements and perplexities of
Mr. Coleridge at the time of publishing his "Watchman;" for he had a more
vital interest involved in the success of that work than he had,
individually, in the rise and fall of empires. When he returned from his
northern journey laden with subscribers, and with hope ripened into
confidence, all that had yet been done was the mere scaffolding; the
building was now to be erected. Soon after this time I received from Mr.
Coleridge the following letter.


"1796.

My ever dear Cottle,

I will wait on you this evening at 9 o'clock, till which hour I am on
"Watch." Your Wednesday's invitation I of course accept, but I am rather
sorry that you should add this expense to former liberalities.

Two editions of my Poems would barely repay you. Is it not possible to
get twenty-five, or thirty of the Poems ready by to-morrow, as Parsons,
of Paternoster Row, has written to me pressingly about them. 'People are
perpetually asking after them.' All admire the Poetry in the 'Watchman;'
he says, I can send them with one hundred "of the First Number," which he
has written for. I think if you were to send half a dozen 'Joans of Arc,'
[4to. £1. 1. 0] on sale or return, it would not be amiss. To all the
places in the North, we will send my 'Poems,' my 'Conciones,' and the
'Joans of Arc,' together, per waggon. You shall pay the carriage for the
London and the Birmingham parcels; I for the Sheffield, Derby,
Nottingham, Manchester, and Liverpool.

With regard to the Poems I mean to give away, I wish to make it a common
interest; that is, I will give away a sheet full of Sonnets. One to Mrs.
Barbauld; one to Wakefield; one to Dr. Beddoes: one to Wrangham, (a
College acquaintance of mine, an admirer of me, and a pitier of my
principles!) one to George Augustus Pollen, Esq. one to C. Lamb; one to
Wordsworth; one to my brother G. and one to Dr. Parr. These Sonnets I
mean to write on the blank leaf, respectively, of each copy.[16]

Concerning the paper for the 'Watchman,' I was vexed to hear your
proposal of trusting it to Biggs, who, if he undertook it at all, would
have a profit, which heaven knows, I cannot afford. My plan was, either
that you should write to your paper-maker, saying that you had
recommended him to me, and ordering for me twenty or forty reams, at a
half year's credit; or else, in your own name; in which case I would
transfer to you, Reed's[17] weekly account, amounting to 120 3-1/2 d's,
(or 35 shillings) and the Birmingham monthly account, amounting to £14. a
month.

God bless you,

and S. T. Coleridge."


This letter requires a few explanations. In recommending that Biggs, the
printer, should choose the paper, it was not designed for him to provide
it, which, had he been so requested, he would not have done, but merely
to select one, out of different samples to be submitted to him, as that
which he, as a printer, thought the best. This was explained to Mr. C. It
will be perceived, that Mr. Coleridge's two proposals were virtually one:
as, if I ordered the paper for myself or for another, the responsibility
would rest with me. The plain fact is, I purchased the whole of the paper
for the "Watchman," allowing Mr. C. to have it at prime cost, and
receiving small sums from him occasionally, in liquidation. I became
responsible, also, to Mr. B. for printing the work, by which means I
reduced the price per sheet, as a bookseller, (1000) from fifty shillings
to thirty five shillings. Mr. C. paid me for the paper in fractions, as
he found it convenient, but from the falling off of his own receipts, I
never received the whole. It was a losing concern altogether, and I was
willing to bear, uncomplaining, my proportion of the loss. There is some
difference between this statement, and that of Mr. Coleridge in his
"Biographia Literaria."[18] A defect of memory must have existed, arising
out of the lapse of twenty two years; but my notices, made at that time,
did not admit of mistake.

My loss was also augmented from another cause. Mr. C. states in the above
work, that his London publisher never paid him "one farthing," but "set
him at defiance." I also was more than his equal companion in this
misfortune. The thirty copies of Mr. C.'s poems, and the six "Joans of
Arc" (referred to in the preceding letter) found a ready sale, by this
said "indefatigable London publisher," and large and fresh orders were
received, so that Mr. Coleridge and myself participated in two very
opposite feelings, the one of exultation that our publications had found
_so good a sale_; and the other of _depression_, that the time of
_payment_ never arrived!

All the copies also, of Mr. C.'s Poems, and the "Joan's of Arc," which
were sent to the North, so far as I am concerned, shared the same fate. I
do not know that they were ever paid for. If they were, in combination
with other things, it was my wish that the entanglement should never be
unravelled, for who could take from Mr. C. any portion of his slender
remittances.

The most amusing appendage to this unfortunate "Miscellany," will now be
presented to the reader, in the seven following letters of Mr. Coleridge,
addressed to his friend Mr. Josiah Wade, and written in the progress of
his journey to collect subscribers for the "Watchman."


"Worcester, Jan. 1796.

My dear Wade,

We were five in number, and twenty-five, in quantity. The moment I
entered the coach, I stumbled on a huge projection, which might be called
a belly, with the same propriety that you might name Mount Atlas a
mole-hill. Heavens! that a man should be unconscionable enough to enter a
stage coach, who would want elbow room if he were walking on Salisbury
Plain!

This said citizen was a most violent aristocrat, but a pleasant humourous
fellow in other respects, and remarkably well-informed in agricultural
science; so that the time passed pleasantly enough. We arrived at
Worcester at half-past two: I of course dined at the inn, where I met Mr.
Stevens. After dinner I christianized myself; that is, washed and
changed, and marched in finery and cleanliness to High-Street. With
regard to business, there is no chance of doing any thing at Worcester.
The aristocrats are so numerous, and the influence of the clergy so
extensive, that Mr. Barr thinks no bookseller will venture to publish the
'Watchman.'

P.S. I hope and trust that the young citizeness is well, and also Mrs.
Wade. Give my love to the latter, and a kiss for me to little Miss
Bratinella.

S. T. Coleridge."


"Birmingham, Jan. 1796.

My dear friend,

... My exertions have been incessant, for in whatever company I go, I am
obliged to be the figurante of the circle. Yesterday I preached twice,
and, indeed, performed the whole service, morning and afternoon. There
were about fourteen hundred persons present, and my sermons (great part
extempore) were _preciously peppered with Politics_. I have here, at
least, double the number of subscribers, I had expected...."


"Nottingham, Jan. 7, 1796.

My dear friend,

You will perceive by this letter I have changed my route. From
Birmingham, on Friday last, (four o'clock in the morning) I proceeded to
Derby, stayed there till Monday morning, and am now at Nottingham. From
Nottingham I go to Sheffield; from Sheffield to Manchester; from
Manchester to Liverpool? from Liverpool to London, from London to
Bristol. Ah, what a weary way! My poor crazy ark has been tossed to and
fro on an ocean of business, and I long for the Mount Ararat on which it
is to rest. At Birmingham I was extremely unwell; a violent cold in my
head and limbs confined me for two days. Business succeeded very well;
about a hundred subscribers, I think.

At Derby, also, I succeeded tolerably well. Mr. Strutt, the successor of
Sir Richard Arkwright, tells me, I may count on forty or fifty in Derby.
Derby is full of curiosities; the cotton and silk mills; Wright, the
painter, and Dr. Darwin, the every thing but Christian! Dr. Darwin
possesses, perhaps, a greater range of knowledge than any other man in
Europe, and is the most inventive of philosophical men. He thinks in a
new train on all subjects but religion. He bantered me on the subject of
religion. I heard all his arguments, and told him, it was infinitely
consoling to me--to find that the arguments of so great a man, adduced
against the existence of a God and the evidences of revealed religion,
were such as had startled me at fifteen, but had become the objects of my
smile at twenty. Not one new objection; not even an ingenious one! He
boasted 'that he had never read one book in favour of such stuff! but
that he had read all the works of infidels.'

What would you think, Mr. Wade, of a man, who having abused and ridiculed
you, should openly declare, that he had heard all that your enemies had
to say against you, but had scorned to inquire the truth from any one of
your friends? Would you think him an honest man? I am sure you would not.
Yet such are all the infidels whom I have known. They talk of a subject,
yet are proud to confess themselves profoundly ignorant of it. Dr. Darwin
would have been ashamed to reject 'Hutton's Theory of the Earth,' without
having minutely examined it: yet what is it to us, how the earth was
made, a thing impossible to be known. This system the Dr. did not reject
without having severely studied it; but all at once he makes up his mind
on such important subjects, as, whether we be the outcasts of a blind
idiot, called Nature, or, the children of an All-wise and Infinitely Good
God! Whether we spend a few miserable years on this earth, and then sink
into a clod of the valley; or, endure the anxieties of mortal life, only
to fit us for the enjoyment of immortal happiness. These subjects are
unworthy a philosopher's investigation! He deems that there is a certain
self-evidence in Infidelity, and becomes an Atheist by intuition! Well
did St. Paul say, 'Ye have an evil heart of unbelief.'

... What lovely children Mr. Barr, of Worcester has! After church, in the
evening, they sat round and sung hymns, so sweetly that they overpowered
me. It was with great difficulty that I abstained from weeping aloud! and
the infant, in Mrs. B.'s. arms, leant forward, and stretched his little
arms, and stared, and smiled! It seemed a picture of heaven, where the
different orders of the blessed, join different voices in one melodious
hallelulia! and the babe like a young spirit just that moment arrived in
heaven, startled at the seraphic songs, and seized at once with wonder
and rapture!...

From your affectionate friend,

S. T. Coleridge."


"Sheffield, Jan. 1796.

My very dear friend,

I arrived at this place, late last night, by the mail from Nottingham,
where I have been treated with kindness and friendship, of which I can
give you but a faint idea. I preached a charity sermon there last sunday;
I preached in colored clothes. With regard to the gown at Birmingham (of
which you inquire) I suffered myself to be over-persuaded:--first of all,
my sermon being of so political a tendency, had I worn my blue coat, it
would have impugned Edwards. They would have said, he had stuck a
political lecturer in his pulpit. Secondly,--the society is of all sorts.
Unitarians, Arians, Trinitarians, &c.! and I must have shocked a
multitude of prejudices. And thirdly,--there is a difference between an
Inn, and a place of residence. In the first, your example, is of little
consequence; in a single instance only, it ceases to operate as example;
and my refusal would have been imputed to affectation, or an
unaccommodating spirit. Assuredly I would not do it in a place where I
intended to preach often. And even in the vestry at Birmingham, when they
at last persuaded me, I told them, I was acting against my better
knowledge, and should possibly feel uneasy after. So these accounts of
the matter you must consider as reasons and palliations, concluding, 'I
plead guilty my Lord!' Indeed I want firmness. I perceive I do. I have
that within me which makes it difficult to say, No! (repeatedly) to a
number of persons who seem uneasy and anxious....

My kind remembrances to Mrs. Wade. God bless her, and you, and (like a
bad shilling slipped in between two guineas.)

Your faithful and affectionate friend,

S. T. Coleridge."


Mr. Coleridge, in the course of his extensive journey, having had to act
the tradesman on rather an extended scale; conferring and settling with
all the booksellers in the respective towns, as to the means of
conveyance, allowance, remittances, &c. he thus wrote in a dejected mood,
to his friend Mr. Wade,--an unpropitious state of mind for a new
enterprise, and very different from those sanguine hopes which he had
expressed on other occasions.


"My dear friend,

... I succeeded very well here at Litchfield. Belcher, bookseller,
Birmingham; Sutton, Nottingham; Pritchard, Derby; and Thomson,
Manchester, are the publishers. In every number of the 'Watchman,' there
be printed these words, 'Published in Bristol, by the Author, S. T.
Coleridge, and sold, &c. &c.'

I verily believe no poor fellow's idea-pot ever bubbled up so vehemently
with fears, doubts and difficulties, as mine does at present. Heaven
grant it may not boil over, and put out the fire! I am almost heartless!
My past life seems to me like a dream, a feverish dream! all one gloomy
huddle of strange actions, and dim-discovered motives! Friendships lost
by indolence, and happiness murdered by mismanaged sensibility! The
present hour I seem in a quickset hedge of embarrassments! For shame! I
ought not to mistrust God! but indeed, to hope is far more difficult than
to fear. Bulls have horns, Lions have talons.

  The Fox, and Statesman subtle wiles ensure,
  The Cit, and Polecat stink and are secure:
  Toads with their venom, Doctors with their drug,
  The Priest, and Hedgehog, in their robes are snug!
  Oh, Nature! cruel step-mother, and hard,
  To thy poor, naked, fenceless child the Bard!
  No Horns but those by luckless Hymen worn,
  And those, (alas! alas!) not Plenty's Horn!
  With naked feelings, and with aching pride,
  He bears th' unbroken blast on every side!
  Vampire booksellers drain him to the heart,
  And Scorpion critics cureless venom dart![19]

S. T. C."


"Manchester, Jan. 7, 1796.

My dear friend,

I arrived at Manchester, last night, from Sheffield, to which place I
shall only send about thirty numbers. I might have succeeded there, at
least, equally well with the former towns, but I should injure the sale
of the 'Iris.' the editor of which Paper (a very amiable and ingenious
young man, of the name of 'James Montgomery') is now in prison, for a
libel on a bloody-minded magistrate there. Of course, I declined publicly
advertising or disposing of the 'Watchman' in that town.

This morning I called on Mr. ---- with H's letter. Mr. ---- received me
as a rider, and treated me with insolence that was really amusing from
its novelty. 'Overstocked with these Articles.' 'People always setting up
some new thing or other.' 'I read the Star and another paper; what can I
want with this paper, which is nothing more.' 'Well, well, I'll consider
of it.' To these entertaining bon mots, I returned the following
repartee,--'Good morning, sir.' ...

God bless you, S. T. C."


"Mosely, near Birmingham, 1796.

My very dear Wade,

Will it be any excuse to you for my silence, to say that I have written
to no one else, and that these are the very first lines I have written?

I stayed a day or two at Derby, and then went on in Mrs. ---- carriage to
see the beauties of Matlock. Here I stayed from Tuesday to Saturday,
which time was completely filled up with seeing the country, eating,
concerts, &c. I was the first fiddle, not in the concerts, but everywhere
else, and the company would not spare me twenty minutes together. Sunday
I dedicated to the drawing up my sketch of education, which I meant to
publish, to try to get a school.

Monday I accompanied Mrs. E. to Oakover, with Miss W.--, to the thrice
lovely valley of Ham; a vale hung by beautiful woods all round, except
just at its entrance, where, as you stand at the other end of the valley,
you see a bare, bleak mountain, standing as it were to guard the
entrance. It is without exception, the most beautiful place I ever
visited, and from thence we proceeded to Dove-Dale, without question
tremendously sublime. Here we dined in a cavern, by the side of a divine
little spring. We returned to Derby, quite exhausted with the rapid
succession of delightful emotions.

I was to have left Derby on Wednesday; but on the Wednesday, Dr.
Crompton, who had been at Liverpool, came home. He called on me, and made
the following offer. That if I would take a house in Derby, and open a
day-school, confining my number to twelve, he would send his three
children. That, till I had completed my number, he would allow me one
hundred a year; and and when I had completed it, twenty guineas a year
for each son. He thinks there is no doubt but that I might have more than
twelve in a very short time, if I liked it. If so, twelve times twenty
guineas is two hundred and forty guineas per annum; and my mornings and
evenings would be my own: the children coming to me from nine to twelve,
and from two to five: the two last hours employed with the writing and
drawing masters, in my presence: so that only four hours would be
thoroughly occupied by them. The plan to commence in November. I agreed
with the Doctor, he telling me, that if, in the mean time, anything more
advantageous offered itself, I was to consider myself perfectly at
liberty to accept it. On Thursday I left Derby for Burton. Prom Burton I
took chaise, slept at Litchfield, and in the morning arrived at my worthy
friend's, Mr. Thomas Hawkes, at Mosely, three miles from Birmingham, in
whose shrubbery I am now writing. I shall stay at Birmingham a week
longer.

I have seen a letter from Mr. William Roscoe, (Author of the life of
Lorenzo the magnificent; a work in two quarto volumes, of which the whole
first edition sold in a month) it was addressed to Mr. Edwards, the
minister here, and entirely related to me. Of me, and my composition, he
writes in terms of high admiration, and concludes by desiring Mr. Edwards
to let him know my situation and prospects, and saying, if I would come
and settle at Liverpool, he thought a comfortable situation might be
procured for me. This day Edwards will write to him.

God love you, and your grateful and affectionate friend, S. T. Coleridge.

N. B. I preached yesterday."


Mr. Coleridge, in the preceding letters, states his having preached
occasionally. There must have been a first sermon. It so happened that I
heard Mr. C. preach his first and also his second sermon, with some
account of which I shall now furnish the reader; and that without
concealment or embellishment. But it will be necessary, as an
illustration of the whole, to convey some previous information, which, as
it regards most men, would be too unimportant to relate.

When Mr. Coleridge first came to Bristol, he had evidently adopted, at
least to some considerable extent, the sentiments of Socinus. By persons
of that persuasion, therefore, he was hailed as a powerful accession to
their cause. From Mr. C.'s voluble utterance, it was even believed that
he might become a valuable Unitarian minister, (of which class of
divines, a great scarcity then existed, with a still more gloomy
anticipation, from most of the young academicians at their chief academy
having recently turned infidels.) But though this presumption in Mr.
Coleridge's favour was confidently entertained, no certainty could exist
without a trial, and how was this difficulty to be overcome? The
Unitarians in Bristol might have wished to see Mr. C. in their pulpit,
expounding and enforcing their faith; but, as they said, "the thing, in
Bristol, was altogether impracticable," from the conspicuous stand which
he had taken in free politics, through the medium of his numerous
lectures.[20]

It was then recollected by some of his anxious and importunate friends,
that Bath was near, and that a good judge of requisite qualifications was
to be found therein in the person of the Rev. David Jardine, with whom
some of Mr. C.'s friends were on terms of intimacy; so that it was
determined that Mr. Coleridge, as the commencement of his brilliant
career, should be respectfully requested to preach his inaugural
discourse in the Unitarian chapel at Bath.

The invitation having been given and accepted, I felt some curiosity to
witness the firmness with which he would face a large and enlightened
audience, and, in the intellectual sense, grace his canonical robes. No
conveyance having been provided, and wishing the young ecclesiastic to
proceed to the place of his exhibition with some decent respectability, I
agreed with a common friend, the late Mr. Charles Danvers, to take Mr. C.
over to Bath in a chaise.

The morning of the important day unfolded, and in due time we arrived at
the place of our destination. When on the way to the chapel, a man
stopped Charles Danvers, and asked him if he could tell where the Rev.
Mr. Coleridge preached. "Follow the crowd," said Danvers, and walked on.
Mr. C. wore his blue coat and white waistcoat; but what was Mr. Jardine's
surprise, when he found that his young probationer peremptorily refused
to wear the hide-all sable gown! Expostulation was unavailing, and the
minister ascended to the pulpit in his coloured clothes!

Considering that it had been announced on the preceding Sunday, that "the
Rev. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from Cambridge University" would preach
there on this day, we naturally calculated on an overflowing audience,
but it proved to be the most meagre congregation I had ever seen. The
reader will but imperfectly appreciate Mr. C.'s discourse, without the
previous information that this year (1796) was a year of great scarcity,
and consequent privation, amongst the poor; on which subject the sermon
was designed impressively to bear. And now the long-expected service
commenced.

The prayer, without being intended, was formal, unimpressive, and
undevotional; the singing was languid; but we expected that the sermon
would arouse the inattentive, and invigorate the dull. The moment for
announcing the text arrived. Our curiosity was excited. With little less
than famine in the land, our hearts were appalled at hearing the words,
"When they shall be hungry, they shall fret themselves, and curse their
king, and their God, and look upward." (Isaiah viii. 21.) Mr.
Winterbotham, a little before, had been thrown into prison for the
freedom of his political remarks in a sermon at Plymouth, and we were
half fearful whether in his impetuous current of feeling, some stray
expressions might not subject our friend to a like visitation. Our fears
were groundless. Strange as it may appear in Mr. Coleridge's vigorous
mind, the whole discourse consisted of little more than a Lecture on the
Corn Laws! which some time before he had delivered in Bristol, at the
Assembly Boom.

Returning from our edifying discourse to a tavern dinner, we were
privileged with more luminous remarks on this inexhaustible subject: but
something better (or worse, as the reader's taste may be) is still in
reserve. After dinner, Mr. Coleridge remarked that he should have no
objection to preach another sermon that afternoon. In the hope that
something redeeming might still appear, and the best be retained for the
last, we encouraged his proposal, when he rang the bell, and on the
waiter appearing, he was sent, with Mr. Coleridge's compliments, to the
Rev. Mr. Jardine, to say "If agreeable, Mr. C. would give his
congregation another sermon, this afternoon, on the Hair Powder Tax!"[21]
On the departure of the waiter, I was fully assured that Mr. Jardine
would smile, and send a civil excuse, satisfied that he had had quite
enough of political economy, with blue coat and white waistcoat, in the
morning; but to my great surprise, the waiter returned with Mr. Jardine's
compliments, saying, "he should be happy to hear Mr. Coleridge!"

Now all was hurry lest the concourse should be kept waiting. What
surprise will the reader feel, on understanding that, independently of
ourselves and Mr. Jardine, there were but seventeen persons present,
including men, women, and children! We had, as we expected, a
recapitulation of the old lecture, with the exception of its humorous
appendages, in reprobation of the Hair Powder Tax; and the twice-told
tale, even to the ear of friendship, in truth sounded rather dull!

Two or three times Mr. C. looked significantly toward our seat, when
fearful of being thrown off my guard into a smile, I held down my head,
from which position I was aroused, when the sermon was about half over,
by some gentleman throwing back the door of his pew, and walking out of
the chapel. In a few minutes after, a second individual did the same; and
soon after a third door flew open, and the listener escaped! At this
moment affairs looked so very ominous, that we were almost afraid Mr.
Jardine himself would fly, and that none but ourselves would fairly sit
it out. A little before, I had been in company with the late Robert Hall,
and S. T. Coleridge, when the collision of equal minds elicited light and
heat; both of them ranking in the first class of conversationalists, but
great indeed was the contrast between them in the pulpit. The parlour was
the element for Mr. Coleridge, and the politician's lecture, rather than
the minister's harangue. We all returned to Bristol with the feeling of
disappointment;--Mr. C. from the little personal attention paid to him by
Mr. Jardine; and we, from a dissatisfying sense of a Sunday desecrated.
Although no doubt can be entertained of Mr. Coleridge having, in the
journey before noticed, surpassed his first essay, yet, with every
reasonable allowance, the conviction was so strong on my mind that Mr. C.
had mistaken his talent, that my regard for him was too genuine to
entertain the wish of ever again seeing him in a pulpit.

It is unknown when the following letter was received, (although quite
certain that it was not the evening in which Mr. Coleridge wrote his "Ode
to the Departing Year,") and it is printed in this place at something of
an uncertainty.[22]


"January 1st.

My dear Cottle,

I have been forced to disappoint not only you, but Dr. Beddoes, on an
affair of some importance. Last night I was induced by strong and joint
solicitation, to go to a card-club, to which Mr. Morgan belongs, and,
after the playing was over, to sup, and spend the remainder of the night:
having made a previous compact, that I should not drink; however just on
the verge of twelve, I was desired to drink only one wine glass of punch,
in honour of the departing year; and, after twelve, one other in honour
of the new year. Though the glasses were very small, yet such was the
effect produced during my sleep, that I awoke unwell, and in about twenty
minutes after had a relapse of my bilious complaint. I am just now
recovered, and with care, I doubt not, shall be as well as ever
to-morrow. If I do not see you then, it will be from some relapse, which
I have no reason, thank heaven, to anticipate.

Yours affectionately,

S. T. Coleridge."


In consequence of Mr. Coleridge's journey to the north, to collect
subscribers for the "Watchman," an incident occurred, which produced a
considerable effect on his after life. During Mr. C.'s visit to
Birmingham, an accident had introduced him to the eldest son of Mr.
Lloyd, the eminent banker of that town. Mr. Lloyd had intended his son
Charles to unite with him in the bank, but the monotonous business of the
establishment, ill accorded with the young man's taste, which had taken a
decidedly literary turn. If the object of Charles Lloyd had been to
accumulate wealth, his disposition might have been gratified to the
utmost, but the tedious and unintellectual occupation of adjusting
pounds, shillings, and pence, suited, he thought, those alone who had
never, eagle-like, gazed at the sun, or bathed their temples in the dews
of Parnassus. The feelings of this young man were ardent; his reading and
information extensive; and his genius, though of a peculiar cast,
considerable. His mind appeared, however, subject to something of that
morbid sensibility which distinguished Cowper. The admiration excited in
Mr. L. by Mr. Coleridge's pre-eminent talents, induced him to relinquish
his connexion with the bank; and he had now arrived in Bristol to seek
Mr. C. out, and to improve his acquaintance with him.

To enjoy the enviable privilege of Mr. Coleridge's conversation, Mr.
Lloyd proposed even to domesticate with him; and made him such a
pecuniary offer, that Mr. C. immediately acceded to the proposal; and to
effect this, as an essential preliminary, removed from Redcliff-hill, to
a house on Kingsdown.

In this his new abode, Mr. Coleridge appeared settled and comfortable.
Friends were kind and numerous. Books, of all kinds, were at his command.
Of the literary society now found in Bristol, he expressed himself in
terms of warm approval, and thought, in this feature, that it was
surpassed by no city in the kingdom. His son Hartley, also, was now born;
and no small accession to his comfort arose from his young and
intelligent domestic associate, Charles Lloyd. This looked something like
permanence; but the promise was fallacious, for Mr. Coleridge now
experienced another removal.

His friend, Mr. Thomas Poole, of Nether Stowey, near Bridgwater, was
desirous of obtaining Mr. C. again, as a permanent neighbour, and
recommended him to take a small house at Stowey, then to be let, at seven
pounds a year, which he thought would well suit him. Mr. Poole's personal
worth; his friendly and social manners; his information, and taste for
literature; all this, combined with the prospect of a diminished expense
in his establishment, unitedly, formed such powerful inducements, that
Mr. C. at once decided, and the more so, as Mr. Lloyd had consented to
accompany him. To this place, consequently, the whole party repaired.

On Mr. Coleridge reaching his new abode, I was gratified by receiving
from him the following letter.


"Stowey, 1796.

My dear Cottle,

We arrived safe. Our house is set to rights. We are all--wife, bratling,
and self, remarkably well. Mrs. Coleridge likes Stowey, and loves Thomas
Poole and his mother, who love her. A communication has been made from
our orchard into T. Poole's garden, and from thence to Cruikshank's, a
friend of mine, and a young married man, whose wife is very amiable, and
she and Sara are already on the most cordial terms; from all this you
will conclude we are happy. By-the-bye, what a delightful poem, is
Southey's 'Musings on a Landscape of Gaspar Poussin.' I love it almost
better than his 'Hymn to the Penates.' In his volume of poems. The
following, namely,

    'The Six Sonnets on the Slave Trade.--The Ode to the Genius of
    Africa.--To my own Miniature Picture.--The Eight
    Inscriptions.--Elinor, Botany-bay Eclogue.--Frederick, ditto.--The
    Ten Sonnets, (pp. 107-116.) On the death of an Old Spaniel.--The
    Soldier's Wife, Dactylics.--The Widow, Sapphics.--The Chapel
    Bell.--The Race of Banco. Rudiger.'

All these Poems are worthy the Author of 'Joan of Arc.' And
  'The Musings on a Landscape,' &c. and
  'The Hymn to the Penates,'
deserve to have been published after 'Joan of Arc,' as proofs of
progressive genius.

God bless you,

S. T. C."


The account of Mr. Coleridge's residence at Stowey, lies in the
department of another; although he occasionally visited Bristol, with
Mrs. C., as engagements or inclination prompted; some notice of which
visits will here be taken.

Mr. Charles Lloyd was subject to fits, to one of which the second
following letter refers. In the above letter Mr. C. pronounces himself
happy, but as no condition, in this changeable world, is either perfect
happiness or misery, so the succeeding letter presents Mr. C.
over-powered, almost, with a feeling of despondency! The calculation of
the course which genius, combined with eccentricity, would be likely to
pursue, must be attended with uncertainty, but the probability is, that
had Mr. C's mind been easy at this time, surrounded by domestic quiet and
comparative seclusion, he might have been equal to any intellectual
achievement; but soon after he settled at Stowey, he was reduced to the
most prostrate state of depression, arising purely from the darkness of
his pecuniary horizon. Happily for the reader, a brief mental respite
succeeded, in which, if trouble existed, the letter which expressed that
trouble, soon exhibits him (half forgetful) expatiating in those
comprehensive surveys of possible excellence which formed the habit of
his mind.


"Stowey, 1796.

My dearest Cottle,

I love and respect you as a brother, and my memory deceives me woefully,
if I have not evidenced, by the animated tone of my conversation when we
have been tete a tete, how much your conversation interested me. But when
last in Bristol, the day I meant to devote to you, was such a day of
sadness, I could do nothing. On the Saturday, the Sunday, and ten days
after my arrival at Stowey, I felt a depression too dreadful to be
described.

  So much I felt my genial spirits droop,
  My hopes all flat; Nature within me seemed
  In all her functions, weary of herself,

Wordsworth's[23] conversation aroused me somewhat, but even now I am not
the man I have been, and I think I never shall. A sort of calm
hopelessness diffuses itself over my heart. Indeed every mode of life
which has promised me bread and cheese, has been, one after another, torn
away from me, but God remains. I have no immediate pecuniary distress,
having received ten pounds from Lloyd. I employ myself now on a book of
morals in answer to Godwin, and on my tragedy.

       *       *       *       *       *

There are some poets who write too much at their ease, from the facility
with which they please themselves. They do not often enough

          'Feel their burdened breast
  Heaving beneath incumbent Deity.'

So that to posterity their wreaths will look unseemly. Here, perhaps, an
everlasting Amaranth, and, close by its side, some weed of an hour, sere,
yellow, and shapeless. Their very beauties will lose half their effect,
from the bad company they keep. They rely too much on story and event, to
the neglect of those lofty imaginings that are peculiar to, and definite
of the Poet.

The story of Milton might be told in two pages. It is this which
distinguishes an epic poem from a romance in metre. Observe the march of
Milton; his severe application; his laborious polish; his deep
metaphysical researches; his prayer to God before he began his great
work; all that could lift and swell his intellect, became his daily food.

I should not think of devoting less than twenty years to an epic poem.
Ten years to collect materials and warm my mind with universal science. I
would be a tolerable Mathematician. I would thoroughly understand
Mechanics; Hydrostatics; Optics, and Astronomy; Botany; Metallurgy;
Fossilism; Chemistry; Geology; Anatomy; Medicine; then the mind of man;
then the minds of men, in all Travels, Voyages, and Histories. So I would
spend ten years; the next five in the composition of the poem, and the
five last in the correction of it. So would I write, haply not unhearing
of that divine and nightly-whispering voice, which speaks to mighty
minds, of predestinated garlands, starry and unwithering.[24]

God love you.

S. T. Coleridge.

P. S. David Hartley is well and grows. Sara is well, and desires a
sister's love to you."


In the spirit of impartiality, it now devolves on me to state a temporary
misunderstanding between even the two Pantisocratans; Mr. Coleridge and
Mr. Southey! The affair occurred in the autumn of 1795, but it could not
be noticed at that time, without interrupting the narrative.

It is difficult to assign any other reason for the wild scheme of
Pantisocracy, than the inexperience of youth, acting on sanguine
imaginations. At its first announcement, every reflecting mind saw that
the plan, in its nature, and in the agents who were to carry it into
effect, was liable to insurmountable objections; but the individuals with
whom the design originated, were young, ardent, and enthusiastic, and at
that time entertained views of society erroneous in themselves, and which
experience alone could correct. The fullest conviction was entertained by
their friends, that as reason established itself in their minds, the
delusion would vanish; and they themselves soon smile at extravagances
which none but their own ingenious order of minds could have devised; but
when the dissension occurred, before noticed, at Chepstow, Mr. Southey
must have had conviction flashed on his mind, that the habits of himself
and his friend were so essentially opposed, as to render harmony and
success impossible.

Mr. Southey now informed Mr. Coleridge, that circumstances, and his own
views had so altered, as to render it necessary for him candidly to state
that he must abandon Pantisocracy, and the whole scheme of colonizing in
America; and that he should accept an invitation from his uncle, to
accompany him through Spain to Lisbon. The reader has had cause to
believe that Mr. C. himself had relinquished this wild plan, but it was
by implication, rather than by direct avowal. Perhaps, in the frustration
of so many of his present designs, a latent thought might linger in his
mind, that America, after all, was to be the fostering asylum, where,
alone, unmingled felicity was to be found. The belief is hardly
admissible, and yet the admission, extravagant as it is, derives some
support from the unexpected effect produced on him by the disclosure of
his friend.

On this announcement, or soon after, a tumult of fearful intensity arose
in Mr. Coleridge's mind, which filled the whole circle of their friends
with grief and dismay. This unexpected effect, perhaps, may be ascribed
to the consciousness now first seriously awakened, of the erroneous
principles on which all his calculations had been founded. He perceived
at length, (it may be) that he had been pursuing a phantom; and the
conviction must have been associated with self-upbraidings. It is
commonly found, that the man who is dissatisfied with himself, is seldom
satisfied long with those around him; and these compound and accumulated
feelings must necessarily be directed against some object. At this
brain-crazing moment, the safety-valve of feeling was Mr. Southey.

Being familiar with the whole affair, I completely justified Mr. S. as
having acted with the strictest honour and propriety, and in such a way
as any wise man, under such circumstances, would have acted. The great
surprise with their friends was, that the crisis should not have occurred
earlier, as a result certain to take place, and delayed alone by the
vivid succession of objects that gave, it must be said, a temporary
suspension to the full exercise of their understandings. Justice to Mr.
S. requires it to be stated, that he acted purely on the defensive;
adopting no epithets, and repelling offensive accusations and
expressions, with sober argument and remonstrance alone. I spoke to each
in succession, and laboured to procure a reconciliation; but oil and
water would sooner have united than the accuser and the accused.

This difference occurred only two or three days before Mr. S. set off on
his Spanish and Portuguese expedition. During his absence, the fire lay
smouldering, and on his return to England, in May, 1796, the
conflagration was renewed. Charges of "desertion," flew thick around; of
"dishonourable retraction, in a compact the most binding"--I again spoke
to Mr. Coleridge, and endeavoured to soften his asperity. I also wrote to
Mr. Southey, and expressed a hope, that if he found it impossible at the
present moment to return to cordiality, he would at least consent when he
met Mr. Coleridge, to restrain the indignant look, which was painfully
manifest on both countenances.

The most pleasant part of the narrative will now be unfolded. Mr.
Coleridge and Mr. Southey met at the house of a relation when, without
explanation, the relentings of nature threw them silently into each
other's arms! I knew nothing of this happy reconciliation, the first
intimation of which was their calling on me, arm in arm, after having
taken a pleasant walk together into the country. Each seemed to relish
the surprise and the delight which it was impossible for me to conceal;
and I had reason afterwards to think, that this sprightly scene was a
preconcerted arrangement to heighten the stage-effect. I shall now
withdraw the reader's attention from Mr. Southey, and proceed with the
narrative of Mr. Coleridge.

When Mr. Southey departed for the continent, Mr. Coleridge repaired to
his own calm retreat at Stowey, from which place he sent me the following
letter.


"Stowey, 1796.

Dear Cottle,

I write under great agony of mind, Charles Lloyd being very ill. He has
been seized with his fits three times in the space of seven days: and
just as I was in bed last night, I was called up again; and from twelve
o'clock at night, to five this morning, he remained in one continued
state of agonized delirium. What with bodily toil, exerted in repressing
his frantic struggles, and what with the feelings of agony for his
sufferings, you may suppose that I have forced myself from bed, with
aching temples, and a feeble frame....

We offer petitions, not as supposing we influence the Immutable; but
because to petition the Supreme Being, is the way most suited to our
nature, to stir up the benevolent affections in our hearts. Christ
positively commands it, and in St. Paul you will find unnumbered
instances of prayer for individual blessings; for kings, rulers, &c. &c.
We indeed should all join to our petitions: 'But thy will be done,
Omniscient, All-loving Immortal God!'

Believe me to have towards you, the inward and spiritual gratitude and
affection, though I am not always an adept in the outward and visible
signs.

God bless you,

S. T. C."


A letter written by Mr. Coleridge to Miss Cruikshanks, living near Stowey
during Mr. C.'s residence at that place, exhibits the law of association
in a new light; and shows the facility with which ingenious men can
furnish excuses, at all times, for doing that which they desire.


"Dear Mary,

I wandered on so thought-bewildered, that it is no wonder I became
way-bewildered; however, seeing a road-post, in two places, with the
name, 'Stowey;' one by some water and a stone-bridge, and another on a
tree, at the top of the ascent, I concluded I was only gone a new way,
when coming to a place where four roads met, I turned to my left, merely
because I saw some houses, and found myself at Plansfield. Accordingly, I
turned upward, and as I knew I must pay a farewell visit to Ashhalt, I
dined with the B--s', and arrived at Stowey, just before dark.

I did not lose my way then, though I confess that Mr. B. and myself,
disobedient to the voice of the ladies, had contrived to finish two
bottles of Port between us, to which I added two glasses of mead. All
this was in consequence of conversing about John Cruikshanks' coming
down. Now John Cruikshanks' idea being regularly associated in Mr. B.'s
mind, with a second bottle, and S. T. C. being associated with John
Cruikshanks, the second bottle became associated with the idea, and
afterwards with the body of S. T. C. by necessity of metaphysical law, as
you may see in the annexed figure, or diagram.

[Illustration:
Second Bottle. B

   [Image of bottle.]
          /\
         /  \
        /    \
       /      \
      /        \
J. C./__________\ S. T. C.]

God bless you,

S. T. C."


Miss Cruikshanks has favored me with a letter of Mr. Coleridge to
herself, explanatory of his political principles, when he had receded in
a good measure from the sentiments pervading his "Conciones ad Populum."
This letter was written at a later period, but is made to follow the
preceding, to preserve a continuity of subject.

Miss C. it appears, had lent the first edition of Mr. Coleridge's poems
to Lady Elizabeth Perceval,[25] in some parts of which volume the
sentiments of an earlier day were rather too prominently displayed. To
counteract the effect such parts were calculated to produce, Mr.
Coleridge wrote the following letter, in the hope that by being shown to
her ladyship, it might efface from her mind any unfavorable impression
she might have received. In this letter he also rather tenderly refers to
his American scheme.


(No date, supposed to be 1803.)

"My dear Miss Cruikshanks,

With the kindest intentions, I fear you have done me some little
disservice, in borowing the first edition of my poems from Miss B--. I
never held any principles indeed, of which, considering my age, I have
reason to be ashamed. The whole of my public life may be comprised in
eight or nine months of my 22nd year; and the whole of my political sins
during that time, consisted in forming a plan of taking a large farm in
common, in America, with other young men of my age. A wild notion indeed,
but very harmless.

As to my principles, they were, at all times, decidedly anti-jacobin and
anti-revolutionary, and my American scheme is a proof of this. Indeed at
that time, I seriously held the doctrine of passive obedience, though a
violent enemy of the first war. Afterwards, and for the last ten years of
my life, I have been fighting incessantly in the good cause, against
French ambition, and Trench principles; and I had Mr. Addington's
suffrage, as to the good produced by my Essays, written in the Morning
Post, in the interval of the peace of Amiens, and the second war,
together with my two letters to Mr. Fox.[26]

Of my former errors, I should be no more ashamed, than of my change of
body, natural to increase of age; but in that first edition, there was
inserted (without my consent!) a Sonnet to Lord Stanhope, in direct
contradiction, equally, to my _then_, as to my present principles. A
Sonnet written by me in ridicule and mockery of the bloated style of
French Jacobinical declamation, and inserted by Biggs, (the fool of a
printer,) in order forsooth, that he might send the book, and a letter to
Earl Stanhope; who, to prove that he was not mad in all things, treated
both book and letter with silent contempt.[27] I have therefore sent Mr.
Poole's second edition, and if it be in your power, I could wish you to
read the 'dedication to my brother,' at the beginning, to Lady E.
Perceval, to obtain whose esteem, so far at least as not to be confounded
with the herd of vulgar mob flatterers, I am not ashamed to confess
myself solicitous.

I would I could be with you, and your visitors. Penelope, you know, is
very high in my esteem. With true warmth of heart, she joins more
strength of understanding; and, to steady principle, more variety of
accomplishments, than it has often been my lot to meet with among the
fairer sex. When I praise one woman to another I always mean a compliment
to both. My tenderest regards to your dear mother, whom I really long to
spend a few hours with, and believe me with sincere good wishes, Yours,
&c.

S. T. Coleridge."


Fragment of a Theological letter of Mr. Coleridge, date unknown.


... The declaration that the Deity is "the sole Operant" (Religious
Musings) is indeed far too bold: may easily be misconstrued into
Spinosism; and, therefore, though it is susceptible of a pious and
justifiable interpretation, I should by no means now use such a phrase. I
was very young when I wrote that poem, and my religious feelings were
more settled than my theological notions.

As to eternal punishments, I can only say, that there are many passages
in Scripture, and these not metaphorical, which declare that all flesh
shall be finally saved; that the word _aionios_ is indeed used sometimes
when eternity must be meant, but so is the word 'Ancient of Days,' yet it
would be strange reasoning to affirm, that therefore, the word ancient
must always mean eternal. The literal meaning of '_aionios_' is, 'through
ages;' that is indefinite; beyond the power of imagination to bound. But
as to the effects of such a doctrine, I say, First,--that it would be
more pious to assert nothing concerning it, one way or the other.

Ezra says well, 'My Son, meditate on the rewards of the righteous, and
examine not over-curiously into the fate of the wicked. (This apocryphal
Ezra is supposed to have been written by some Christian in the first age
of Christianity.) Second,--that however the doctrine is now broached, and
publicly preached by a large and increasing sect, it is no longer
possible to conceal it from such persons as would be likely to read and
understand the 'Religious Musings.' Third.--That if the offers of eternal
blessedness; if the love of God; if gratitude; if the fear of punishment,
unknown indeed as to its kind and duration, but declared to be
unimaginably great; if the possibility, nay, the probability, that this
punishment may be followed by annihilation, not final happiness, cannot
divert men from wickedness to virtue; I fear there will be no charm in
the word Eternal.

Fourth, that it is a certain fact, that scarcely any believe eternal
punishment practically with relation to themselves. They all hope in
God's mercy, till they make it a presumptuous watch-word for religious
indifference. And this, because there is no medium in their faith,
between blessedness and misery,--infinite in degree and duration; which
latter they do not practically, and with their whole hearts, believe. It
is opposite to their clearest views of the divine attributes; for God
cannot be vindictive, neither therefore can his punishments be founded on
a vindictive principle. They must be, either for amendment, or warning
for others; but eternal punishment precludes the idea of amendment, and
its infliction, after the day of judgment, when all not so punished shall
be divinely secured from the possibility of falling, renders the notion
of warning to others inapplicable.

The Catholics are far more afraid of, and incomparably more influenced in
their conduct by, the doctrine of purgatory, than Protestants by that of
hell! That the Catholics practise more superstitions than morals, is the
effect of other doctrines. Supererogation; invocation of saints; power of
relics, &c. &c. and not of Purgatory, which can only act as a general
motive, to what must depend on other causes.

Fifth, and lastly.--It is a perilous state in which a christian stands,
if he has gotten no further, than to avoid evil from the fear of hell!
This is no part of the Christian religion, but a preparatory awakening of
the soul: a means of dispersing those gross films which render the eye of
the spirit incapable of any religion, much less of such a faith as that
of the love of Christ.

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, but perfect love
shutteth out fear. It is sufficient for the utmost fervour of gratitude
that we are saved from punishments, too great to be conceived; but our
salvation is surely not complete, till by the illumination from above, we
are made to know 'the exceeding sinfulness of sin,' and that horribleness
in its nature, which, while it involves all these frightful consequences,
is yet, of itself more affrightful to a regenerated soul than those
consequences. To him who but for a moment felt the influence of God's
presence, the thought of eternal exclusion from the sense of that
presence, would be the worst hell his imagination could conceive.

N.B. I admit of no right, no claim of a creature on its Creator. I speak
only of hopes and of faith deduced from inevitable reason, the gift of
the Creator; from his acknowledged attributes. Above all, immortality is
a free gift, which we neither do, nor can deserve....

S. T. C."


To descend now to humbler things.

There are persons who will be interested in learning how the bard and his
bookseller managed their great pecuniary affairs. A second edition of Mr.
Coleridge's poems being demanded, I was under no obligation, the
copy-right being mine, in publishing a second edition, to make Mr.
Coleridge any payment, alterations or additions being optional with him:
but in his circumstances, and to show that my desire was to consider Mr.
C. even more than myself, I promised him, on the sale of the second
edition of 500, twenty guineas. The following was his reply: (not viewing
the subject quite in the right light; but this was of little
consequence.)


"Stowey, Oct. 18th, 1796.

My dear Cottle,

I have no mercenary feelings, I verily believe; but I hate bartering at
any time, and with any person; with you it is absolutely intolerable. I
clearly perceive that by giving me twenty guineas, on the sale of the
second edition, you will get little or nothing by the additional poems,
unless they should be sufficiently popular to reach a third edition,
which soars above our wildest expectations. The only advantage you can
derive therefore from the purchase of them on such terms, is, simply,
that my poetry is more likely to sell when the whole may be had in one
volume, price 5s., than when it is scattered in two volumes; the one 4s.,
the other possibly 3s. In short, you will get nothing directly, but only
indirectly, from the probable circumstance, that these additional poems
added to the former, will give a more rapid sale to the second edition
than could otherwise be expected, and cause it possibly to be reviewed at
large. Add to this, that by omitting every thing political, I widen the
sphere of my readers. So much for you. Now for myself. You must see,
Cottle, that whatever money I should receive from you, would result from
the circumstances that would give me the same, or more--if I published
them on my own account. I mean the sale of the poems. I can therefore
have no motive to make such conditions with you, except the wish to omit
poems unworthy of me, and the circumstance that our separate properties
would aid each other by the union; and whatever advantage this might be
to me, it would, of course, be equally so to you. The only difference
between my publishing the poems on my own account, and yielding them up
to you; the only difference I say, independent of the above stated
difference

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/8580