Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey Part 8

This routine was repeated with every fresh number. My part was zealously and cheerfully discharged, with the encouraging hope that it would essentially serve my anxious and valued friend. But all would not do!

A feeling of disappointment prevailed early and pretty generally, amongst the subscribers. The Prospectus promised too much. In the Review department, no one article appeared embodying any high order of talent.

The Newspaper section pleased no one, from the confined limits to which the editor was restricted, independently of which, nearly all the subscribers had seen the Debates in their length, through other mediums; and yet this profitless part of the work gave most trouble to the compiler. Its dulness, I know, fretted Mr. Coleridge exceedingly.[15]

The theory of publishing was delightful; but the exemplification--the practice, proved, alas! teasing, if not tormenting. One pitiful subscriber of fourpence, every eighth day, thought his boys did not improve much under it. Another expected more from his "Annual Register!"

Another wanted more Reviews! Another, more Politics! and those a little sharper. As the work proceeded, joys decreased, and perplexities multiplied! added to which, subscribers rapidly fell off, debts were acc.u.mulated and unpaid, till, at the Tenth Number, the Watchman at the helm cried "Breakers" and the vessel stranded!--It being formally announced, that "The work did not pay its expenses!"

The "Address to the readers of the Watchman," in the last page, was the following:

"This is the last Number of the Watchman.--Henceforward I shall cease to cry the state of the Political atmosphere. While I express my grat.i.tude to those friends who exerted themselves so liberally in the establishment of this Miscellany, I may reasonably be expected to a.s.sign some reason for relinquishing it thus abruptly. The reason is short and satisfactory.--The work does not pay its expences. Part of my subscribers have relinquished it, because it did not contain sufficient original composition; and a still larger number, because it contained too much. Those who took it in as a mere journal of weekly events, must have been unacquainted with 'FLOWER'S CAMBRIDGE INTELLIGENCER;' a Newspaper, the style and composition of which would claim distinguished praise, even among the productions of literary leisure; while it breathes everywhere the severest morality; fighting fearlessly the good fight against tyranny, yet never unfaithful to that religion, whose service is perfect freedom. Those, on the other hand, who expected from it much and varied original composition, have naturally relinquished it in favour of the 'NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE;' a work which has almost monopolized the talent of the country, and with which I should have continued a course of literary rivalship, with as much success as might be expected to attend a young recruit, who should oppose himself to a phalanx of disciplined warriors. Long may it continue to deserve the support of the patriot and the philanthropist; and while it teaches its readers NATIONAL LIBERTY, prepare them for the enjoyment of it; strengthening the intellect by SCIENCE, and softening our affections by the GRACES! To return to myself. I have endeavoured to do well: and it must be attributed to defect of ability, not of inclination or effort, if the words of the Prophet be altogether applicable to me.

"O, Watchman! thou hast watched in vain."

Many readers will feel a concern in the arrangements and perplexities of Mr. Coleridge at the time of publishing his "Watchman;" for he had a more vital interest involved in the success of that work than he had, individually, in the rise and fall of empires. When he returned from his northern journey laden with subscribers, and with hope ripened into confidence, all that had yet been done was the mere scaffolding; the building was now to be erected. Soon after this time I received from Mr.

Coleridge the following letter.

"1796.

My ever dear Cottle,

I will wait on you this evening at 9 o'clock, till which hour I am on "Watch." Your Wednesday's invitation I of course accept, but I am rather sorry that you should add this expense to former liberalities.

Two editions of my Poems would barely repay you. Is it not possible to get twenty-five, or thirty of the Poems ready by to-morrow, as Parsons, of Paternoster Row, has written to me pressingly about them. 'People are perpetually asking after them.' All admire the Poetry in the 'Watchman;'

he says, I can send them with one hundred "of the First Number," which he has written for. I think if you were to send half a dozen 'Joans of Arc,'

[4to. 1. 1. 0] on sale or return, it would not be amiss. To all the places in the North, we will send my 'Poems,' my 'Conciones,' and the 'Joans of Arc,' together, per waggon. You shall pay the carriage for the London and the Birmingham parcels; I for the Sheffield, Derby, Nottingham, Manchester, and Liverpool.

With regard to the Poems I mean to give away, I wish to make it a common interest; that is, I will give away a sheet full of Sonnets. One to Mrs.

Barbauld; one to Wakefield; one to Dr. Beddoes: one to Wrangham, (a College acquaintance of mine, an admirer of me, and a pitier of my principles!) one to George Augustus Pollen, Esq. one to C. Lamb; one to Wordsworth; one to my brother G. and one to Dr. Parr. These Sonnets I mean to write on the blank leaf, respectively, of each copy.[16]

Concerning the paper for the 'Watchman,' I was vexed to hear your proposal of trusting it to Biggs, who, if he undertook it at all, would have a profit, which heaven knows, I cannot afford. My plan was, either that you should write to your paper-maker, saying that you had recommended him to me, and ordering for me twenty or forty reams, at a half year's credit; or else, in your own name; in which case I would transfer to you, Reed's[17] weekly account, amounting to 120 3-1/2 d's, (or 35 shillings) and the Birmingham monthly account, amounting to 14. a month.

G.o.d bless you,

and S. T. Coleridge."

This letter requires a few explanations. In recommending that Biggs, the printer, should choose the paper, it was not designed for him to provide it, which, had he been so requested, he would not have done, but merely to select one, out of different samples to be submitted to him, as that which he, as a printer, thought the best. This was explained to Mr. C. It will be perceived, that Mr. Coleridge's two proposals were virtually one: as, if I ordered the paper for myself or for another, the responsibility would rest with me. The plain fact is, I purchased the whole of the paper for the "Watchman," allowing Mr. C. to have it at prime cost, and receiving small sums from him occasionally, in liquidation. I became responsible, also, to Mr. B. for printing the work, by which means I reduced the price per sheet, as a bookseller, (1000) from fifty shillings to thirty five shillings. Mr. C. paid me for the paper in fractions, as he found it convenient, but from the falling off of his own receipts, I never received the whole. It was a losing concern altogether, and I was willing to bear, uncomplaining, my proportion of the loss. There is some difference between this statement, and that of Mr. Coleridge in his "Biographia Literaria."[18] A defect of memory must have existed, arising out of the lapse of twenty two years; but my notices, made at that time, did not admit of mistake.

My loss was also augmented from another cause. Mr. C. states in the above work, that his London publisher never paid him "one farthing," but "set him at defiance." I also was more than his equal companion in this misfortune. The thirty copies of Mr. C.'s poems, and the six "Joans of Arc" (referred to in the preceding letter) found a ready sale, by this said "indefatigable London publisher," and large and fresh orders were received, so that Mr. Coleridge and myself partic.i.p.ated in two very opposite feelings, the one of exultation that our publications had found _so good a sale_; and the other of _depression_, that the time of _payment_ never arrived!

All the copies also, of Mr. C.'s Poems, and the "Joan's of Arc," which were sent to the North, so far as I am concerned, shared the same fate. I do not know that they were ever paid for. If they were, in combination with other things, it was my wish that the entanglement should never be unravelled, for who could take from Mr. C. any portion of his slender remittances.

The most amusing appendage to this unfortunate "Miscellany," will now be presented to the reader, in the seven following letters of Mr. Coleridge, addressed to his friend Mr. Josiah Wade, and written in the progress of his journey to collect subscribers for the "Watchman."

"Worcester, Jan. 1796.

My dear Wade,

We were five in number, and twenty-five, in quant.i.ty. The moment I entered the coach, I stumbled on a huge projection, which might be called a belly, with the same propriety that you might name Mount Atlas a mole-hill. Heavens! that a man should be unconscionable enough to enter a stage coach, who would want elbow room if he were walking on Salisbury Plain!

This said citizen was a most violent aristocrat, but a pleasant humourous fellow in other respects, and remarkably well-informed in agricultural science; so that the time pa.s.sed pleasantly enough. We arrived at Worcester at half-past two: I of course dined at the inn, where I met Mr.

Stevens. After dinner I christianized myself; that is, washed and changed, and marched in finery and cleanliness to High-Street. With regard to business, there is no chance of doing any thing at Worcester.

The aristocrats are so numerous, and the influence of the clergy so extensive, that Mr. Barr thinks no bookseller will venture to publish the 'Watchman.'

P.S. I hope and trust that the young citizeness is well, and also Mrs.

Wade. Give my love to the latter, and a kiss for me to little Miss Bratinella.

S. T. Coleridge."

"Birmingham, Jan. 1796.

My dear friend,

... My exertions have been incessant, for in whatever company I go, I am obliged to be the figurante of the circle. Yesterday I preached twice, and, indeed, performed the whole service, morning and afternoon. There were about fourteen hundred persons present, and my sermons (great part extempore) were _preciously peppered with Politics_. I have here, at least, double the number of subscribers, I had expected...."

"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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d! 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 mult.i.tude 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. a.s.suredly 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. G.o.d bless her, and you, and (like a bad shilling slipped in between two guineas.)

Your faithful and affectionate friend,