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<title type="main">The Collected Letters of Robert Southey. Part 1: 1791-1797 </title>
<title type="subordinate">A Romantic Circles Electronic Edition</title>
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<name>Southey, Robert, 1774-1843</name>
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<p>Bodleian Library, MS Eng. Lett. c. 22.  Previously 
                        published: Charles Cuthbert Southey (ed.), Life and
                            Correspondence of Robert Southey, 6 vols (London, 1849–1850), I,
                        pp. 230–234 [in part; where it is dated 8 February 1795].</p>
<p>These letters were edited with the assistance of Carol Bolton, Tim Fulford and Ian Packer</p>
<p>For permission to publish the text of MSS in their possession, the editor wishes to thank the Beinecke Rare
											Books and Manuscript Library, Yale University; Berg Collection of English and American Literature, The New
											York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations; the Bodleian Library Oxford University; the
											British Library; Boston Public Library; the Syndics of Cambridge University Library; the Syndics of the
											Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge; Haverford College, Connecticut; the Historical Society of Pennsylvania; the
											Hornby Library, Liverpool Libraries and Information Services; the Houghton Library, Harvard University;
											the John Rylands Library, Manchester; the Kenneth Spencer Research Library, University of Kansas; Luton
											Museum (Bedfordshire County Council); Massachusetts Historical Society; McGill University Library; the
											National Library of Scotland; the Newberry Library, Chicago; the New York Public Library (Pforzheimer
											Collections); the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York; the Public Record Offices of Bedford, Suffolk (Bury
											St Edmunds) and Northumberland, the Master and Fellows of Trinity College, Cambridge; the Society of
											Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne; the Trustees of the William Salt Library, Stafford, the Wisbech and
											Fenland Museum; the University of Virginia Library.</p>
<p>A research grant from the British Academy made much of the archival work possible, as did support from the
											English Department of Nottingham Trent University.</p>
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<div n="124" type="letter">
<head>124. Robert Southey to <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor Charles Bedford</ref>, <date when="1795-02-08">8 [–9] February
                        1795</date>
<note place="foot" resp="editors" type="headnote">Address:
                        Grosvenor Charles Bedford Esq<hi rend="sup">r</hi>/ New Palace Yard/
                        Westminster./ Single<lb/>Stamped: BRISTOL<lb/>Postmark: AFE/ 10/ 95<lb/>
                        Watermarks: Monogrammed initials (final initial C); H<lb/>Endorsements: 8.
                            Feb<hi rend="sup">ry</hi> 1795; Ans<hi rend="sup">d</hi>. Feb. 14.
                        1795<lb/>MS: Bodleian Library, MS Eng. Lett. c. 22<lb/>Previously
                        published: Charles Cuthbert Southey (ed.), <title level="m">Life and
                            Correspondence of Robert Southey</title>, 6 vols (London, 1849–1850), I,
                        pp. 230–234 [in part; where it is dated 8 February 1795].</note>
</head>
<opener>
<dateline rend="left">
<date when="1795-02-08">Sunday. Feb. 8<hi rend="sup">th</hi>. 95</date>
</dateline>
</opener>
<p rend="indent1"> I have been reading the four first numbers of the Flagellant<note n="1" place="foot" resp="editors">The first four numbers of the schoolboy
                        magazine <title level="j">The Flagellant</title>, appeared between 1–22
                        March 1792. Southey was expelled from Westminster School for his authorship
                        of a controversial essay against flogging in the fifth number, 29 March
                        1792.</note> — they are all I possess — my dearest <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor</ref> they have
                    recalled past times forcibly to my mind — &amp; I could almost weep at the
                    retrospect. why have I not written to you before? because I could only have told
                    you of uncertainty &amp; suspense — there is nothing more to say now — the
                    next six months will afford more variety of incident — but my dear <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Bedford</ref> tho you will not
                    love me the less you will shake your head &amp; lament the effects of what
                    you call enthusiasm. would to God that we agreed in sentiment — for then you
                    could enter into the feelings of my heart &amp; hold me still dearer in your
                    own.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> there is the strangest mixture of cloud &amp; sunshine! an
                    outcast in the world! an adventurer! living by his wits! yet happy in the full
                    conviction of rectitude — in integrity &amp; in the affections of <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">a mild &amp; lovely woman</ref>. at
                    once the object of hatred &amp; admiration. wondered at by all — hated by
                    the aristocrats — the very oracle of my own party. — <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Bedford</ref> Bedford mine are
                    the principles of peace — of non-resistance. you cannot burst our bands of
                    affection — do not grieve that circumstances have made me thus. you ought to
                    rejoice that your friend acts up to his principles even tho you think them
                    wrong.</p>
<p rend="indent1">
<ref target="people.html#ColeridgeSamuelTaylor">Coleridge</ref> is writing at
                    the same table. our names are written in the book of destiny on the same
                    page.</p>
<p rend="indent1">
<ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor</ref> I must put
                    your brains in requisition. we are about to publish a magazine on a new plan.
                    one of the prospectus when printed shall be forwarded to you. tis our intention
                    to say in the title page <ref target="people.html#ColeridgeSamuelTaylor">STC</ref> &amp; RS editors. &amp; to admit nothing but what is
                    good. a work of this kind must not be undertaken without a certainty of
                    indemnification, &amp; then it bids very fair to be lucrative — so the
                    booksellers here tell us. to be called the Provincial Magazine<note n="2" place="foot" resp="editors">Nothing came of this scheme, but it has
                        affinities with Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s <title level="j">The
                            Watchman</title> (1796) and William Wordsworth’s projected journal ‘The
                        Philanthropist’.</note> &amp; publishd at Bristol if we settle here. we
                    mean to make it the vehicle of all our poetry. will you not give us some essays
                    &amp;c? we can undoubtedly make it the best thing of the kind ever
                    published. so <del rend="strikethrough">your jokes</del>
<ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Bedford</ref> be very wise
                    &amp; very witty — send us whole essays — hints — good things &amp;c
                    &amp; they shall cut a most respectable figure. the poetry will be printed
                    so as to make a seperate volume at the end of the year — &amp; a most choice
                    volume it will be.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> &amp; what think you of this? I should say that the work will
                    certainly express our sentiments — so expressed as never to offend — but if
                    Truth spoken in the words of meekness be offence, we may not avoid it.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> I am in treaty with the Telegraph<note n="3" place="foot" resp="editors">A daily London newspaper, with radical leanings, which
                        started publication on 30 December 1794. Southey certainly contributed to it
                        (for example, a complete version of his ‘Race of Banquo’ appeared in 1797),
                        but the patchy survival of copies of <title level="j">The Telegraph</title>
                        makes it impossible to determine the full extent of his involvement. The
                        issue containing Southey’s letter does not seem to have survived.</note>
                    &amp; hope to be their correspondent. hireling writer to a newspaper —
                    sdeath tis an ugly title — but n’importe! I shall write truth &amp; only
                    truth. have you seen in Fridays Telegraph a letter to Canning signed Harrington?
                    twas the specimen of my prose.<note n="4" place="foot" resp="editors">The letter
                        to George Canning (1770–1827; <title level="m">DNB</title>) does not seem to
                        have survived. Southey’s choice of pseudonym recalls both the political
                        theorist James Harrington (1611–1677; <title level="m">DNB</title>), author
                        of <title level="m">Oceana</title> (1656), and the latter’s cousin, the
                        parliamentary commander and politician James Harrington (c. 1607–1660;
                            <title level="m">DNB</title>).</note>
</p>
<p rend="indent1"> you will be melancholy at all this <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Bedford</ref>. I am so at
                    times. but what can I do? I could not enter into the church nor had I finances
                    to study physic. for public offices I am too notorious — &amp; have not the
                    gift of making shoes — nor the happy art of mending them. education has unfitted
                    me for trade &amp; I must perforce enter the muster roll of authors.</p>
<p>
<date when="1795-02-09">Monday morning</date>. my days are disquieted &amp;
                    the dreams of the night only retrace the past or bewilder me in vague visions of
                    the future. America is still the place to which our ultimate views tend but it
                    will be years before we can go. as for Wales it is not practicable. the point is
                    where can I best subsist? you will not my dear <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor</ref> show this to
                    any one — the vagrant ideas of my brain appear as they pass over it. London is
                    certainly the place for all who like me are on the world. but I must marry. do
                    not start or accuse me of imprudence. <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Bedford</ref> my brow assumes a
                    very dark cloud at the thought that what would make you the happiest of men is
                    to me a source of anguish as well as happiness. I am beloved infinitely beloved
                    by <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">her</ref> on whom my whole soul is
                    fixed. she is very uncomfortably situated &amp; in my absence has no
                    enjoyment to counteract continual impressions of melancholy — when I am away
                    anxiety prays upon her health &amp; the knowledge of this destroys mine.
                    when together — my dear <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Bedford</ref> I have been a fool &amp; will gibbet myself as an example
                    to all who have more heart than head in secula seculorum! what business had I a
                    fortuneless fellow subsisting on the charity of <ref target="people.html#HillHerbert">a relation</ref> to think of love! oh I
                    could lead you to a long train of conclusions from this beginning — for surely
                    there must be something wrong in that state of society when two of its worthiest
                    members are made wretched</p>
<p rend="indent1"> London must be the place — if I &amp; <ref target="people.html#ColeridgeSamuelTaylor">Coleridge</ref> can only get a
                    fixd salary of 100 a year between us our own industry shall supply the rest. I
                    will write up to the Telegraph. they offerd me a reporters place but nightly
                    employments are out of the question. my troublesome guest calld honesty — (that
                    starving quality) prevents me from writing in the True Briton.<note n="5" place="foot" resp="editors">A daily loyalist newspaper which ran from 1793
                        to 1803.</note> God knows I want not to thrust myself forward as a partizan
                    — peace &amp; domestic life are the highest blessings I could implore —
                    enough. the state of suspense must soon be over — I am worn &amp; wasted
                    with anxiety &amp; if not at rest in a short time shall be disabled from
                    exertion &amp; sink to a long repose. poor <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref>! Allmighty God protect
                    her!</p>
<p rend="indent1"> You can give me no advice nor point me out any line to pursue but
                    you can write to me — &amp; tell me how you are — &amp; of your friends
                    — let me hear from you as soon as possible. moralize metaphysicize pun — say
                    good things — promise us some aid in the magazine &amp; shake hands with me
                    as cordially by letter as when we parted in the Strand. I look over your letters
                    &amp; find but little alteration of sentiment from the beginning of 92 to
                    the end of 94. what a strange mass of matter is in mine during those periods — I
                    mean to write my own life &amp; a most useful book it will be — you shall
                    write the Paraleipomena<note n="6" place="foot" resp="editors">A Greek word,
                        which translates as ‘things passed over’, and is often used in the context
                        of things missing from authorised biblical texts.</note> — but do not
                    condole too much over my mistaken principles — for such pity will create a
                    mutiny in my sepulchred bones &amp; I shall break prison to argue with you
                    even from the grave. God love you — I think soon to be in London if I can get a
                    situation there. sometimes the prospect smiles upon me. I want but fifty pounds
                    a year certain — &amp; can trust myself for enough beyond that — then do I
                    take in the society of my friends — the seeing her happy — &amp; a long
                    train of delightful &amp;cs — till the idea that fools are squandering away
                    daily what would make us happy comes across me &amp; I could curse them
                    myself &amp; the destiny that made me. </p>
<p rend="indent1"> fare you well my dear <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor</ref>. have you been
                    to court? quid Roma facias?<note n="7" place="foot" resp="editors">The Latin
                        translates as ‘What is one to do away from Rome?’</note> O thou Republican
                    Aristocrat! thou man most worthy of Republicanism what hast thou to do with a
                    laced coat &amp; a chapeau? &amp; a bag wig — &amp; a sword?</p>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent5"> ah spirit pure</l>
<l rend="indent2"> That Errors mist had left thy purged eye!<note n="8" place="foot" resp="editors">Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ‘To Burke’, lines
                            13–14, published in the <title level="j">Morning Chronicle</title>, 9
                            December 1794.</note>
</l>
</lg>
<p>remember me to your <ref target="people.html#Bedfordfamily">father &amp;
                        mother</ref> — &amp; <ref target="people.html#BedfordHoraceWalpole">Horace</ref> — &amp; all who may enquire for me. I am well &amp;
                    honest. needs a man more to be happy? <del rend="strikethrough">x</del>
<ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Bedford</ref> Bedford if you
                    had known <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref> you might have been
                    most happy — I almost think I am so — at least there are hours in the days worth
                    a little eternity of purgatory. write to me Wednesday I shall be at Bath
                    Thursday. Peace be with you — &amp; with all mankind is the earnest hope of
                    your</p>
<closer>
<signed rend="indent10"> RS.</signed>
</closer>
<postscript>
<p rend="indent11">
<address rend="alignr">
<placeName rend="alignr">			Bristol.</placeName>
</address>
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