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PERSONAL REMINISCENCES

OF

LAMB, COLERIDGE, SOUTHEY, WORDSWORTH,

AND THEIR EARLY FRIEND AND PUBLISHER, JOSEPH COTTLE.

BY

AN AMERICAN FRIEND OF THE POETS.

A

new

YOUNG man in drab coat and broad-brimmed hat is leaning over the counter in the shop of Mr. Joseph Cottle, the young Bristol bookseller, in earnest discourse with the proprietor. The subject of conversation is the problem-ever old, yet always - of the reorganization and reconstruction of society. This great problem, says Mr. Lovell (the young gentleman in the drab coat), is now upon the point of solution. A perfect social state is about to be constituted, which shall be free from all the evils and turmoils which have always agitated the world -never so much so as at the present day; for it is in the year of grace 1794, and the terrific experiment of the French revolution is working itself out.

Mr. Lovell is not the author of the scheme he is so zealously expounding. That honor belongs to two young friends of his, both University men - Mr. Coleridge, of Cambridge, and Mr. Southey, of Oxford. The latter of these is Mr. Lovell's most intimate friend, and indeed is affianced to Edith Fricker, his wife's sister. But this is a great secret for the present, as Mr. Southey has aristocratic friends who would not be well pleased to learn that he was about to marry a milliner of Bath. The honor of propounding the scheme belongs mainly to Mr. Coleridge, who is a famous Greek scholar, and has invented a couple of names which accurately describe it. He calls it PANTISOCRACY, signifying the "equal government of all," or ASPHETISM, implying the "generalization of all individual property."

The outlines of the scheme are these: A chosen band are to form a social colony on the banks of the Susquehanna, in America. None are to be admitted except persons of tried and incorruptible character. Selfishness is to be utterly proscribed; all property is to be absolutely in common; government is to be conducted not by formal laws, but by excluding all deteriorating passions; and human nature is to have a fair chance of developing its inherent perfectibility.

Mr. Coleridge, so says Mr. Lovell, notwithstanding his wonderful genius - (for he is the first poet of his age; and Mr. Southey, by the way, is hardly his inferior) — is no mere cloistered projector, but a cool and careful reasoner. He has gone into the most minute calculations, and is fully satisfied that in this new country the labor of two hours each day will be amply sufficient to supply all the necessities of life. But

as the adventurers are to be all young and vigorous, they will probably choose to devote some additional labor to extending and improving their domain. They will hew down the stately forests; the loppings and trimmings of the trees will supply fuel for their cheerful winter fire, and the trunks cut up into planks will afford materials for their outbuildings, reserving the finest for constructing their own picturesque habitations. All this will cost barely the labor of cutting and hewing. Making all due allowance for these voluntary labors, there will be ample leisure for each individual to employ as he may choose in reading, study, and conversation; or even in writing books, if any one has a gift that way.

In these calculations Coleridge and his friend Southey have been greatly aided by a young man who has resided some years in America, and has now returned to England for the purpose of selling land upon the banks of this very Susquehanna. He spends almost every evening in their company· for the sake of benefiting by their conversation, he says-and in return he gives them a deal of valuable information. Six hundred dollars, he assures them, is all that will be requisite to purchase a thousand acres of land, and to build houses thereupon. Twelve men can easily clear three hundred acres in four or five months. The Susquehanna country he recommends on many accounts(how lucky it is that the lands he has to sell are located just there) -such as its wonderful beauty, and its perfect security from any incursions of hostile Indians. He has heard of bisons, but has never seen one himself; at all events, he can assure them that they are not dangerous. One annoyance he cannot in conscience deny to exist in this favored land. That is the mosquitoes; but, after all, they are less troublesome than the gnats in England; and when a person gets used to them, why, he will not mind them at all. "And as for literary characters," continues the ingenuous young man, "they make lots of money there."

In answer to Mr. Cottle's inquiries, Mr. Lovell informs him that it has been determined that the young adventurers shall charter a ship at Bristol in the ensuing spring, for it is far in autumn, and set sail. It is true that just now they are rather short of funds to carry out the scheme; but there are yet some months before the time set for departure, and he shall introduce the two great pioneers to all his friends in Bristol, where they are to arrive in a few days.

By great good fortune, he happens to have in his pocket some manuscript copies of the poems of his friends, which he would like to read to Mr. Cottle. The bookseller would be happy to hear them, for he has a taste for literature; and, to tell the truth, has just then in press a small volume of poems of his own composition. This volume is neither of his two stupendous epics of "Alfred," and the "Fall of Cambria,” in twenty-four books each, which belong to a much later period, but a small collection of miscellaneous poems, chiefly descriptive.

Not very long after this conversation, Mr. Southey arrives in Bristol, and is duly introduced to Mr. Cottle. A most fascinating young man is this Mr. Robert Southey. Tall and dignified, with a prominent aquiline nose, piercing eyes, and a countenance full of genius, kindliness, and intelligence, possessing great suavity of manners, he quite answers to the young bookseller's idea of what a poet should be, and is most cordially received. After awhile, it is announced that on the following day Mr. Coleridge himself is expected in Bristol. When he arrives, Mr. Cottle is delighted with him. Such a brow, such a forehead, was never before worn by man. Mr. Cottle introduces them both to his friends, and they speedily become quite the rage in Bristol, Mr. Coleridge especially, who is the most brilliant converser ever listened to.

Mr. Cottle, who knows something of business, has all along feared that the pecuniary resources of his young friends are inadequate to allow them to charter a vessel

and provide the outfit for their voyage. He is in the course of a couple of months confirmed in this opinion by receiving a note from Mr. Coleridge, asking for a loan of five pounds to enable them to pay for their lodgings in Bristol; the whole bill amounts to eleven pounds-decidedly more than they had anticipated. He is too happy to make the required loan; and finding that Mr. Coleridge is in a desponding mood, advises him to publish a volume of his poems, in order to raise funds. Mr. Coleridge has thought of that, and has already offered them to sundry London booksellers, who will not even look at "the article," declaring that poetry is "quite a drug in the market." One does, however, condescend to look at the manuscripts, and offers him six guineas for them a very liberal proposition, when we remember for how much "Paradise Lost" was sold.

"Well, then," says Mr. Cottle, "I will give you twenty guineas." Mr. Coleridge's countenance grows radiant at once.

"Nay," adds Mr. Cottle, "I will give you thirty guineas, and will pay you the money as your occasions require, without waiting for the completion of the work."

A most liberal publisher is Mr. Cottle, as is still further evinced by his making a similar offer to Mr. Southey, who accepts it with the greatest pleasure. Nor does his liberality stop here. Mr. Southey has read to him portions of his completed poem, "Joan of Arc," for which he is now soliciting subscriptions. He offers to publish it in quarto, giving the author fifty guineas, and fifty copies of the work for his subscribers. This offer is accepted, and Robert Southey's destiny is fixed. He is to be a man of letters.

Meanwhile the two young poets have recourse to sundry expedients to recruit their finances. They project a series of public lectures. Southey chooses historical themes; Coleridge expatiates on moral and political subjects: such as the Slave Trade, the Hair-Powder Tax, the French and English Revolutions, the Liberty of the Press; draws parallels between Charles I. and Louis XVI., Cromwell and Robespierre, Mazarine and Pitt, and sundry other historical characters. He also proposes to deliver a course of theological lectures. Upon one occasion he volunteers to take the place of his friend Southey, and deliver one of the lectures of his historical course; but unfortunately fails to make his appearance at the appointed time.

It is much to be regretted that this brilliant young man is so little to be depended upon, as Mr. Cottle finds to his cost; for the volume of poems, which has been paid for, does not make its appearance for two whole years. On Saturday he promises that the printer shall have copy in profusion by Monday morning-a whole printed sheet a day, if he wants it. No copy makes its appearance, but a letter instead, asking the bookseller to send four pipes, as the poet has "an impulse to fumigate;" and by the succeeding morning copy shall be forthcoming, which, however does not arrive. So many excuses he has, too: now he is unwell; now he must go marketing-will Mr. Cottle take tea with him this evening?-now he will come to Mr. Cottle's to tea, and after tea he will write; the publisher may lock him up in a chamber if he will, and not let him out till a due quantity of copy is produced; and so on, and so on.

Things have gone on thus for eighteen months or so, when it is announced that the young poet is about to be married to Sarah Fricker, the sister of his friend Southey's affiancée. This intelligence excites some surprise, for the poet is supposed to be deeply enamored with a certain Mary Evans; and it is not many months ago that, in a fit of despair at his unprosperous suit to her, added to pecuniary embarrassments, he had suddenly left the University, and enlisted as a private soldier, under the name of Silas Tomkyn Comberbatch. From this uncongenial position he has been released just in time to form this famous scheme of Pantisocracy. Mr. Cottle is a true friend

in this emergency, and promises to pay him a guinea and a half for every hundred lines of poetry he will furnish-after the completion of the volume so long promised. On the strength of this promise, the rite is performed, and the new-married pair take up their abode in a cottage which the groom has hired. Mr. Coleridge has not thought of the requisite furnishing of his home; and two days after taking possession of it, writes to the ever-prompt Cottle to send him down the following list of household plenishing:

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

Meet place for a poet was this cottage home, as Coleridge has pictured it in two of his most exquisite poems. Who does not know that cot overgrown with whiteflowered jasmine and broad-leaved myrtle, the simple lute placed lengthways in the casement; the tall rose peeping into the casement window, the faint murmur of the sea, audible in the distance? Who has not climbed from the low dell up the bare bleak mountain, and watched the gray clouds, the river, the Channel, flecked with white sails, and all the beauty which the inland view affords? Whose heart has not been soothed and tranquillized, at the picture of the "pensive Sara" with her soft cheek reclined upon the poet's arm; while her mild eye darted reproof upon his impetuous imaginings? And what young manly heart has not echoed the thanksgiving for the mercy which vouchsafed him the possession of peace and that cot, and the heart-honored maid.

Alas, that romance should be such unsubstantial food. Alas that this rosy morning of connubial love should be so soon overclouded; that mother and children should so soon be forsaken by the husband and father.

Coleridge soon grew weary of his pretty cot. It was too far from the provincial town; friends were too distant, tattling neighbors too near; and perhaps certain festive scenes which he had learned to love were too inaccessible. So back to Bristol he goes, and the rose-embowered cottage knows him no more forever.

It is very true that man lives not by bread alone; still it is no less true that without bread he cannot live at all. Such schemes of intellectual activity did Coleridge then, as ever after, form! It was in these days that he once showed to his friend Cottle that leaf from his pocket-book upon which he had written a list of the works he had then determined to write. Eighteen of them in all, a number to be in quarto; and first and foremost the great work; not that "Great Work" which for a score of years he was so fond of promising his friends and disciples-nor yet that other "Great Work" of "Imitations," of which he elsewhere speaks- but a work on the darling scheme of "Pantisocracy." Eighteen works at once! Yet no one who listened to his inspired conversation, could doubt that that wonderful mind was amply furnished with materials for them all. At any evening, over a steaming pot of "egg-hot" with pipes of "Oroonoko," he would talk half a volume.

Yet conversation, though as wonderful as that of Coleridge, will not furnish the arms with which the battle of life is to be waged. Of the eighteen works not one gets to the pen's point, to say nothing of type and press. The poetry at one and a half guinea the hundred lines, is not forthcoming. But something must be done. Coleridge projects a monthly publication, to be called the "Watchman," embracing the characteristics of a Register, Review, and Newspaper; and he sets off to canvass for subscribers; combining with the character of agent that of preacher. He is at that

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