Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey

J >> Joseph Cottle >> Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey

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"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.

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