Chapter XVI: Part 16

It is impossible not to believe that the whole of Rowley was written at first in modern English, and then the orthographical metamorphose commenced; and to one who had prepared himself, like Chatterton, with a dictionary, alternately modern and old, and old and modern, the task of transformation was not difficult, even to an ordinary mind. It should be remembered also, that Chatterton furnished a complete glossary to the whole of Rowley. Had he assumed ignorance, it might have checked, without removing suspicion, but at present it appears inexplicable, that our sage predecessors should not have been convinced that one who could write, in his own person, with such superiority as Chatterton indisputably did, would be quite competent to give words to another, the meaning of which he so well understood himself.

But the thought will naturally arise, what could have prompted Chatterton, endued as he was, with so much original talent, to renounce his own personal aggrandizement, and to transfer the credit of his opulence to another. It is admitted to be an improvident expenditure of reputation, but no inference advantageous to Rowley can be deduced from this circumstance. The eccentricities and aberrations of genius, have rarely been restricted by line and plummet, and the present is a memorable example of perverted talent; but all this may be conceded, without shaking the argument here contended for.

There is a process in all our pursuits, and the nice inspector of associations can almost uniformly trace his predilections to some definite cause. This, doubtless, was the case with Chatterton. He found old parchments early in life. In the first instance, it became an object of ambition to decipher the obscure. One difficulty surmounted, strengthened the capacity for conquering others; perseverance gave facility, till at length his vigorous attention was effectually directed to what he called "antique lore:" and this confirmed bias of his mind, connected as it was, with his inveterate proneness to impose on others, and supported by talents which have scarcely been equalled, reduces the magnified wonder of Rowley, to a plain, comprehensible question.

Dean Milles, in his admiration of Rowley, appeared to derive pleasure from depreciating Chatterton, who had avowed himself the writer of that inimitable poem, "The Death of Syr Charles Bawdin," but well knowing the consequences which would follow on this admission, he laboured hard to impeach the veracity of our bard, and represented him as one who, from vanity, assumed to himself the writing of another! Dean Milles affirms, that of this "Death of Syr Charles Bawdin," "A greater variety of internal proofs may be produced, for its authenticity, than for that of any other piece in the whole collection!" This virtually, was abandoning the question; for since we know that Chatterton did write "The Death of Syr Charles Bawdin," we know that he wrote that which had stronger proofs of the authenticity of Rowley than all the other pieces in the collection!

The numerous proofs adduced of Chatterton's passion for fictitious statements; of his intimate acquaintance with antiquated language; of the almost preternatural maturity of his mind; of the dissimilitude of Rowley's language to contemporaneous writers; and of the obviously modern structure of all the compositions which the young bard produced, as the writings of Rowley and others, form, it is presumed, a mass of Anti-Rowleian evidence, which proves that Chatterton possessed that peculiar disposition, as well as those pre-eminent talents, the union of which was both necessary and equal to the great production of Rowley...."

J. C.

THE WEARY PILGRIM

Weary Pilgrim, dry thy tear,
Look beyond these realms of night;
Mourn not, with redemption near,
Faint not, with the goal in sight.

Grief and pain are needful things,
Sent to chasten, not to slay;
And if pleasures have their wings,
Sorrows quickly pass away.

Where are childhood's sighs and throes?
Where are youth's tumultuous fears?
Where are manhood's thousand woes?
Lost amidst the lapse of years!

There are treasures which to gain,
Might a seraph's heart inspire;
There are joys which will remain
When the world is wrapt in fire.

Hope, with her expiring beam,
May illume our last delight;
But our trouble soon will seem,
Like the visions of the night.

We too oft remit our pace,
And at ease in slumbers dwell;
We are loiterers in our race,
And afflictions break the spell.

Woe to him, whoe'er he be,
Should (severest test below!)
All around him like a sea,
Health, and wealth, and honors, flow!

When unclouded suns we hail,
And our cedars proudly wave;
We forget their tenure frail,
With the bounteous hand that gave.

We on dangerous paths are bound,
Call'd to battle and to bleed;
We have hostile spirits round,
And the warrior's armour need.

We, within, have deadlier foes,
Wills rebellious, hearts impure;
God, the best physician, knows
What the malady will cure.

Earth is lovely! dress'd in flowers!
O'er her form luxuriant thrown,
But a lovelier world is ours,
Visible to faith alone.

Here the balm and spicy gales,
For a moment fill the air;
Here the mutable prevails,
Permanence alone is there.

Heaven to gain is worth our toil!
Angels call us to their sphere;
But to time's ignoble soil
We are bound, and will not hear.

Heaven attracts not! On we dream;
Cast like wrecks upon the shore
Where perfection reigns supreme,
And adieus are heard no more.

What is life? a tale! a span!
Swifter than the eagle's flight;
What the boasted age of man?
Vanishing beneath the sight.

Yet, our ardours and desires
Centred, circumscribed by earth;
Whilst eternity retires--
As an object nothing worth!

Oh, the folly of the proud!
Oh, the madness of the vain!
After every toy to crowd,
And unwithering crowns disdain!

Mighty men in grand array,
Magnates of the ages past,
Kings and conquerors, where are they?
Once whose frown a world o'ercast?

Faded! yet by fame enroll'd,
With their busts entwined with bays;
But if God his smile withhold,
Pitiful is human praise.

With what sadness and surprise,
Must Immortals view our lot;--
Eager for the flower that dies,
And the Amaranth heeding not.

May we from our dreams awake,
Love the truth, the truth obey;
On our night let morning break--
Prelude of a nobler day.

Harmony prevails above,
Where all hearts together blend;
Let the concords sweet of love,
Now begin and never end.

Have we not one common sire?
Have we not one home in sight?
Let the sons of peace conspire
Not to sever, but unite.

Hence, forgetful of the past,
May we all as brethren own,
Whom we hope to meet at last--
Round the everlasting throne.

Father! source of blessedness,
In thy strength triumphant ride;
Let the world thy Son confess,
And thy name be magnified!

Let thy word of truth prevail,
Scattering darkness, errors, lies;
Let all lands the treasure hail--
Link that binds us to the skies.

Let thy spirit, rich and free,
Copious shed his power divine,
Till (Creation's Jubilee!)
All Earth's jarring realms are thine!

Saints who once on earth endured--
Beating storm and thorny way,
Have the prize they sought secured,
And have enter'd perfect day.

Wiser taught,--with vision clear,
(Kindled from the light above)
Now their bitterest woes appear--
Charged with blessings, fraught with love:--

For, as earthly scenes withdrew,
In their false, but flattering guise,
They, rejoicing, fix'd their view--
On the mansions in the skies.

Art thou fearful of the end?
Dread not Jordan's swelling tide;
With the Saviour for thy friend!
With the Spirit for thy guide!

Why these half subdued alarms--
At the prospect of thy flight?
Has thy Father's house no charms?--
There to join the Saints in Light?

Terrors banish from thy breast,
Hope must solace, faith sustain;
Thou art journeying on to rest,
And with God shalt live and reign.

Then, fruition, like the morn,
Will unlock her boundless store;--
Roses bloom without a thorn,
And the day-star set no more.

But, an ocean lies between--
Stormy, to be cross'd alone;
With no ray to intervene--
O'er the cold and dark unknown!

Lo! a soft and soothing voice
Steals like music on my ears;--
"Let the drooping heart rejoice;
See! a glorious dawn appears!"

"When thy parting hours draw near,
And thou trembling view'st the last;
Christ and only Christ can cheer,
And o'er death a radiance cast!"

Weary Pilgrim, dry thy tear,
Look beyond these shades of night;
Mourn not with Redemption near,
Faint not with the goal in sight.

J. C.

_Bristol, March 9, 1846._

Footnotes:

[1] The reader will bear in mind that the present work consists of Autobiography, and therefore, however repugnant to the writer's feelings, the apparent egotism has been unavoidable.

[2] Robert Lovell, himself was a poet, as will appear by the following being one of his Sonnets.

STONEHENGE.

Was it a spirit on yon shapeless pile?
It wore, methought, a holy Druid's form,
Musing on ancient days! The dying storm
Moan'd in his lifted locks. Thou, night! the while
Dost listen to his sad harp's wild complaint,
Mother of shadows! as to thee he pours
The broken strain, and plaintively deplores
The fall of Druid fame! Hark! murmurs faint
Breathe on the wavy air! and now more loud
Swells the deep dirge; accustomed to complain
Of holy rites unpaid, and of the crowd
Whose ceaseless steps the sacred haunts profane.
O'er the wild plain the hurrying tempest flies,
And, mid the storm unheard, the song of sorrow dies.

[3] I had an opportunity of introducing Mr. Southey at this time, to the eldest Mrs. More, who invited him down to spend some whole day with her sister Hannah, at their then residence, Cowslip Green. On this occasion, as requested, I accompanied him. The day was full of converse. On my meeting one of the ladies soon after, I was gratified to learn that Mr. S. equally pleased all five of the sisters. She said he was "brim full of literature, and one of the most elegant, and intellectual young men they had seen."

[4] It might he intimated, that, for the establishment of these lectures, there was, in Mr. Coleridge's mind, an interior spring of action. He wanted to "build up" a provision for his speedy marriage with Miss Sarah Fricker: and with these grand combined objects before him, no effort appeared too vast to be accomplished by his invigorated faculties.

[5] Copied from his MS. as delivered, not from his "Conciones ad Populum" as printed, where it will be found in a contracted state.

[6] Muir, Palmer, and Margarot.

[7] An eminent medical man in Bristol, who greatly admired Mr. Coleridge's conversation and genius, on one occasion, invited Mr. C. to dine with him, on a given day. The invitation was accepted, and this gentleman, willing to gratify his friends with an introduction to Mr. C. invited a large assemblage, for the express purpose of meeting him, and made a splendid entertainment, anticipating the delight which would be universally felt from Mr. C. a far-famed eloquence. It unfortunately happened that Mr. Coleridge had forgotten all about it! and the gentleman, [with his guests, after waiting till the hot became cold] under his mortification consoled himself by the resolve, never again to subject himself to a like disaster. No explanation or apology on my part could soothe the choler of this disciple of Glen. A dozen subscribers to his lectures fell off from this slip of his memory.

"Sloth jaundiced all! and from my graspless hand
Drop friendship's precious perls, like hour-glass sand.
I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows,
A dreamy pang in morning's feverish doze,"

[8] This honest upholsterer, (a Mr. W. a good little weak man) attended the preaching of the late eloquent Robert Hall. At one time an odd fancy entered his mind, such as would have occurred to none other; namely, that he possessed ministerial gifts; and with this notion uppermost in his head, he was sorely perplexed, to determine whether he ought not to forsake the shop, and ascend the pulpit.

In this uncertainty, he thought his discreetest plan would be to consult his Minister; in conformity with which, one morning he called on Mr. Hall, and thus began. "I call on you this morning, Sir, on a very important business!" "Well Sir." "Why you must know, Sir--I can hardly tell how to begin." "Let me hear, Sir." "Well Sir, if I must tell you, for these two months past I have had a strong persuasion on my mind, that I possess ministerial talents."--Mr. Hall (whose ideas were high of ministerial requisites) saw his delusion, and determined at once to check it. The Upholsterer continued: "Though a paper-hanger by trade, yet, sir, I am now satisfied that I am called to give up my business, and attend to something better; for you know, Mr. Hall, I should not bury my talents in a napkin." "O Sir," said Mr. H. "you need not use a napkin, a pocket-handkerchief will do."

This timely rebuke kept the good man to his paper-hangings for the remainder of his days, for whenever he thought of the ministry, this same image of the pocket-handkerchief, always damped his courage.

[9] Gilbert's derangement was owing to the loss of a naval cause at Portsmouth, in which he was concerned as an Advocate. Among other instances, one time when at his lodgings, he interpreted those words of Christ personally, "Sell all that thou hast and distribute to the poor," when, without the formality of selling, he thought the precept might be more summarily fulfilled, and therefore, one morning he tumbled every thing he had in his room, through the window, into the street, that the poor might help themselves; bed, bolsters, blankets, sheets, chairs! &c., &c, but unfortunately, it required at that season a higher exercise of the clear reasoning process than he possessed, to distinguish accurately between his own goods and chattels and those of his landlady!

He had all the volubility of a practised advocate, and seemed to delight in nothing so much as discussion, whether on the unconfirmed parallactic angle of Sirius, or the comparative weight of two straws. Amid the circle in which he occasionally found himself, ample scope was often given him for the exercise of this faculty. I once invited him, for the first time, to meet the late Robert Hall. I had calculated on some interesting discourse, aware that each was peculiarly susceptible of being aroused by opposition. The anticipations entertained on this occasion were abundantly realized. Their conversation, for some time, was mild and pleasant, each, for each, receiving an instinctive feeling of respect; but the subject happened to be started, of the contra-distinguishing merits of Hannah More and Ann Yearsley. By an easy transition, this led to the quarrel that some time before had taken place between these two remarkable females; the one occupying the summit, and the other moving in about the lowest grade of human society; but in genius, compeers. They at once took opposite sides. One argument elicited another, till at length each put forth his utmost strength, and such felicitous torrents of eloquence could rarely have been surpassed; where on each side ardour was repelled with fervency, and yet without the introduction of the least indecorous expression.

Gilbert was an astrologer; and at the time of a person's birth, he would with undoubting confidence predict all the leading events of his future life, and sometimes (if he knew anything of his personal history) even venture to declare the past. The caution with which he usually touched the second subject, formed a striking contrast with the positive declarations concerning the first.

I was acquainted at this time with a medical man of enlarged mind and considerable scientific attainments; and accidentally mentioning to him that a friend of mine was a great advocate for this sublime science, he remarked, "I should like to see him, and one half hour would be sufficient to despoil him of his weapons, and lay him prostrate in the dust." I said, "if you will sup with me I will introduce you to the astrologer, and if you can beat this nonsense out of his head, you will benefit him and all his friends." When the evening arrived, it appeared fair to apprise William Gilbert that I was going to introduce him to a doctor, who had kindly and gratuitously undertaken to cure him of all his astrological maladies. "Will he?" said Gilbert. "The malady is on his side. Perhaps I may cure him."

Each having a specific business before him, there was no hesitation or skirmishing, but at first sight they both, like tried veterans, in good earnest addressed themselves to war. On one side, there was a manifestation of sound sense and cogent argument; on the other, a familiarity with all those arguments, combined with great subtlety in evading them; and this sustained by new and ingenious sophisms. My medical friend, for some time stood his ground manfully, till, at length, he began to quail, apparently from the verbal torrent with which he was so unexpectedly assailed. Encountered thus by so fearful and consummate a disputant, whose eyes flashed fire in unison with his oracular tones and empassioned language, the doctor's quiver unaccountably became exhausted, and his spirit subdued. He seemed to look around for some mantle in which to hide the mortification of defeat; and the more so from his previous confidence. Never was a more triumphant victory, as it would superficially appear, achieved by ingenious volubility in a bad cause, over arguments, sound, but inefficiently wielded in a cause that was good. A fresh instance of the man of sense vanquished by the man of words.

[10] I would here subjoin, that when money, in future, may thus be collected for ingenious individuals, it might be the wisest procedure to transfer the full amount, at once, to the beneficiary, (unless under very peculiar circumstances.) This is felt to be both handsome and generous, and the obligation is permanently impressed on the mind. If the money then be improvidently dissipated, he who acts thus ungratefully to his benefactors, and cruelly to himself, reflects on his own folly alone. But when active and benevolent agents, who have raised subscriptions, will entail trouble on themselves, and with a feeling almost paternal, charge themselves with a disinterested solicitude for future generations, without a strong effort of the reasoning power, the favour is reduced to a fraction. Dissatisfaction almost necessarily ensues, and the accusation of ingratitude is seldom far behind.

[11] The Rev. James Newton, was Classical Tutor at the Bristol Baptist Academy, in conjunction with the late Dr. Caleb Evans, and, for a short season, the late Robert Hall. He was my most revered and honoured friend, who lived for twenty years an inmate in my Father's family, and to whom I am indebted in various ways, beyond my ability to express. His learning was his least recommendation. His taste for elegant literature; his fine natural understanding, his sincerity, and conciliating manners justified the eulogium expressed by Dr. Evans in preaching his Funeral Sermon, 1789, when he said (to a weeping congregation), that "He never made an enemy, nor lost a friend."

Mr. Newton was on intimate terms with the late Dean Tucker, and the Rev. Sir James Stonehouse, the latter of whom introduced him to Hannah More, who contracted for him, as his worth and talents became more and more manifest, a sincere and abiding friendship. Mr. Newton had the honour of teaching Hannah More Latin. The time of his instructing her did not exceed ten months. She devoted to this one subject the whole of her time, and all the energies of her mind. Mr. Newton spoke of her to me as exemplifying how much might be attained in a short time by talent and determination combined; and he said, for the limited period of his instruction, she surpassed in her progress all others whom he had ever known. H. More was in the habit of submitting her MSS. to Mr. N.'s judicious remarks, and by this means, from living in the same house with him, I preceded the public in inspecting some of her productions; particularly her MS. Poem on the "Slave Trade," and her "Bas Bleu." When a boy, many an evening do I recollect to have listened in wonderment to colloquisms and disputations carried on in Latin between Mr. Newton and John Henderson. It gives me pleasure to have borne this brief testimony of respect toward one on whom memory so often and so fondly reposes! Best of men, and kindest of friends, "farewell till we do meet again!"-(Bowles.)

[12] From his natural unassumed dignity, Mr. Foster used to call Mr. Hall "_Jupiter_."

[13] Mr. Hall broke down all distinction of sects and parties. On one of his visits to Bristol, when preaching at the chapel in Broadmead, a competent individual noticed in the thronged assembly an Irish Bishop, a Dean, and thirteen Clergymen. The late Dr. Parr was an enthusiastic admirer of Mr. Hall. He said to a friend of the writer, after a warm eulogium on the eloquence of Mr. H. "In short, sir, the man is inspired." Hannah More has more than once said to the writer, "There was no man in the church, nor out of it, comparable in talents to Robert Hall."

[14] I presented Mr. C. with the three guineas, but forbore the publication.

[15] I received a note, at this time, from Mr. Coleridge, evidently written in a moment of perturbation, apologising for not accepting an invitation of a more congenial nature, on account of his "Watch drudgery." At another time, he was reluctantly made a prisoner from the same cause, as will appear by the following note.

"April, 1796.

My dear Cottle,

My eye is so inflamed that I cannot stir out. It is alarmingly inflamed. In addition to this, the Debates which Burnet undertook to abridge for me, he has abridged in such a careless, slovenly manner, that I was obliged to throw them into the fire, and am now doing them myself!...

S. T. C."

[16] This "sheet" of Sonnets never arrived.

[17] A late worthy bookseller of Bristol, who by his exertions obtained one hundred and twenty subscribers for Mr. C.

[18] "My Bristol printer of the Watchman refused to wait a month for his money, and threatened to throw me into jail for between _eighty_ and _ninety_ pounds; when the money was paid by a friend."--_Biographia Literaria_. Mr. C.'s memory was here grievously defective. The fact is, Biggs the printer (a worthy man) never threatened nor even importuned for his Money. Instead also of _nine_ numbers of the Watchman, there were _ten_; and the printing of these ten numbers, came but to _thirty five_ pounds. The whole of the Paper (which cost more than the Printing) was paid for by the Writer.

[19] It is evident Mr. C. must have had cause of complaint against one or more of the booksellers before named. It could not apply to myself, as I invariably adhered to a promise I had at the commencement given Mr. Coleridge, not to receive any allowance for what copies of the 'Watchman' I might be so happy as to sell for him.

[20] In all Mr. Coleridge's lectures, he was a steady opposer of Mr. Pitt, and the then existing war; and also an enthusiastic admirer of Pox, Sheridan, Grey, &c., &c., but his opposition to the reigning politics discovered little asperity; it chiefly appeared by wit and sarcasm, and commonly ended in that which was the speaker's chief object, a laugh.

Few attended Mr. C.'s lectures but those whose political views were similar to his own; but on one occasion, some gentlemen of the opposite party came into the lecture-room, and at one sentiment they heard, testified their disapprobation by the only easy and safe way in their power; namely, by a hiss. The auditors were startled at so unusual a sound, not knowing to what it might conduct; but their noble leader soon quieted their fears, by instantly remarking with great coolness, "I am not at all surprised, when the red-hot prejudices of aristocrats are suddenly plunged iuto the cool water of reason, that they should go off with a hiss!" The words were electric. The assailants felt as well as testified, their confusion, and the whole company confirmed it by immense applause! There was no more hissing.

[21] A law just then passed.

[22] It is this general absence of the dates to Mr. C.'s letters, which may have occasioned me, in one or two instances, to err in the arrangement.

[23] Mr. Wordsworth, at this time resided at Allfoxden House, two or three miles from Stowey.

[24] How much is it to be deplored, that one whose views were so enlarged as those of Mr. Coleridge, and his conceptions so Miltonic, should have been satisfied with theorizing merely; and that he did not, like his great Prototype, concentrate all his energies, so as to produce some one august poetical work, which should become the glory of his country.

[25] Sister of the Premier.

[26] It appears from Sir James Macintosh's Life, published by his son, that a diminution of respect towards Sir James was entertained by Mr. For, arising from the above two letters of Mr. Coleridge, which appeared in the Morning Post. Some enemy of Sir James had informed Mr. Fox that these two letters were written by Macintosh, and which exceedingly wounded his mind. Before the error could be corrected, Mr. Fox died. This occurrence was deplored by Sir James, in a way that showed his deep feeling of regret, but which, as might be supposed, did not prevent him from bearing the amplest testimony to the social worth and surpassing talents of that great statesman.

Mr. Coleridge's Bristol friends will remember that once Mr. Fox was idolized by him as the paragon of political excellence; and Mr. Pitt depressed in the same proportion.

[27] The following is the Sonnet to Lord Stanhope, in the first edition, now omitted.

"Not STANHOPE! with the _patriot's_ doubtful name
I mock thy worth, FRIEND OF THE HUMAN RACE!
Since, scorning faction's low and partial aim,
Aloof thou wendest in thy stately pace,
Thyself redeeming from that leprous stain--
NOBILITY! and, aye unterrified,
Pourest thy Abdiel warnings on the train
That sit complotting with rebellious pride
'Gainst her, who from th' Almighty's bosom leapt,
With whirlwind arm, fierce minister of love!
Wherefore, ere virtue o'er thy tomb hath wept.
Angels shall lead thee to the throne above,
And thou from forth its clouds shalt hear the voice--
Champion of FREEDOM, and her God, rejoice!

[28] The Skylark.

[29] It is to be regretted that Mr. C. in his emendations, should have excluded from the second verse of the first poem, the two best lines in the piece.

"And thy inmost soul confesses
Chaste Affection's majesty."

[30] Mr. C. afterward requested that the "allegorical lines" might alone be printed in his second edition, with this title: "To an Unfortunate Woman, whom the Author had known in the days of her innocence." The first Poem, "Maiden, that with sullen brow," &c. he meant to re-write, and which he will be found to have done, with considerable effect.

[31] Mr. Wordsworth lived at Racedown, before he removed to Allfoxden.

[32] Mr. C. after much hesitation, had intended to begin his second edition with this Poem from the "Joan of Arc," in its enlarged, but imperfect state, and even sent it to the press; but the discouraging remarks, which he remembered, of one and another, at the last moment, shook his resolution, and occasioned him to withdraw it wholly. He commenced his volume with the "Ode to the Departing Year."

[33] WRITTEN, (1793) WITH A PENCIL, ON THE WALL OP THE ROOM IN BRISTOL NEWGATE, WHERE SAVAGE DIED.

Here Savage lingered long, and here expired!
The mean--the proud--the censored--the admired!

If, wandering o'er misfortune's sad retreat,
Stranger! these lines arrest thy passing feet,
And recollection urge the deeds of shame
That tarnish'd once an unblest Poet's fame;
Judge not another till thyself art free,
And hear the gentle voice of charity.
"No friend received him, and no mother's care
Sheltered his infant innocence with prayer;
No father's guardian hand his youth maintained,
Call'd forth his virtues, or from vice restrain'd."
Reader! hadst thou been to neglect consign'd,
And cast upon the mercy of mankind;
Through the wide world, like Savage, forced to stray,
And find, like him, one long and stormy day;
Objects less noble might thy soul have swayed,
Or crimes around thee cast a deeper shade.
While poring o'er another's mad career,
Drop for thyself the penitential tear;
Though prized by friends, and nurs'd in innocence,
How oft has folly wrong'd thy better sense:
But if some virtues in thy breast there be,
Ask, if they sprang from _circumstance_, or _thee!_
And ever to thy heart the precept bear,
When thine own conscience smites, a wayward brother spare!

J. C.

[34] My brother, when at Cambridge, had written a Latin poem for the prize: the subject, "Italia, Vastata," and sent it to Mr. Coleridge, with whom he was on friendly terms, in MS. requesting the favor of his remarks; and this he did about six weeks before it was necessary to deliver it in. Mr. C. in an immediate letter, expressed his approbation of the Poem, and cheerfully undertook the task; but with a little of his procrastination, he returned the MS. with his remarks, just one day after it was too late to deliver the poem in!

[35] Verbatim, from Burns's dedication of his Poems to the nobility and gentry of the Caledonian Hunt.

[36] It appears that Mr. Burnet had been prevailed upon by smugglers to buy some prime cheap brandy, but which Mr. Coleridge affirmed to be a compound of Hellebore, kitchen grease, and Assafoetida! or something as bad.

[37] Mr. George Burnet died at the age of thirty-two, 1807.

[38] The reader will have observed a peculiarity in most of Mr. Coleridge's conclusions to his letters. He generally says, "God bless you, and, or eke, S. T. C." so as to involve a compound blessing.

[39] Mrs. Newton, Chatterton's sister, had complained to me of the dishonorable conduct of a gentleman, who, some years prior, had called on her, expressing an enthusiastic admiration of her brother's genius, and requesting the melancholy pleasure of seeing all the letters, then in her and her mother's possession. The gentleman appeared quite affected when he saw her brother's writings, and begged to be allowed to take them to his inn, that he might read them at leisure; the voice of sympathy disarmed suspicion, and the timely present of a guinea and a half induced them to trust him with the MSS., under the promise of their being returned in half an hour. They were never restored, and some months afterwards the whole were incorporated and published in a pamphlet, entitled "Love and Madness," by Mr. Herbert Croft. Mrs. Chatterton felt the grievous wrong that had been done her by this publication for the benefit of another, as she often received presents from strangers who called to see her son's writings; she remonstrated with Mr. Croft on the subject, and received £10 with expressions of his regard.

Here the affair rested, till 1796, when Mrs. Newton was advised to write to Mr. Croft, for further remuneration. To this letter, no answer was returned. Mrs. N. then wrote again, intimating that, acting by the advice of some respectable friends, if no attention was paid to this letter, some public notice would he taken of the manner in which he had obtained her brother's papers. Upon this he replied, "The sort of threatening letter which Mrs. Newton's is, will never succeed with me ... but if the clergyman of the parish will do me the favour to write me word, through Mrs. Newton, what Chatterton's relations consist of, and, _what characters they bear!_ I will try by everything in my power, to serve them; yet certainly not, if any of them pretend to have the smallest _claim_ upon me."

During Mr. Southey's residence in Bristol, I informed him of this discreditable affair, and accompanied him to Mrs. Newton, who confirmed the whole of the preceding statement. We inquired if she still possessed any writings of her brother's? Her reply was, "Nothing. Mr. Croft had them all," with the exception of one precious relic of no value as a publication, which she meant to retain till death.--The identical pocket book, which Chatterton took with him to London, and in which he had entered his cash account while there, with a list of his political letters to the Lord Mayor, and the first personages in the laud. I now wrote to Mr. Croft, pointing out Mrs. Newton's reasonable chums, and urging him, by a timely concession, to prevent that publicity which, otherwise, would follow. I received no answer. Mr. Southey then determined to print by subscription, all Chatterton's works, including those ascribed to Rowley, for the benefit of Mrs. Newton and her daughter. He sent "Proposals" to the Monthly Magazine, in which he detailed the whole case between Mrs. Newton and Mr. Croft, and published their respective letters. The public sympathized rightly on the occasion, for a handsome subscription followed. Mr. Croft, at that time resided at Copenhagen, when having heard of Mr. S.'s exposure, he published a pamphlet, with the following title.

"Chatterton, and Love and Madness. A Letter from Denmark, respecting an unprovoked attack made upon the writer, during his absence from England, &c." By the Rev. Sir Herbert Croft, Bart. In this he says:--

"I cannot be expected, by any man of honour! or feeling, to descend to answer a scurrilous person, signing himself Robert Southey.

"I have ever reverenced the little finger of Chatterton, more than Mr. Southey knows how to respect the poor boy's whole body.

"I learn so much of Mr. Southey's justice from his abuse, that I should be ashamed of myself, were this person ever to disgrace me by his praise; which might happen, did he wish to gain money, or fame! by becoming the officious editor of MY WORKS!

"Innocence would less often fall a prey to villany, if it boldly met the whole of a nefarious accusation!

"The great Mr. Southey writes prose somewhat like bad poetry, and poetry somewhat like bad prose.

"Chatterton was the glory of that Bristol which I hope Mr. S. will not farther disgrace.

"Mr. Southey, not content with trying to 'filch from me my good name,' in order to enrich himself, (conduct agreeable enough to what I have heard of BRISTOL Pantisocracy,) but condescends to steal from me my humble prose!" &c. &c.

This edition of Chatterton's works was published in three volumes, 8vo. during a ten months' residence of mine, in London, in the year 1802. Mr. Southey allowed me to make what observations I thought proper in the course of the work, provided that I affixed to them my initials; and, with the generosity which was natural to him, thus wrote in the preface: "The editors (for so much of the business has devolved on Mr. Cottle, that the plural term is necessary) have to acknowledge," &c. &c. "They have felt peculiar pleasure, as natives of the same city, in performing this act of justice to Chatterton's fame, and to the interests of his family."

The result of our labours was, that Mrs. Newton, received more than three hundred pounds, as the produce of her brother's works. This money rendered comfortable the last days of herself and daughter, and Mr Southey and myself derived no common satisfaction in having contributed to so desirable an end.

In this edition Mr. Southey arranged all the old materials, and the consideration of the authenticity of Rowley, I regret to say, devolved exclusively on me. Mr. S. would doubtless have been more successful in his investigations at the Bristol Museum and Herald's College than myself. I however did not spare my best efforts, and was greatly assisted by the late Mr. Haslewood, who had collected one copy of every work that had been published in the Controversy. And as I had obtained much new documentary evidence since that period, besides knowing many of Chatterton's personal friends, I condensed the arguments in his favor into four essays, distinguished by the initials, "J. C."

In the year 1829, having received still an accession of fresh matter, I enlarged these Essays, and printed them in the fourth edition of "Malvern Hills, Poems, and Essays." I thought the subject worthy a full discussion, and final settlement; and to this point I believe it now to be brought.

Higher authority than that of Mr. Wordsworth could hardly be adduced, who on being presented by me with a copy of the above work thus replied,

"My dear sir,

I received yesterday, through the hands of Mr. Southey, a very agreeable mark of your regard, in a present of two volumes of your miscellaneous works, for which accept my sincere thanks. I have read a good deal of your volumes with much pleasure, and, in particular, the 'Malvern Hills,' which I found greatly improved. I have also read the 'Monody on Henderson,' both favorites of mine. And I have renewed my acquaintance with your observations on Chatterton, which I always thought very highly of, _as being conclusive on the subject of the forgery_....

With many thanks, I remain, my dear Mr. Cottle,

Your old and affectionate friend,

William Wordsworth.

Patterdale, August 2nd, 1829."

[40] War, a Fragment.

[41] John the Baptist, a Poem.

[42] Monody on John Henderson.

[43] Miss Sarah Fricker, afterwards, Mrs. Coleridge.

[44] Relating to these Sonnets, chiefly satirising himself, Mr. C. has said, in his "Biographia;" "So general at that time, and so decided was the opinion concerning the characteristic vices of my style, that a celebrated physician, (Dr. Beddoes) speaking of me, in other respects, with his usual kindness, to a gentleman who was about to meet me at a dinner party, could not however resist giving him a hint not to mention, in my presence, 'The House that Jack Built' for that I was as sore as a boil about that sonnet, he not knowing that I myself was the author of it."

Mr. Coleridge had a singular taste for satirising himself. He has spoken of another ludicrous consequence arising out of this indulgence.

"An amateur performer in verse, expressed to a common friend, a strong desire to be introduced to me, but hesitated in accepting my friend's immediate offer, on the score that 'he was, he must acknowledge, the author of a confounded severe epigram on Mr. C.'s 'Ancient Mariner,' which had given him great pain.' I assured my friend, that if the epigram was a good one, it would only increase my desire to become acquainted with the author, and begged to hear it recited; when, to my no less surprise than amusement, it proved to be one which I had myself, sometime before, written and inserted in the Morning Post."

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.

Your Poem must eternal be,
Dear Sir, it cannot fail,
For 'tis incomprehensible,
And without head or tail."

[45] The motto was the following:

Duplex nobis vinculum, et amicitae et similium junctarumque Camoenarum; quod utinam neque mors solvat, neque temporis longinquitas!--_Groscoll. Epist. ad Car. Utenhov. et Ptol. Lux. Tast._

[46] Eminent writers, particularly poets, should ever remember, they wield a mighty engine for evil or for good. An author, like Mr. Coleridge, may confidently talk of consigning to "pitch black oblivion," writings which he deems immoral, or calculated to disparage his genius; but on works once given to the world, the public lay too tenacious a hold, to consult even the wishes of writers themselves. Improve they may, but withdraw they cannot! So much the more is circumspection required.

[47] Chemical Lectures, by Dr. Beddoes, delivered at the Red Lodge.

[48] A portrait of Mr. Wordsworth, correctly and beautifully executed, by an artist then at Stowey; now in my possession.

[49]Joan of Arc, 4to. first edition, had twenty lines in a page.

[50] Did the report of the "still," in the former page, originate in this broken bottle of brandy?

[51] "Robert Southey and Edith Pricker were married, in St. Mary Redcliffe Church, in the City of Bristol, the 14th day of November, 1795, as appears by the Register of the Parish.

George Campbell, Curate.

Witnesses--Joseph Cottle, Sarah Cottle."

[52] At the instant Mr. Southey was about to set off on his travels, I observed he had no stick, and lent him a stout holly of my own. In the next year, on his return to Bristol, "Here" said Mr. S. "Here is the holly you were kind enough to lend me!"--I have since then looked with additional respect on my old igneous traveller, and remitted a portion of his accustomed labour. It was a source of some amusement, when, in November of 1836, Mr. Southey, in his journey to the West, to my great gratification, spent a few days with me, and in talking of Spain and Portugal, I showed him his companion, the Old Holly! Though somewhat bent with age, the servant (after an interval of forty years) was immediately recognised by his master, and with an additional interest, as this stick, he thought, on one occasion, had been the means of saving his purse, if not his life, from the sight of so efficient an instrument of defence having intimidated a Spanish robber.

[53] See page 32 [Paragraph starting with "The deepest sorrow often admits...." Transcriber.].

[54] During the French war, Spanish dollars received the impression of the King's head, and then passed as the current coin at 4s 6d.

[55] Dr. Hunter, translated St. Pierre.

[56] Dr. Gregory's life was prefixed entire the collection of Chatterton's works, 8 vols. 8vo. Mr. Southey never fulfilled his intention of writing a life Shatterton. The able review of this week, in the Edinburgh was written by Sir Walter Scott.

[57] It was not true, but a vain fancy; causelessly entertained, by, at least, four other ladies, under the same delusion as Miss. W.

[58] On visiting Mr. Southey, at Christ-Church, he introduced to me this Mr. Rickman, whom I found sensible enough, and blunt enough, and seditions enough; that is, simply anti-ministerial. The celebrated Sir G. Rose, had his seat in the vicinity. Sir George was a sort of King of the district. He was also Colonel of a regiment of volunteers. Mr. Rickman told me that the great man had recently made a feast for the officers of his regiment, about a dozen of them, the substantial yeomen of the neighbourhood. After the usual bumper had uproariously been offered to the "King and Constitution; and confusion to all Jacobins," the Colonel, Sir G. called on the Lieutenant-Colonel, after the glasses were duly charged, for a lady-toast. "I'll give you," he replied, "Lady Rose." This being received with all honours, the Major was now applied to for his lady-toast "I can't mend it," he replied, "I'll give Lady Rose." A Captain was now called on; said he, "I am sure I can't mend it, Lady Rose." So that the whole of these military heroes, concurred in drinking good Lady Rose's health.

One of the officers, it appeared, was a bit of a poet, and had composed a choice song for this festive occasion, and which was sung in grand chorus, the Right Honourable Colonel himself, heartily joining. The whole ditty was supremely ludicrous. I remember only the last verse.

"Sir George Rose is our Commander,
He's as great as Alexander;
He'll never flinch, nor stir back an inch,
He loves fire like a Salamander.

CHORUS--He loves fire like a Salamander."

[59] Walter Savage Landor.

[60] The character of Exeter has been completely changed since the period when this letter was written; and from a town, the least attractive, for improvements of every description it may now vie with any town in England.

[61] Mr. Southey paid this second visit to Lisbon, accompanied by Mrs. Southey.

[62] By comparing Mr. Cattcott's copy with the original, it appeared that Mr. C. had very generally altered the orthography so as to give the appearance of greater antiquity, as 'lette' or 'let,' and 'onne' for 'on,' &c.

[63] The home of an 'Ap (son of) Griffiths, ap Jones, ap Owen, ap Thomas.' Some of the old Welsh families carry their Apping pedigrees down to Noah, when the progress is easy to Adam. Mr. Coleridge noticed how little diversity there was in the Welsh names. Thus in the list of subscribers to 'Owen's Welsh Dictionary,' to which none but Welshmen would subscribe, he found of

The letter D, of 31 names, 21 were Davis or Davies
E, 30 16 ... ... Evans
G, 30 two-thirds ... ... Griffiths
H, all Hughes and Howell
I, 66 all ... ... Jones
L, all Lloyds, except 4 Lewises, and 1 Llewellyn
M, four-fiths ... ... Morgans
O, all ... ... Owen
R, all Roberts, or Richards
T, all ... ... Thomases
V, all ... ... Vaughans
W, 64 56 ... ... Williams

Mr. Southey felt great satisfaction when he had found a house in Wales that exactly suited him. It was half way up one of the Glamorganshire mountains; well wooded; the immediate scenery fine; the prospect magnificent. The rent was approved, the time of entrance arranged, when, before the final settlement, Mr. S. thought, on a second survey, that a small additional kitchen was essential to the comfort of the house, and required it of the proprietor, preparatory to his taking a lease. To so reasonable a request the honest Welshman stoutly objected; and on this slight occurrence, depended whether the Laurent should take up, perhaps, his permanent residence in the Principality, or wend his way northward, and spend the last thirty years of his life in sight of Skiddaw.

[64] Wm. Churchey was a very honest worthy lawyer, of Brecon, who unfortunately adopted the notion that he was a poet, and to substantiate his claim published the most remarkable book the world ever saw! It was a poem called 'Joseph,' with other poems, in 4to, and of a magnitude really awful! a mountain among the puny race of modern books. The only copy I ever saw was af an old book stall, and I have regretted that I did not purchase it, and get some stout porter to carry it home. Wm. Churchey was a friend of John Wesley. His prodigious 4to was published by subscription, and given away at the paltry sum of one guinea. I have an autograph letter of John Wesley, to his friend Churchey, in which he says,

"My dear brother,

... I have procured one hundred guineas, and hope to procure fifty more.

John Wesley."

Mr. Churchey's pamphlet is thus entitled, "An Apology, by Wm. Churchey, for his public appearance as a Poet. Printed at Trevecca, Breconshire, by Hughes and Co., 1805; and sold by the author, at Brecon, price 6d."

The first paragraph in the 'Apology,' begins thus, the italics the author's own.

"The author has been ostracised from Parnassus by some tribe of the critics on his former work of _Weight_, if not _Merit_, one set of whom --the most ancient, the wisest of them all--condemned it in the _lump_. A whole volume of ten thousand lines, in _one_ paragraph of their _Monthly Catalogue_, for which they were _paid--nothing!_ without quoting _one_ line! Whereas a _score (!)_ out of some idle _sonnet_, or some _wire-drawn_ Cibberian ode, shall be _held up_ out of the _mud_ with a placid grin of applause. The author _has_ forgiven them, and keeps, therefore, the _name_ of their pamphlet in the back ground, in the _charitable_ hope of their having fifteen years ago, _repented_ of that _injustice_' This ponderous work however, to which the author alludes, was his 'Poems and Imitations of the British Poets, in one _large_ vol. in 4to, price only £1 1s. on _excellent_ paper and print! The same price as even 'Jeffrey Gambado's _Gambol of Horsemanship_' went off as current, at the same time. He _out-jockied_ me; I always was a bad Horseman." &c., &c.

As illustrating one of the extreme points of human nature, I may casually mention that, after Mr. Churchey's death, which soon succeeded the issuing of his 'Apology,' from understanding that his widow was in straitened circumstances, and meeting with a gentleman who was going to Brecon, I requested the favour of him to convey to her a guinea, as a small present. A week after, I received a letter from the widow, thanking me for my kind remembrance, but she said that she was not benefited by it, as Mr. ---- said to her, 'This is a guinea, sent to you from Mr. Cottle, of Bristol, but as your husband owed me money, I shall carry it to the credit of his account'; when, buttoning his pocket, he walked away.' I immediately sent another guinea, and requested her not to name so disreputable an action, in one, from whom I had hoped better conduct. This gentleman, till the period of his death, twenty years after, always shunned me! At the time the abstraction took place, he was a wealthy man, and kept his carriage; but from that time he declined in prosperity, and died in indigence.

[65] In a better sent to me by Mr. Foster, dated June 22, 1843, he thus explains the mysterious circumstances, relating to the publication of "Wat Tyler."

"My dear sir,

... I wonder if Mr. Southey ever did get at the secret history of that affair. The story as I heard it was, that Southey visited Winterbottom in prison, and just as a token of kindness, gave him the M.S. of 'Wat Tyler.' It was no fault of Winterbottom that it was published. On a visit to some friends at Worcester, he had the piece with him; meaning I suppose, to afford them a little amusement, at Southey's expense, he being held in great reproach, even contempt, as a turn-coat. At the house where Winterbottom was visiting, two persons, keeping the piece in their reach at bed-time, sat up all night transcribing it, of course giving him no hint of the manoeuvre. This information I had from one of the two operators....

[66] Poor John Morgan was the only child of a retired spirit merchant of Bristol, who left him a handsome independence. He was a worthy kind-hearted man, possessed of more than an average of reading and good sense; generally respected, and of unpresuming manners. He was a great friend and admirer of Mr. Coleridge; deploring his habits, and labouring to correct them. Except Mr. Gillman, there was no individual, with whom Mr. Coleridge lived gratuitously so much, during Mr. M's. residence in London, extending to a domestication of several years. When Mr. Morgan removed to Calne, in Wiltshire, for a long time, he gave Mr. C. an asylum, and till his affairs, through the treachery of others, became involved, Mr. Coleridge, through him, never wanted a home. That so worthy, and generous a minded man should have been thus reduced, or rather ruined in his circumstances, was much deplored by all who knew him, and marked the instability of human possessions and prospects, often little expected by industrious parents.

[67] A large collection of animal bones, many of them in fossil state, consisting of the jaws and other bones, of tigers, hyenas, wolves, foxes, the horse, the bos, &c., the whole obtained by me, in the year 1822, from the Oreston caves, near Plymouth. The number of bones amounted to nearly two thousand. Many of the specimens were lent to Professor Buckland, to get engraved, for a new geological work of his. The major part of the collection I presented to the Bristol Philosophical Institution.

[68] The decrease of the remarkable young lady, Sarah Saunders, my niece, to whom the later Mr. Foster addressed a series of letters, during her illness. These letters are printed in Mr. F's. "Life and Correspondence."

[69] LIST OF ARTICLES WRITTEN BY ROBERT SOUTHEY IN THE QUARTERLY REVIEW, TO APRIL, 1825.

No.

1 Baptist Mission in India

2 Portuguese Literature

3 South Sea Missions

-- Lord Valentia's Travels

4 American Annals

5 Life of Nelson

6 Season at Tongataboo

-- Graham's Georgics

7 Observador Portuguez

8 Feroe Islands

-- On the Evangelical Sects

11 Bell and Lancaster

12 The Inquisition

-- Montgomery's Poems

13 Iceland

14 French Revolutionists

15 Count Julian

-- Calamities of Authors

16 Manufacturing system and the Poor

19 Bogue and Bennett's History of the Dissenters

21 Nicobar Islands

-- Montgomery's World before the Flood

22 23 British Poets

23 Oriental Memoirs

24 Lewis and Clark's Travels

-- Barrè Roberts

25 Miot's Expedition to Egypt

25 Life of Wellington

26 do. do.

28 Alfieri

29 Me. La Roche Jacqueline

-- The Poor

30 Ali Bey's Travels

-- Foreign Travellers in England

31 Parliamentary Reform

32 Porter's Travels

-- Rise and Progress of Disaffection

33 Tonga Islands

35 Lope de Vega

37 Evelyn on the means of Improving the People

41 Copy-Right Act

42 Cemeteries

43 Monastic Institutions

45 Life of Marlborough

46 New Churches

48 Life of Wm. Huntington, S.S.

50 Life of Cromwell

52 Dobrizhoffer

53 Camoens

55 Gregorie's Religious Sects

56 Infidelity

57 Burnett's Own Times

59 Dwight's Travels

62 Hayley

-- Mrs. Baillie's Lisbon