841. Robert Southey to John May, 22 September 1803 ⁠* 

Keswick, Sept. 22. 1803.

My dear Friend,

You will, perhaps, have been wondering that I had not earlier written; and earlier I certainly should have written had there been any thing pleasant to communicate. Here we are, after a long and wearying journey, little short of the whole length of England. On the way, we stayed five days with our friend Miss Barker, whom you saw with us in London. This halt was every way desirable, for Edith was in wretched health when we left Bristol, hardly recovered from a very sharp attack of fever; but she was impatient to be gone. I could tell you what feelings came upon me at leaving the house wherein I had been so happy and so afflicted; but it would be folly not to suppress thoughts that end only in pain.

Nothing in England can be more beautiful than the site of this house. Had this country but the sky of Portugal, it would leave me nothing to wish for. I shall make the experiment this winter; and, if my health bear up well till the next summer, shall look for no other home. But, in truth, my expectations have been so often blighted, that when I think of any plans for the future, it is with the same sort of incredulity that I recollect a dream. Meantime, I make myself as comfortable as I can: to be away from my books is a sore evil. I have sent enough by the waggon to employ me till the experiment of climate be fairly tried; and if it should succeed, can then, without imprudence, collect my scattered sheep. My head, too, is happily well stored with raw materials, which will not be soon exhausted by the manufactory, – and Coleridge is company enough. For one whose habits are so sedentary as mine, and whose inclinations cling so obstinately to the hearth-stone, it is of some consequence to be in a country that tempts him to exercise. I have been round the Lake, and up Skiddaw, and along the river Greta, and to Lodore. If air and exercise were the panacea, here I must needs be well.

I wish it were in my power to give you a good account of Edith; she is very unwell, and at present incapable of any enjoyment. It has been a heavy blow upon us. My own mind is active even to restlessness, and it has now been exerted to its force, – still the effect is deeper and will be more lasting than I expected. I cannot shut out the shooting recollections that flash upon me. If I yielded to my inclination, it would keep me sauntering in solitude – dreaming of the other world, and the state of the dead. I trust, however, to give you a good sum of my winter’s work.

My baggage is arrived – as few books as possible, though enough for many a hard week’s occupation. The Chronicle of K. Emanuel, [1]  in two great divisions, will alone be a long employment. You know I separate the European and Asiatic history. Look at Neufville [2]  or La Clide, [3]  where they are chronologically carried on cheek-by-jowl, and you will be satisfied of the necessity of unravelling the two clues. For primary authorities, I have Damian de Goes, and Castanheda [4]  in part – the two reprinted volumes. The whole work is so very costly, as to be quite out of my reach. Joam de Barros, [5]  from his opportunities and research, deserves also as much credit almost as a contemporary writer. Osorius [6]  may possibly elucidate and facilitate arrangement, but I do not expect to glean any facts from him. Mafaeus [7]  Manoel Faria [8]  and San Roman [9]  I have left for after collation. It is my plan always to go first to the first sources, and compare my own narration with the compilers afterwards. Zurita [10]  is my best Castilian guide, from the period when Arragon lost its individual existence as a kingdom, and the tyranny of the throne and the priesthood were established. Besides these, I have the Chronicle of the Jesuits in Portugal, [11]  the life of S. Francisco Xavier, [12]  and sundry documents for the history of their mission in Abyssinia. The “Annual Review,” too, will force me to work. I expect a cargo from that quarter shortly. Have you seen the first volume? [13]  almost the whole of the statistic department is William Taylor’s work, most of the Travels mine, but not all; and I hope the difference is manifest. Among sundry miscellaneous articles of my doing, there is an amusing one upon El Tesoro Español, [14]  and one of deeper interest upon the Baptist Mission in Hindostan, [15]  which I wrote with serious feeling. This subject I shall renew in the next volume, upon the Mission to Otaheite, [16]  and it is my intention to belabour the Methodists with a hearty goodwill.

I hope to hear a good account of Mrs. May and your little boy. [17]  You are a soldier by this time. I, too, shall fire away at Bonaparte, [18]  and perhaps hit him, for he reads the “Morning Post.” God bless you.

R. S.

P. S. Direct with S. T. Coleridge, Greta Hall, Keswick, Cumberland.