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<title type="main">The Collected Letters of Robert Southey. Part 1: 1791-1797 </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. 279–282 [in
                        part].</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="162" type="letter">
<head>162. Robert Southey to <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor Charles Bedford</ref>, <date when="1796-06-26">26 June
                        1796</date>
<note place="foot" resp="editors" type="headnote">Address: G C
                        Bedford Esq<hi rend="sup">r</hi>/ New Palace Yard/ Westminster./ Single
                        Sheet<lb/>Stamped: [partial] BR<lb/> Postmark: [partial] U/96<lb/>
                        Watermarks: Figure of Britannia; COLES 1795<lb/>Endorsement: 26 June
                        1796<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. 279–282 [in
                        part].</note>
</head>
<opener>
<dateline rend="right">
<date when="1796-06-26">Sunday. June 26th. 1796.</date>
</dateline>
</opener>
<p rend="indent1"> The Cambridge Intelligencer<note n="1" place="foot" resp="editors">A radically-inclined newspaper, based in Cambridge. It ran
                        from 1793–1803 and had a wide circulation. It was printed and published by
                        Benjamin Flower (1755–1829; <title level="m">DNB</title>). See M. J. Murphy,
                            <title level="m">Cambridge Newspapers and Opinion, 1750–1850</title>
                        (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 24–41.</note> has this day informed me that <ref target="people.html#StracheyGeorge">George Strachey</ref> has won the Greek
                    Ode. <note n="2" place="foot" resp="editors">Strachey had won the Browne Medal
                        for a Greek ode.</note> I felt five minutes inclination to write &amp;
                    congratulate him — but five minutes reflection prevented me. I do not know any
                    man whose future character could so well be prophesied from the past as <ref target="people.html#StracheyGeorge">GS</ref>. whatever virtues, whatever
                    abilities he possessed, would dilate &amp; his foibles <del rend="strikethrough">which</del> instead of darkening the brighter parts of
                    the picture served only to make the <del rend="strikethrough">pleasant
                        xxxx</del> them more visible by a little shade. a thousand little incidents
                    were recalled to remembrance by his name, &amp; if at first melancholy — as
                    reminding me of many friends now scattered wide “By many fates”<note n="3" place="foot" resp="editors">William Lisle Bowles (1762–1850; <title level="m">DNB</title>), <title level="m">Sonnets, (Third Edition) with
                            Other Poems</title> (Bath, 1794), p. 29, ‘Sonnet XXVI: On Revisiting
                        Oxford’, lines 9–10.</note> — I delighted in the thought that the best part
                    of the flock will soon be gathered together again. What is become of <ref target="people.html#CombeEdward">Combe</ref> &amp; <ref target="people.html#LambThomasDavis">Lamb</ref>? you know not &amp; I
                    probably never shall. must not such ever be the fate of connections not built
                    upon the basis of similarity of character? I had enthusiasm of character —
                    &amp; a highly cultivated taste for the 
                    πο
                        πρεπον<note n="4" place="foot" resp="editors">The Greek can be translated as ‘what is
                        fitting’.</note> — they — little more than great good humour — while at
                    school the ascendancy of my mind — kept them within the bounds of regularity,
                    &amp; even gave them some love for study. but the seed fell among thorns —
                    at Oxford they mixt with other society — <ref target="people.html#LambThomasDavis">Lamb</ref> was drunk every night —
                    &amp; <ref target="people.html#CombeEdward">Combe</ref> was agreable in all
                    companies because he adapted himself to all. I love to remember Westminster. how
                    little <del rend="strikethrough">do</del> can (in general) &lt;be&gt;
                    judged of the man by the boy! Matthew Lewis<note n="5" place="foot" resp="editors">Matthew Gregory Lewis (1775–1818; <title level="m">DNB</title>), author of the controversial Gothic novel, <title level="m">The Monk</title> (1796). He was MP for Hindon between 1796 and
                        1802.</note> is a Senator &amp; <ref target="people.html#BunburyCharlesJohn">Charles Bunbury</ref> a Soldier!
                    &amp; if the Devil had decided for those two men he could not have placed
                    both of them more out of character. — &amp; I am Robertus Scriblerus — where
                    is Martin Sc-not-riblerus?<note n="6" place="foot" resp="editors">A pun on
                        ‘Martin Scriblerus’, the name of a fictional antiquarian and pedant invented
                        by members of the Scriblerus club, including Alexander Pope (1688–1744;
                            <title level="m">DNB</title>) and Jonathan Swift (1667–1745; <title level="m">DNB</title>). This is possibly a reference to John Marten
                        Butt, who was a contemporary of Southey’s at Westminster School.</note> by
                    the by I have some excellent portraits of that great Philanthropist — the
                    physiognomy of which so struck <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref> one day that she enquired first the name &amp; then the
                    history — the name I told &amp; quoted Slawkenbergius<note n="7" place="foot" resp="editors">A character in Laurence Sterne (1713–1768;
                            <title level="m">DNB</title>), <title level="m">The Life and Opinions of
                            Tristram Shandy, Gentleman</title> (1759–1767), who is distinguished by
                        the length of his nose and by the fact that he is an authority on the
                        subject of noses.</note> for the rest — but she intends to ask you his
                    history.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> now I must give you a better pun upon paper than Hogarths.<note n="8" place="foot" resp="editors">William Hogarth (1697–1764; <title level="m">DNB</title>), painter and engraver.</note> I had assisted in making a
                    pie for <ref target="people.html#BurnettGeorge">George Burnett</ref> — &amp;
                    at tea wrote him this note — “I am coming presently to what I richly deserve —
                    the Π.”<note n="9" place="foot" resp="editors"> Π:
                        Southey has sketched a gallows.</note>
</p>
<p rend="indent1">
<ref target="people.html#WynnCharlesWW">Wynn</ref> comes tomorrow — &amp;
                    tomorrow you are to hear — what <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor</ref>? — need I add
                    write immediately?</p>
<p rend="indent1"> Take the whole of the Spanish Poem. it is by George of
                        Montemayor.<note n="10" place="foot" resp="editors">Jorge de Montemayor (c.
                        1520–1561), poet, novelist and musician.</note> addressd by Sirens to a lock
                    of Dianas hair — whom <del rend="strikethrough">after</del> returning after
                    twelvemonths absence he finds married to another.</p>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">Ah me — thou Relic of that faithless fair!</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Sad changes have I suffered since that day,</l>
<l rend="indent2">When in this valley from her long loose hair</l>
<l rend="indent3"> I bore thee — Relic of my Love! away.</l>
<l rend="indent2">Well did I then believe Dianas truth,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> For soon true Love each jealous care represses</l>
<l rend="indent2">And fondly thought that never other youth</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Should wanton with the Maidens unbound tresses.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">Here on the cold clear Ezla’s breezy side</l>
<l rend="indent3"> My hand amid her ringlets wont to rove,</l>
<l rend="indent2">She proferrd now the lock, &amp; now denied,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> With all the baby playfulness of Love.</l>
<l rend="indent2">Here the false Maid with many an artful tear</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Made me each rising thought of doubt discover,</l>
<l rend="indent2">And vowd &amp; wept, till Hope had ceasd to fear,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Ah me! beguiling like a child her lover.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">Witness thou — how that fondest falsest fair</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Has sighd &amp; wept on Ezla’s shelterd shore,</l>
<l rend="indent2">And vowd eternal truth, &amp; made me swear,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> My heart no jealousy should harbour more.</l>
<l rend="indent2">Ah tell me — could I but believe those eyes —</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Those lovely eyes with tears my cheek bedewing —</l>
<l rend="indent2">When the mute eloquence of tears &amp; sight</l>
<l rend="indent3"> I felt &amp; trusted &amp; embraced my ruin.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">So false &amp; yet so fair! so fair a mien</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Vieling so false a mind — who ever knew?</l>
<l rend="indent2">So true &amp; yet so wretched! who has seen</l>
<l rend="indent3"> A man, like me, so wretched &amp; so true?</l>
<l rend="indent2">Fly from me on the wind! for you have seen</l>
<l rend="indent3"> How kind she was, how loved by her you knew me —</l>
<l rend="indent2">Fly! fly! vain Witness what I once have been</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Nor dare all wretched as I am to view me!</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">One evening on the rivers pleasant strand</l>
<l rend="indent3"> The Maid — too well beloved! sat with me</l>
<l rend="indent2">And with her finger traced upon the sand</l>
<l rend="indent3"> “Death for Diana — not Inconstancy!”</l>
<l rend="indent2">And Love beheld us from his secret stand</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And markd his triumph, laughing to behold me —</l>
<l rend="indent2">To see me trust a writing traced in sand!</l>
<l rend="indent3"> To see me credit what a woman told me! <note n="11" place="foot" resp="editors">The translation was published in Southey’s
                                <title level="m">Letters Written During a Short Residence in Spain
                                and Portugal</title> (1797).</note>
</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<p>If you can add any thing to the <hi rend="ital">terseness</hi> of the conclusion,
                    or the simplicity of the whole — do it. the piece itself is very beautiful.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> My letters occupy more of my time &amp; less of my mind than
                    I could wish. Conceive Garagantua<note n="12" place="foot" resp="editors">Gargantua was a
                        legendary giant, and the central character in a series of satirical novels
                        by François Rabelais (c. 1494–1553).</note> eating wood strawberries one at
                    a time — or green peas — or the old dish — pap with a fork — &amp; you will
                    &lt;have&gt; some idea how my head feels in dwelling on desultory
                    topics. Joan of Arc was a <hi rend="ital">whole</hi>. it was something to think
                    of every moment of solitude — &amp; to dream of at night. my heart was in
                    the poem — I threw my own feelings into it in my own language. aye — &amp;
                    out of one &amp; another — &lt;you may find&gt; my own character.
                    seriously <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor</ref> to
                    go on with Madoc is <hi rend="ital">almost</hi> necessary to my happiness. I had
                    rather leave off eating than poetizing. but these things must be — I will feed
                    upon Law — &amp; digest it — or it shall choke me. did you ever pop upon a
                    seditious ode in the ludicrous stile addressed to the Cannibals? twas in the
                    Courier &amp; the Telegraph — a stray sheep markd Caius Gracchus<note n="13" place="foot" resp="editors">Gaius Gracchus (154–121 BC), Roman radical
                        reformer. This was a pseudonym used by Southey in the mid-1790s; see, for
                        example, his letter to Robert Lovell, 5–6 April 1794 (Letter 85). The <title level="j">Courier</title> and <title level="j">Telegraph</title> were
                        London daily newspapers, but the poem Southey refers to seems not to have
                        survived.</note> — to which you may place another signature</p>
<p rend="indent1">
<ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor</ref> I do not touch
                    on ought interesting tonight. I am conversing with you now — in that easy calm
                    good humourd state of mind which is perhaps the Summum bonum.<note n="14" place="foot" resp="editors">The Latin translates as ‘the highest
                        good’.</note> the less we think of the world the better — for it only serves
                    to make us worse —without making that better. Odi profanum vulgus<note n="15" place="foot" resp="editors">Horace (65–8 BC), <title level="m">Odes</title>,
                        Book 3, no. 1, line 1. The Latin translates as ‘I hate the vulgar
                        rabble’.</note> — aye I detest the mob of mankind — the <hi rend="ital">m</hi>obility as well as the <hi rend="ital">n</hi>obility. I have friends
                    enough to preserve me from misanthropy — which is always the child of Virtue —
                    tho the Brat be an ill looking whelp. &amp; tho &lt;he is&gt; ragged
                    &amp; dirty &amp; ugly — &lt;ye[MS torn]&gt; it is the world who
                    have torn his cloaths &amp; bespattered &amp; disfigurd him. <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor</ref> I do not assume
                    this sombrous gravity. I have it — I feel it. may I not say thank God I feel it?
                    my feelings were once like an ungovernable horse — now I have tamed
                        Bucephalus<note n="16" place="foot" resp="editors">A horse belonging to
                        Alexander the Great (356–323 BC; reigned 336–323 BC).</note> — he retains
                    his spirit &amp; his strength — but they are made useful &amp; he shall
                    not break my neck. I can laugh &amp; play the boy too — yes &amp; I can
                    feel for the miseries of mankind — yes &amp; I will try to remedy them — but
                    I will <del rend="strikethrough">give</del> &lt;administer my remedies
                    to&gt; the world <del rend="strikethrough">my medicines</del> as I would
                    give medicine to a fellow with the itch — by a pair of tongs. cure him if I can
                    — but no touching!</p>
<p rend="indent1"> this is indeed a change. but the liquor that ceases to ferment,
                    does not immediately become flat. <del rend="strikethrough">xx</del> — the beer
                    then becomes fine — &amp; continues so till it is dead.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> tomorrow <ref target="people.html#WynnCharlesWW">Wynn</ref>
                    comes. shall I find him altered? would that I were among you. if unremitting
                    assiduity can procure me independance that prize shall be mine. Christian went a
                    long way to fling off his burden in the Pilgrims Progress.<note n="17" place="foot" resp="editors">In John Bunyan (c. 1628–1688; <title level="m">DNB</title>), <title level="m">The Pilgrim’s Progress</title> (1678),
                        Christian’s burden was the weight of original sin.</note> I doubt only my
                    lungs. I find my breath affected when I read aloud. but exercise may strengthen
                    these.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> When do you come? twas wisely done of the old Conjurer who kept
                    six Princesses transformed into cats<note n="18" place="foot" resp="editors">Unidentified.</note> to tie each of them fast — &amp; put a mouse close
                    to her nose without her being able to catch it. for the nearer we are to a good
                    — the more do we necessarily desire &lt;it&gt;. the attraction becomes
                    more powerful as we approach the magnet. I expect Musæus<note n="19" place="foot" resp="editors">Grosvenor Charles Bedford’s translation of
                        Musæus (fl. c. early 6th century), <title level="m">The Loves of Hero and
                            Leander</title>, was published in 1797.</note> with you. What of <ref target="people.html#GodwinWilliam">Godwins</ref> Sermons?<note n="20" place="foot" resp="editors">Probably a reference to William Godwin, <title level="m">Sketches of History. In Six Sermons</title> (1784).</note>
                    what of his nonsense bringing <ref target="people.html#AllenRobert">Allen</ref>
                    to town? I know nothing of either. do not despise Godwin too much. he is
                    despicable — but his book<note n="21" place="foot" resp="editors">William
                        Godwin, <title level="m">An Enquiry Concerning Political Justice</title>
                        (1793).</note> is not. he will do good by defending Atheism in print —
                    because when the arguments are known they may [MS obscured] easily &amp;
                    satisfactorily answered. tell <ref target="people.html#CarlisleAnthony">Carlisle</ref> to ask him this question. if man were made by the carnal
                    meeting of atoms — how could he have possibly supported himself without
                    superiour assistance? the use of the muscles is only attained by practise. how
                    could he have fed himself? how know from what cause hunger proceeded? how know
                    by what means to remedy the pain? — the question appears to me decisive.</p>
<p rend="indent1">
<ref target="people.html#AllenRobert">Allen</ref> has excellent points in his
                    character. he should have shown you <hi rend="ital">all</hi> my letter tho.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> Merry<note n="22" place="foot" resp="editors">Robert Merry
                        (1755–1798; <title level="m">DNB</title>), <title level="m">The Pains of
                            Memory, A Poem</title> (1796).</note> (of whose genius erroneous as it
                    was I always thought highly) has publishd the Pains of Memory. a subject once
                    given me — &amp; from which some lines in Joan of Arc<note n="23" place="foot" resp="editors">Possibly a reference to <title level="m">Joan of
                            Arc, An Epic Poem</title> (Bristol and London, 1796), pp.
                        141–143.</note> are extracted. </p>
<closer>
<salute rend="indent1"> farewell — write after tomorrows conversation &amp;
                        Be Bold.</salute>
<signed rend="indent11"> RS.</signed>
</closer>
<postscript>
<p rend="indent1"> Quomodo valet
                            Σνιφελ?<note n="24" place="foot" resp="editors">The postscript can be roughly
                            translated as ‘How’s Snivel?’, a reference to Bedford’s dog.</note>
</p>
</postscript>
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</text>
</TEI>
