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Bodleian Library, MS Eng. Lett. c. 22. Previously published: Kenneth Curry (ed.), New Letters of Robert Southey, 2 vols (London and New York, 1965), I, pp. 39–43 [in part; verse not reproduced].
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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there is a weight hanging upon this heart which must either bend
or break it. my dear Horace the more I reflect the more am I confused &
distressd. the prospect seems gathering round me. my Mother I fear is declining.
eternal God what a world hast thou placed me in! when the best of thy creatures
is thus doomd to meet with undeserved mistery & sink beneath it —
sometimes I fancy I am mad — in fact reason is not desirable to me &
then only can I meet any thing like happiness when reason is forgotten. often do
I look wistfully at the bottle — but if madness ever gives the guilty draught
one shall suffice. my situation Horace is every way worse than yours. I could bear single misery with
more resignation — not only bear it but fly from it but two brothers
how very depraved is society. by making artificial distinctions
it creates real misery — by aggrandizing the few oppresses the many — &
“brings into the world a world of woe”.
I would ask a man of feeling to survey the lobby at the theatres or look at the courtesans in the streets of London. then let him say what stronger proof can be required of the wretched debasement of society. we are born in sin & the children of wrath says the catechism. it is absolutely false. sin is artificial — it is the monstrous offspring of government & property. the origin of both was in injustice. I cannot seek to avoid my own distresses by looking on mankind in general, without feeling for general calamity. & yet Man is capable of happiness. if ever being was formd for it I was. I dare avow it at the moment when I am most unhappy. my wishes were humble. every days experience shews me how little Man wants & every hours reflection now tends to fix my wishes on the grave. whilst Reason keeps the balance I dare live.
you Horace have an object to live for. I have already seen every hope blasted. already been persecuted & belied. already feel the weight of children looking to <me> for support. three years must I elapse before I become capable of supporting myself by swearing myself a villain!
in this situation you will not wonder that reflection is dreadful & that I avoid it. day follows day & still am I either with my pen or my book. I love walking but I fear solitude & have no companion. it is fortunate that I can sometimes lose my own situation in that of Europe — but how much happier should I feel were I on the frontiers of France every hour exposd to death in a cause I must feel to be just.
— Sunday morning.
my spirits were much depressd yesterday as you may perceive — in fact they always must be so when I give way to reflection. reflection & misery are with me the same — but away with these glooms. they cannot benefit —
Lucan
Beccaria pleases me much. I had long been self-convinced that the punishment of death was as improper as inhuman. Godwin carries this idea farther. so far I agree with him that society makes the crime & then punishes it.
thus Horace wears my life away between my book & my pen & my bed. & you must allow it is no small triumph of philosophy that makes life tolerable to me.
C Collins never indulges me with
a line. taste — taste! what a taste will he soon have when every thing is
neglected for its formation! “the Deans says <this> Mr Hallr
Sawkins
it is high time you were settled in some pursuit — & day after day should not be wasted in idle wishes — talk seriously upon the subject. know your own mind & then every bodys. but never be unoccupied
r Lovel has the first & will soon
have the last. my younger years were past with his intended bride nor could I
entertain a sincerer affection for a sister. I have sought his acquaintance.
Grosvenor knows how
cooly I do these things. but he is a little romantic as well as RS &
unless I am much deceived will excuse if not thank the freedom of your friend.
my stay at Bath is protracted by this new acquaintance. Manna was
less agreable to the Jews than philosophy &c to a poor starvd
rhapsodist. Wednesday I see Bristol. now for bed.