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Tipped into a copy of Letters and Journals of Lord Byron: with Notices of His Life, by Thomas Moore. Illustrated with Views, Portraits, etc., 4 vols (London, 1830), IV, between pp. 372–373; Huntington Library, RB 90327. Previously published: Joseph Cottle, Early Recollections of the Late Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 2 vols (London, 1837), II, pp. 6–14 [in part, and dated 1 February 1796]; and Joseph Cottle, Reminscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey (London, 1847), pp. 193–199 [in part].Dating note: The letter was probably written over a long period of time and was sent in March 1796.
These letters were edited with the assistance of Carol Bolton, Tim Fulford and Ian Packer
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.
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.
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Certainly I shall hear from Mr Cottle by the first packet — said I — now I say probably I may hear by the next. so does Experience abate the sanguine expectations of Man. “what — could not you write one letter?” & here am I writing not only to all my friends in Bristol but to all in England. indeed I should have been vexed but that the packet brought a letter from Edith, & the pleasure that gave me, allowed no feeling of vexation. what of JOAN? Mr Coateswrote not all he claims. he claims the character of Conrade (so Lovell told me) of which he never gave a hint nor wrote a line. & I wish tod book which Coleridge wrote.’
Bristol deserves panegyric instead of Satire.xx
only books can make them, & sitting at evening the silent spectator of card playing & dancing. the English here unite the spirit of commerce with the frivolous amusements of high life. one of them who plays every night (Sundays are not excepted here) will tell you how closely he attends to profit “I never pay a porter for bringing a burthen till the next day. (says he) for while the fellow feels his back ache with the weight he charges high — but when he comes the next day the feeling is gone — & he asks only half the money.” and the author of this philosophical scheme is worth 200,000 pounds!! this is a comfortless place, & the only pleasure I find in it, is in looking on to my departure. three years ago I might have found a friend. Count Leopold Berchtold.travellers characters who spend their lives in doing good. it is his custom in every country he visits to publish books in its language on some use subject of practical utility — these he gave away. I have now lying before me the two which he printed in Lisbon. the one is an Essay on the means of preserving life in the various dangers to which men are daily exposed.one <they> who lived in the same house with him, believed him to be the Wandering Jew. he spoke all the European languages, x had written in all, & was master of the Arabic. from Lisbon he went to Cadiz & thence to Barbary no more is known of him.
We felt a smart earthquake the morning after our arrival here. these shocks alarm the Portuguese dreadfully, & indeed it is the most terrifying sensation you can conceive. one man jumped out of bed & ran down to the stable to ride off <almostnever to wear the same clothes without changing for a year — & this is a comfort to them. you will not wonder therefore that I always keep the windward of one of these reverend perfumers. the streets are very agreable in wet weather — if you walk under the houses you are drenched by the water spouts. if you attempt the middle — there is a little river. would you go between both — there is the dunghill. the rains here are very violent, & the streams in the streets on a declivity so rapid as to throw down men. & sometimes overset carriages. a woman was absolutely drowned a few years ago, in one of the most frequented streets of Lisbon. but to walk home at night is the most dangerous adventure. for then the chamber maids, shower out the filth into the streets with such profusion — that a Scotchman may fancy himself at Edinburgh. you cannot conceive what a cold perspiration it puts me in to hear one dashd down just before me as Thomson says with a little alteration — to
this furnishes food to innumerable dogs that belong to nobody, & annoy every body — but if did they not devour it the quantities would breed pestilence. by <in> a xxxx<moon>light we see dogs & rats feeding at the same dunghill. Lisbon is plagued with a very small species of red ant that swarms over every thing in the houses. their remedy for this is to send for a Priest & exorcise them. the drain from the new Convent opens into the middle of the street. an English pig-stye is cleaner than the metropolis of Portugal. To tonight I shall see a <the> procession of Our Lord of the Passion. this image is a very celebrated one & with great reason, for one night he knockd at the door of St Roques church, & there they would not admit him; upon this he walked to the other end of the town to the Church of Grace, & there they took him in. but a dispute now arose between the two churches, to which the image belongd, whether to the church to which he first chose, or the Church that first chose him. the matter was compromised — one church has him, but the other fetches him for their procession, & he sleeps with them the night preceding it. the better mode of deciding it had been to place the Gentleman between both, & let him walk to which he liked best. what think you of this story being believed [MS repaired] 1796?!!!
The power of the Inquisition still exists tho they never exercise it — & thus the Jews save their bacon. fifty years ago it was the greatest delight of the Portuguese to see a Jew burnt. Geddesis not barbarity is not the [MS torn] national character, for no people sympathize so much at the execution of a criminal — but it is the damnable nature of their religion & the most diabolical spirit of their priests. their celibacy deprives them of the affections of men, & their creed gives them the ferocity of devils. Geddes saw one man gagged — because immediately as he came out of the <Inquisition> gates — he looked up at the Sun whose light for many years had never visited him — & exclaimed “how is it possible for men who behold that glorious Orb, to worship any being but him who created it!”
it is as warm here as in May with you. of course we broil in that month at Lisbon — but I shall escape the hot weather here as I did the cold weather of England, & quit this place about the latter end of April. you will of course see me the third day after my landing at Falmouth — or if I can get companions in a post chaise sooner. this my resolution is like the law of the Medes & the Persians that altereth not.
be good enough to lay by a set of Coleridges Watchman for me — his lectures & poems. tragedy here; & can find no leisure to begin it — I have so much to read & lose so much time in this detestable visiting. I have seen the Monthly Rev. they speak well of Fawcetts poemc. 1758–1804;
this place is much plagued with robbers & they generally strip a man stark naked, & leave him to walk him home in his birthday suit. an Englishs took up the whole village & impris[MS repaired] them all. contemplate this people in what light you will, you can never see them in a good one. they suffered their best epic poet
the climate is delightful — & the air so clear that when the moon is young I can often tho dim <distant> distinguish the whole circle. O
[MS missing]
I have seen the B. Critic. stupid hounds not to prefer the Monody!