Biographia Epistolaris, Volume 1.

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cash for her travelling expenses, etc. We shall reside in London for the
next four months.

God bless you, Cottle, I love you,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

P. S. The volume (second edition, Coleridge, Lloyd, and Lamb) is a most
beautiful one. You have determined that the three Bards shall walk up
Parnassus, in their best bib and tucker. [l]

Coleridge's beautiful Sonnet to W. Linley, Sheridan's brother-in-law and
secretary, is dated 12 September, 1797, and Coleridge must have been in
London from about that date to 3 December, with perhaps an interval of
return between. The sonnet is dated from Donhead, in Wilts, whither
Coleridge had probably gone on a visit from London. Wordsworth's play
was presented to Covent Garden. An undated letter of Coleridge to
Cottle, which must have been written about the end of November, informs
us that it was through Coleridge the play was tried at Covent Garden.

[Footnote 1: Letters LXXV-LXXVII follow 67.]

LETTER 68. TO COTTLE

(28 Nov. 1797.)

I have procured for Wordsworth's tragedy, an introduction to Harris, the
manager of Covent Garden, who has promised to read it attentively, and
give his answer immediately; and if he accepts it, to put it in
preparation without an hour's delay.

A letter by Dorothy Wordsworth of 20th November[1] confirms the fact
that "The Borderers" was sent to Covent Garden. Both plays were
rejected, that of Coleridge on account of the obscurity of the last
three acts; and Coleridge wrote to Cottle his feelings on the occasion.

[Footnote 1: Knight's "Life of Wordsworth", i, 127.]

LETTER 69. To COTTLE

(2 Dec. 1797.)

Dear Cottle,

I have heard nothing of my Tragedy, except some silly remarks of
Kemble's, to whom a friend showed it; it does not appear to me that
there is a shadow of probability that it will be accepted. It gave me no
pain, and great pleasure, in finding that it gave me no pain.

I had rather hoped than believed that I was possessed of so much
philosophical capability. Sheridan most certainly has not used me with
common justice. The proposal came from himself, and although this
circumstance did not bind him to accept the tragedy, it certainly bound
him to every, and that the earliest, attention to it. I suppose it is
snugly in his green bag, if it have not emigrated to the kitchen.

I sent to the "Monthly Magazine" (1797), three mock Sonnets, in ridicule
of my own Poems, and Charles Lloyd's, and Lamb's, etc. etc. exposing
that affectation of unaffectedness, of jumping and misplaced accent, in
common-place epithets, flat lines forced into poetry by italics,
(signifying how well and mouthishly the author would read them) puny
pathos, etc. etc. The instances were almost all taken from myself, and
Lloyd, and Lamb.

I signed them 'Nehemiah Higginbotham.' I think they may do good to our
young Bards.

God love you,

S. T. C.

P. S. I am translating the "Oberon" of Wieland; it is a difficult
language, and I can translate at least as fast as I can construe. I have
made also a very considerable proficiency in the French language, and
study it daily, and daily study the German; so that I am not, and have
not been idle. * * *

Coleridge had been introduced through Poole to the Wedgwoods; and
hearing that Coleridge was in need of funds, Tom Wedgwood offered
Coleridge L100, sending an order for the amount. Coleridge was now
meditating entering the Unitarian ministry, and was perplexed whether to
remain with Poetry or enter the pulpit. He writes to Cottle on the
occasion:

LETTER 70. TO COTTLE

Stowey (January, 1798.)

My very dear friend,

This last fortnight has been very eventful. I received one hundred
pounds from Josiah Wedgwood, in order to prevent the necessity of my
going into the ministry. I have received an invitation from Shrewsbury,
to be minister there; and after fluctuations of mind, which have for
nights together robbed me of sleep, and I am afraid of health, I have at
length returned the order to Mr. Wedgwood, with a long letter,
explanatory of my conduct, and accepted the Shrewsbury invitation. * *

The next letter Cottle says refers to the Wedgwood Pension, but may be
about the rejection of the L100.[l]

[Footnote 1: See Litchfield's "Tom Wedgwood", pp. 54-56.]

LETTER 71. TO THOMAS WEDGWOOD[1]

Shrewsbury, Friday night, (--January), 1798.

My dear sir,

I have this moment received your letter, and have scarcely more than a
moment to answer it by return of post.

If kindly feeling can be repaid by kindly feeling, I am not your debtor.
I would wish to express the same thing which is big at my heart, but I
know not how to do it without indelicacy. As much abstracted from
personal feeling as possible, I honor and esteem you for that which you
have done.

I must of necessity stay here till the close of Sunday next. On Monday
morning I shall leave it, and on Tuesday will be with you at Cote-House.

Very affectionately yours,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

T. Wedgwood, Esq.

[Footnote 1: Not in "Early Recollections".]

The next letter refers to the offer of the Pension of L150 a year, which
the Wedgwoods conferred on Coleridge.

LETTER 72. TO COTTLE

(24 January, 1798).

My very dear Cottle,

The moment I received Mr. T. Wedgwood's letter, I accepted his offer.
How a contrary report could arise, I cannot guess....

I hope to see you at the close of next week. I have been respectfully
and kindly treated at Shrewsbury. I am well, and now, and ever,

Your grateful and affectionate friend,

S. T. COLERIDGE. [1]

[Footnote 1: Letter LXXVIII follows 72.]

The next letter is an amusing one coming from Coleridge. It is an
apology for the "Monody on the Death of Chatterton", which he wished to
discard from the second edition of his poems, but which Cottle insisted
on retaining among the poet's "choice fish, picked, gutted, and
cleaned."

LETTER 73. TO THE EDITOR OF THE "MONTHLY MAGAZINE"

January 1798.

Sir,

I hope this letter may arrive time enough to answer its purpose. I
cannot help considering myself as having been placed in a very
ridiculous light by the gentlemen who have remarked, answered, and
rejoined concerning my "Monody on Chatterton". I have not seen the
compositions of my competitors (unless indeed the exquisite poem of
Warton's, entitled "The Suicide", refer to this subject), but this I
know, that my own is a very poor one. It was a school exercise, somewhat
altered; and it would have been omitted in the last edition of my poems
but for the request of my friend Mr. Cottle, whose property those poems
are. If it be not in your intention to exhibit my name on any future
month, you will accept my best thanks, and not publish this letter. But
if Crito and the Alphabet-men should continue to communicate on this
subject, and you should think it proper for reasons best known to
yourself to publish their communications, then I depend on your kindness
for the insertion of my letter; by which it is possible those your
correspondents may be induced to expend their remarks, whether
panegyrical or vituperative, on nobler game than on a poem which was, in
truth, the first effort of a young man, all whose poems a candid critic
will only consider as first efforts.

Yours, with due respect,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

Shrewsbury.

Coleridge, even at this date, shows signs of a Catholicism in literary
taste beyond the average man of his time; but it is an Intellectual
Hospitality to all sorts and conditions of minds and men rather than a
wide or deep enlightenment.

He already manifested a tendency to read the most abstruse and
out-of-the-way books. He commissioned Thelwall to purchase for him
Iamblichus, Proclus, Sidonius Apollinaris, Plotinus, Ficino; and he read
Dupuis' huge "Origine de tous les Cultes", a fantastic work tracing the
genesis of all religions to the worship of the stars ("Letters", 181-2).
This love of recondite lore remained with him through life; but it was
his meeting with William and Dorothy Wordsworth that helped most at this
juncture to develop the possibilities within him. Wordsworth was one of
those who are lofty rather than wide, but who, by their self
concentration, act as a healthy corrective to the over-diffusiveness of
the Shakespearian type of mind.)

CHAPTER VI

THE LYRICAL BALLADS; GERMANY

Cottle's acquaintance with Coleridge led to his making friends with
Wordsworth, and in his "Early Recollections" and "Reminiscences", the
Bristol bookseller tells a few amusing tales about the poets. The
following is the best:

"A visit to Mr. Coleridge, at Stowey, in the year 1797, had been the
means of my introduction to Mr. Wordsworth. Soon after our acquaintance
had commenced, Mr. W. happened to be in Bristol, and asked me to spend a
day or two with him at Allfoxden. I consented, and drove him down in a
gig. We called for Mr. Coleridge, Miss Wordsworth, and the servant, at
Stowey, and they walked, while we rode on to Mr. W.'s house at
Allfoxden, distant two or three miles, where we purposed to dine. A
London alderman would smile at our prepation, or bill of fare. It
consisted of philosophers' viands; namely, a bottle of brandy, a noble
loaf, and a stout piece of cheese; and as there were plenty of lettuces
in the garden, with all these comforts we calculated on doing very well.

"Our fond hopes, however, were somewhat damped, by finding, that our
'stout piece of cheese' had vanished! A sturdy "rat" of a beggar, whom
we had relieved on the road, with his olfactories all alive, no doubt,
"smelt" our cheese, and while we were gazing at the magnificent clouds,
contrived to abstract our treasure! Cruel tramp! An ill return for our
pence! We both wished the rind might not choke him! The mournful fact
was ascertained a little before we drove into the courtyard of the
house. Mr. Coleridge bore the loss with great fortitude, observing, that
we should never starve with a loaf of bread and a bottle of brandy. He
now, with the dexterity of an adept, admired by his friends around,
unbuckled the horse, and, putting down the shafts with a jerk, as a
triumphant conclusion of his work, lo! the bottle of brandy that had
been placed most carefully behind us on the seat, from the force of
gravity, suddenly rolled down, and before we could arrest this
spirituous avalanche, pitching right on the stones, was dashed to
pieces. We all beheld the spectacle, silent and petrified! We might have
collected the broken fragments of glass, but the brandy; that was gone!
clean gone!

"One little untoward thing often follows another, and while the rest
stood musing, chained to the place, regaling themselves with the Cognac
effluvium, and all miserably chagrined, I led the horse to the stable,
when a fresh perplexity arose. I removed the harness without difficulty,
but after many strenuous attempts, I could not get off the collar. In
despair, I called for assistance, when aid soon drew near. Mr.
Wordsworth first brought his ingenuity into exercise, but after several
unsuccessful efforts, he relinquished the achievement, as a thing
altogether impracticable. Mr. Coleridge now tried his hand, but showed
no more grooming skill than his predecessors; for after twisting the
poor horse's neck almost to strangulation, and to the great danger of
his eyes, he gave up the useless task, pronouncing that the horse's head
must have grown, (gout or dropsy!) since the collar was put on! 'for,'
he said 'It was a downright impossibility for such a huge Os Frontis to
pass through so narrow a collar!' Just at this instant the servant girl
came near, and understanding the cause of our consternation, 'La,
Master,' said she, 'you do not go about the work in the right way. You
should do like as this,' when turning the collar completely upside down,
she slipped it off in a moment, to our great humiliation and wonderment;
each satisfied, afresh, that there were heights of knowledge in the
world, to which we had not yet attained.

"We were now summoned to dinner, and a dinner it was, such as every
"blind" and starving man in the three kingdoms would have rejoiced to
"behold". At the top of the table stood a superb brown loaf. The centre
dish presented a pile of the true coss lettuces, and at the bottom
appeared an empty plate, where the 'stout piece of cheese' "ought" to
have stood! (cruel mendicant!) and though the brandy was 'clean gone,'
yet its place was well, if not "better" supplied by an abundance of fine
sparkling Castalian champagne! A happy thought at this time started into
one of our minds, that some condiment would render the lettuces a little
more palatable, when an individual in the company, recollected a
question, once propounded by the most patient of men, 'How can that
which is unsavoury be eaten without "salt"?' and asked for a little of
that valuable culinary article. 'Indeed, sir,' Betty replied, 'I quite
forgot to buy salt.' A general laugh followed the announcement, in which
our host heartily joined. This was nothing. We had plenty of other good
things, and while crunching our succulents, and munching our crusts, we
pitied the far worse condition of those, perchance as hungry as
ourselves, who were forced to dine, off aether alone. For our next meal,
the mile-off village furnished all that could be desired, and these
trifling incidents present the sum and the result of half the little
passing disasters of life.

"The "Lyrical Ballads" were published about Midsummer, 1798. In
September of the same year, Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Wordsworth left
England for Germany, and I quitted the business of a bookseller. Had I
not once been such, this book would never have appeared."

The reference in the following letter to a ballad of 340 lines has never
been explained by any biographer of Coleridge. The "Ancient Mariner" in
its first form extended to 658 lines. Some have surmised that the "Three
Graves" is meant; but this poem was 318 lines as published in 1809-1817.

LETTER 74. TO COTTLE

Feb. 18, 1798.

My dear Cottle,

I have finished my Ballad, it is 340 lines; I am going on with my
"Visions": altogether (for I shall print two scenes of my Tragedy, as
fragments) I can add 1500 lines; now what do you advise? Shall I add my
Tragedy, and so make a second volume? or shall I pursue my first
intention of inserting 1500 in the third edition? If you should advise a
second volume, should you wish, "i.e.", find it convenient, to be the
purchaser? I ask this question, because I wish you to know the true
state of my present circumstances. I have received nothing yet from the
Wedgwoods, and my money is utterly expended.

A friend of mine wanted five guineas for a little while, which I
borrowed of Poole, as for myself, I do not like therefore to apply to
him. Mr. Estlin has some little money I believe in his hands, but I
received from him before I went to Shrewsbury, fifteen pounds, and I
believe that this was an anticipation of the five guinea presents, which
my friends would have made in March. But (this affair of the Messrs.
Wedgwoods turning out) the money in Mr. Estlin's hand must go towards
repaying him that sum which he suffered me to anticipate. Meantime I owe
Biggs L5, which is heavy on my thoughts, and Mrs. F. has not been paid
her last quarter which is still heavier. As to myself, I can continue to
go on here, but this L10 I must pay somehow, that is L5 to Biggs, and L5
to Mrs. F....

God bless you,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

P.S. This week I purpose offering myself to the Bridgwater Socinian
congregation, as assistant minister, without any salary, directly, or
indirectly; but of this say not a word to any one, unless you see Mr.
Estlin.

Coleridge sent his poem of the "Raven" to the "Morning Post" at this
time with the following curious letter to the Editor. The poem appeared
in the paper of 10th March.

LETTER 75. TO THE EDITOR OF THE "MORNING POST",
WITH THE "RAVEN", A POEM.

10 March, 1798.

Sir,

I am not absolutely certain that the following poem was written by
Edmund Spenser, and found by an angler buried in a fishing-box:

Under the foot of Mole, that Mountain hoar,
Mid the green alders, by the Mulla's shore;

but a learned Antiquarian of my acquaintance has given it as his opinion
that it resembles Spenser's minor poems as nearly as "Vortigern" and
"Rowena" the Tragedies of William Shakespeare. This poem must be read in
recitative, in the same manner as the "AEgloga Secunda" of the
"Shepherd's Calendar".

CUDDY.

"The Latin motto," Cottle says, "prefixed to the second edition of Mr.
C.'s poems, puzzled everybody to know from what author it was derived.
One and another inquired of me, to no purpose, and expressed a wish that
Mr. C. had been clearer in his citation, as 'no one could understand
it.' On my naming this to Mr. Coleridge, he laughed heartily, and said,
"It was all a hoax. Not meeting," said he, "with a suitable motto, I
invented one, and with references purposely obscure, as will be
explained in the next letter."

LETTER 76. TO COTTLE

March 8th, 1798.

My dear Cottle,

I have been confined to my bed for some days, through a fever occasioned
by the stump of a tooth, which baffled chirurgical efforts to eject, and
which, by affecting my eye, affected my stomach, and through that my
whole frame. I am better, but still weak, in consequence of such long
sleeplessness and wearying pains; weak, very weak. I thank you, my dear
friend, for your late kindness, and in a few weeks will either repay you
in money, or by verses, as you like. With regard to Lloyd's verses, it
is curious that I should be applied to, "to be persuaded to resign," and
in hopes that I might "consent to give up" (unknown by whom) a number of
poems which were published at the earnest request of the author, who
assured me, that the circumstance was of "no trivial import to his
happiness!"

Times change and people change; but let us keep our souls in quietness!
I have no objection to any disposal of Lloyd's poems except that of
their being republished with mine. The motto which I had
prefixed--"Duplex, etc." from Groscollias, has placed me in a ridiculous
situation, but it was a foolish and presumptuous start of
affectionateness, and I am not unwilling to incur the punishment due to
my folly. By past experiences we build up our moral being. The Giant
Wordsworth--God love him! When I speak in the terms of admiration due to
his intellect, I fear lest these terms should keep out of sight the
amiableness of his manners. He has written near twelve hundred lines of
a blank verse, [1] superior, I hesitate not to aver, to anything in our
language which any way resembles it. God bless you,

S. T. COLERIDGE. [2]

[Footnote 1: "The Ruined Cottage", or "Tale of Margaret", afterwards
incorporated in the "Excursion".]

[Footnote 2: Letter LXXIX is our 76, which see for full text.]

LETTER 77. TO WADE

March 21st, 1798.

My very dear friend,

I have even now returned from a little excursion that I have taken for
the confirmation of my health, which had suffered a rude assault from
the anguish of the stump of a tooth which had baffled the attempts of
our surgeon here, and which confined me to my bed. I suffered much from
the disease, and more from the doctor; rather than again put my mouth
into his hands, I would put my hands into a lion's mouth. I am happy to
hear of, and should be most happy to see, the plumpness and progression
of your dear boy; but--yes, my dear Wade, it must be a but, much as I
hate the word but. Well,--but I cannot attend the chemical lectures. I
have many reasons, but the greatest, or at least the most ostensible
reason, is, that I cannot leave Mrs. C. at that time; our house is an
uncomfortable one; our surgeon may be, for aught I know, a lineal
descendant of Esculapius himself, but if so, in the repeated transfusion
of life from father to son, through so many generations, the wit and
knowledge, being subtle spirits, have evaporated....

Ever your grateful and affectionate friend,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

LETTER 78. TO COTTLE

(Mch. or Apl. 1798.)

My dear Cottle,

I regret that aught should have disturbed our tranquillity; respecting
Lloyd, I am willing to believe myself in part mistaken, and so let all
things be as before. I have no wish respecting these poems, either for
or against re-publication with mine. As to the third edition, if there
be occasion for it immediately, it must be published with some
alterations, but no additions or omissions. The "Pixies", "Chatterton",
and some dozen others, shall be printed at the end of the volume, under
the title of Juvenile Poems, and in this case I will send you the volume
immediately. But if there be no occasion for the volume to go to press
for ten weeks, at the expiration of that time, I would make it a volume
worthy of me, and omit utterly near one-half of the present volume--a
sacrifice to pitch black oblivion.

Whichever be the case, I will repay you the money you have paid for me,
in money, and in a few weeks; or if you should prefer the latter
proposal, "i.e.", the not sending me to the press for ten weeks, I
should insist on considering the additions, however large, as my payment
to you for the omissions, which, indeed, would be but strict justice.

I am requested by Wordsworth, to put to you the following questions.
What could you, conveniently and prudently, and what would you give
for--first, our two Tragedies, with small prefaces, containing an
analysis of our principal characters? Exclusive of the prefaces, the
tragedies are, together, five thousand lines; which, in printing, from
the dialogue form, and directions respecting actors and scenery, are at
least equal to six thousand. To be delivered to you within a week of the
date of your answer to this letter; and the money which you offer, to be
paid to us at the end of four months from the same date; none to be paid
before, all to be paid then.

Second.--Wordsworth's "Salisbury Plain", and "Tale of a Woman"; which
two poems, with a few others which he will add, and the notes, will make
a volume. This to be delivered to you within three weeks of the date of
your answer, and the money to be paid as before, at the end of four
months from the present date.

Do not, my dearest Cottle, harass yourself about the imagined great
merit of the compositions, or be reluctant to offer what you can
prudently offer, from an idea that the poems are worth more. But
calculate what you can do, with reference simply to yourself, and answer
as speedily as you can; and believe me your sincere, grateful, and
affectionate friend and brother,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

Cottle offered thirty guineas each to Wordsworth and Coleridge for their
tragedies; but this offer, says Cottle, "after some hesitation was
declined from the hope of introducing one or both on the stage." Cottle
received the following letter soon after:

LETTER 79. TO COTTLE

(14 Apl., 1798.)

My dear Cottle,

I never involved you in bickering, and never suspected you, in any one
action of your life, of practising guile against any human being, except
yourself.

Your letter supplied only one in a link of circumstances, that informed
me of some things, and perhaps deceived me in others. I shall write
to-day to Lloyd. I do not think I shall come to Bristol for these
lectures of which you speak.[1] I ardently wish for the knowledge, but
Mrs. Coleridge is within a month of her confinement, and I cannot, I
ought not to leave her; especially as her surgeon is not a John Hunter,
nor my house likely to perish from a plethora of comforts. Besides,
there are other things that might disturb that evenness of benevolent
feeling, which I wish to cultivate.

I am much better, and at present at Allfoxden, and my new and tender
health is all over me like a voluptuous feeling. God bless you,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

[Footnote 1: "Chemical Lectures," by Dr. Beddoes, delivered at the Red
Lodge [Cottle].]

The origin of the volume of lyrical ballads is best told in Cottle's own
words.

"Wordsworth," says Cottle, on his introduction by Coleridge at Stowey,
"read me many of his Lyrical Pieces, when I immediately perceived in
them extraordinary merit, and advised him to publish them, expressing a
belief that they would be well received. I further said he should be at
no risk; that I would give him the same sum which I had given to Mr.
Coleridge and to Mr. Southey, and that it would be a gratifying
circumstance to me, to have been the publisher of the first volumes of
three such poets as Southey, Coleridge, and Wordsworth; such a
distinction might never again occur to a Provincial bookseller.

"To the idea of publishing he expressed a strong objection, and after
several interviews, I left him, with an earnest wish that he would
reconsider his determination.

"Soon after Mr. Wordsworth sent me the following letter.

'Allfoxden, 12th April, 1798.

'My dear Cottle,

'...You will be pleased to hear that I have gone on very rapidly adding
to my stock of poetry. Do come and let me read it to you, under the old
trees in the park. We have a little more than two months to stay in this
place. Within these four days the season has advanced with greater
rapidity than I ever remember, and the country becomes almost every hour
more lovely. God bless you,

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