Coleridge, like all the Return-to-Nature poets of the eighteenth century, Thomson, Cowper, Burns, and others, was given to that humanitarian regard for the lower creatures which brought forth such poems as Burns"s "Address to a Mouse" and Coleridge"s own lines to a "Young a.s.s". The following letter to Cottle is an amusing sample of that humanitarianism. George Burnett, one of the pantisocrats, occasionally resided with Coleridge, and during the latter"s temporary absence from Stowey had taken ill. On reaching Stowey, Coleridge wrote to Cottle.
LETTER 59. TO COTTLE
Stowey (May, 1797).
My dear friend,
I found George Burnett ill enough, heaven knows, Yellow Jaundice--the introductory symptoms very violent. I return to Bristol on Thursday, and shall not leave till "all be done".
Remind Mrs. Coleridge of the kittens, and tell her that George"s brandy is just what smuggled spirits might be expected to be, execrable! The smack of it remains in my mouth, and I believe will keep me most horribly temperate for half a century. He (Burnett) was bit, but I caught the Brandiphobia.[1] (obliterations * * * * * * *
--scratched out, well knowing that you never allow such things to pa.s.s, uncensured. A good joke, and it slipped out most impromptu--ishly.)
The mice play the very devil with us. It irks me to set a trap. By all the whiskers of all the p.u.s.s.ies that have mewed plaintively, or amorously, since the days of Whittington, it is not fair. "Tis telling a lie. "Tis as if you said, "Here is a bit of toasted cheese; come little mice! I invite you!" when, oh, foul breach of the rites of hospitality!
I mean to a.s.sa.s.sinate my too credulous guests! No, I cannot set a trap, but I should vastly like to make a Pitt--fall. (Smoke the Pun!) But concerning the mice, advise thou, lest there be famine in the land. Such a year of scarcity! Inconsiderate mice! Well, well, so the world wags.
Farewell, S. T. C.
P.S. A mad dog ran through our village, and bit several dogs. I have desired the farmers to be attentive, and tomorrow shall give them, in writing, the first symptoms of madness in a dog.
I wish my pockets were as yellow as George"s Phiz!
[Footnote 1: It appears that Mr. Burnett had been prevailed upon by smugglers to buy some prime cheap brandy, but which Mr. Coleridge affirmed to be a compound of h.e.l.lebore, kitchen grease, and a.s.safoetida!
or something as bad.--[Cottle"s note.]]
The next letter must belong to the end of May or beginning of June.
Cottle"s note shows that the second edition of the poems was now published.
LETTER 60. TO COTTLE
Stowey (June), 1797.
My dear Cottle,
I deeply regret, that my anxieties and my slothfulness, acting in a combined ratio, prevented me from finishing my "Progress of Liberty, or Visions of the Maid of Orleans", with that Poem at the head of the volume, with the "Ode" in the middle, and the "Religious Musings" at the end. * * *
In the "Lines on the Man of Ross", immediately after these lines,
He heard the widow"s heaven-breathed prayer of praise, He mark"d the shelter"d orphan"s tearful gaze.
Please to add these two lines.
And o"er the portion"d maiden"s snowy cheek, Bade bridal love suffuse its blushes meek.
And for the line,
Beneath this roof, if thy cheer"d moments pa.s.s.
I should be glad to subst.i.tute this,
If near this roof thy wine-cheer"d moments pa.s.s.
"These emendations," Cottle adds, "came too late for admission in the second edition; nor have they appeared in the last edition. They will remain therefore for insertion in any future edition of Mr. Coleridge"s Poems."
The exact date on which Coleridge and Wordsworth met in the year 1796 has not been ascertained; but Coleridge speaks in the next letter as if he was now well acquainted with Wordsworth. Coleridge had been at Taunton early in June ("Letters, 220). On the 8th of June he wrote to Cottle.
LETTER 61. TO COTTLE
(8th) June, 1797.
My dear Cottle,
I am sojourning for a few days at Racedown, Dorset, the mansion of our friend Wordsworth; who presents his kindest respects to you. * * *
Wordsworth admires my tragedy, which gives me great hopes. Wordsworth has written a tragedy himself. I speak with heartfelt sincerity, and I think, unblinded judgment, when I tell you that I feel myself a little man by his side, and yet I do not think myself a less man than I formerly thought myself. His drama is absolutely wonderful. You know I do not commonly speak in such abrupt and unmingled phrases, and therefore will the more readily believe me. There are, in the piece, those profound touches of the human heart, which I find three or four times in the "Robbers" of Schiller, and often in Shakespeare, but in Wordsworth there are no inequalities. * * *
G.o.d bless you, and eke [1]
S. T. COLERIDGE. [2]
[Footnote 1: The reader will have observed a peculiarity in most of Mr.
Coleridge"s conclusions to his letters. He generally says, "G.o.d bless you, and, or eke, S. T. C." so as to involve a compound blessing.--[Cottle.]]
[Footnote 2: Letter LXXIII is our 61.]
Shakespeare evidently occupied an important place in Coleridge"s mind even at this early date. His discovery of rivals to the prince of English dramatists in his friends Southey and Wordsworth only indicates how largely Shakespeare already bulked in his view of the dramatic art.
The next letter to Cottle is of a milder type, and leads up to an interesting meeting, famous in the lives of Lamb, Coleridge, and Wordsworth.
LETTER 62. TO COTTLE
Stowey, June 29th, 1797.