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<title type="main">The Collected Letters of Robert Southey. Part 2: 1798-1803 </title>
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<name>Southey, Robert, 1774-1843</name>
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<sponsor>Romantic Circles</sponsor>
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<idno type="nines">rce453</idno>
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<p>Bodleian Library,
                        MS Eng. Lett. c. 23.  Previously  published: Kenneth Curry (ed.),
                            New Letters of Robert Southey, 2 vols (London and New
                        York, 1965), I, pp. 200–203.</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="444" type="letter">
<head>444. Robert Southey to <ref target="people.html#ColeridgeSamuelTaylor">Samuel
                        Taylor Coleridge</ref>, <date when="1799-10-11">11 October 1799</date>
<note place="foot" resp="editors" type="headnote">Address: To/ S. T. Coleridge./
                        Stowey/ near Bridgewater./ Somersetshire/ Single<lb/>MS: Bodleian Library,
                        MS Eng. Lett. c. 23<lb/>Previously published: Kenneth Curry (ed.),
                            <title>New Letters of Robert Southey</title>, 2 vols (London and New
                        York, 1965), I, pp. 200–203.</note>
</head>
<opener>
<dateline rend="right">
<address>
<placeName>Christ Church.</placeName>
</address>
<date when="1799-10-11">Friday night. Oct 11. 1799.</date>
</dateline>
</opener>
<p rend="indent1"> Here we are, in lodgings, waiting the revolutionizing of an old
                    house. this is a business that suits me – &amp; I have not to pay for it.
                    nothing like a thorough reformation! radical improvements! the waters are
                    abating &amp; the country losing its dreariness &amp; <del rend="strikethrough">xx</del> sublimity. the night of our arrival it was magnificent. I stood on
                    the bridge – you have heard me describe it. the water washes the walls of a
                    small but striking ruin. above stands the keep, with a huge rift in the side
                    thro which the sky is seen. behind, the church, one of the finest in the
                    Kingdom. to the right &amp; left the flats were inundated. the night was wild,
                    the moon rolling among driven clouds, &amp; the rush of the flood now mingled
                    with the <del rend="strikethrough">xx</del> roar of the wind, &amp; now was
                    heard in its pauses. every object was distinct &amp; solemn – I cannot remember
                    it without emotion.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> Dorsetshire is a vile county, bare &amp; barren, or cultivated
                    without enclosures &amp; scored like roast-pork. we are just out of its limits –
                    in a singular place, sadly uninteresting to a common &amp; cursory eye – but
                    having in its vicinity much variety of scenery. the marsh is narrow, watered by
                    a beautifully clear river, &amp; stretching green &amp; open to the foot of a
                    dark chalk hill, assuming a different shape from every point of view, &amp;
                    every where striking. <ref target="places.html#Burton">Burton</ref> is a little
                    elmey village, east of the marsh. two miles east of <ref target="places.html#Burton">Burton</ref> is the Forest.<note n="1" place="foot" resp="editors">The New Forest.</note> the sea a mile &amp; half
                    from us – &amp; it is a noble sea view – to the right open – on the left
                    assuming the appearance of a <del rend="strikethrough">nobl</del> large bay, of
                    which the Island &amp; the Needles<note n="2" place="foot" resp="editors">The
                        Isle of Portland and the Needles rocks off the west coast of the Isle of
                        Wight.</note> form the opposit extremity. the cliffs high &amp; silvery,
                    &amp; at evening often purple. The Church every where seen – in Cathedral
                        grandeur.<note n="3" place="foot" resp="editors">Christchurch Priory.</note>
                    the soil the cleanest in the world – our very ducks white as swans, from the
                    total absence of all mud. Two persons make the neighbourhood agreable. the <ref target="people.html#BiddlecombeCharles">one</ref> is rich enough to buy
                    books, &amp; very friendly. all that a neighbour should be. of the <ref target="people.html#RickmanJohn">other</ref> you have heard me speak – rough
                    – coarse – well informed on all subjects – believing nothing – jacobinical –
                    &amp; watching every little opportunity of <del rend="strikethrough">doing</del>
                    showing attention &amp; supplying your wants. this is my society – for I do not
                    mention the pecus ignobile.<note n="4" place="foot" resp="editors">The Latin
                        translates as ‘wretched flock’.</note> I am as self-sufficient for enjoyment
                    as Sommona-Codom<note n="5" place="foot" resp="editors">A Siamese god; see
                            <title>Common-Place Book</title>, ed. John Wood Warter, 4 series
                        (London, 1849–1850), IV, pp. 40–42.</note> – but I had rather have some body
                    to be happy with, &amp; think myself well off.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> Will you believe? I converted Kendall<note n="6" place="foot" resp="editors">William Kendall (dates unknown). Author of
                            <title>Poems</title> (1793) and librettist for William Jackson’s
                        (1730–1803; <title>DNB</title>) <title>Fairy Fantasies</title> op. 16 (c.
                        1790).</note> to English Hexameters – &amp; he said it would do: &amp;
                        Banfill<note n="7" place="foot" resp="editors">Probably Samuel Banfill (fl.
                        1790s–1830s), partner in a woollen mill at Exwick, near Exeter.</note> whom
                    I thoroughly astonishd. Northmore<note n="8" place="foot" resp="editors">Thomas
                        Northmore (1766–1851; <title>DNB</title>) of Cleve House, Devon. Geologist,
                        chemist and classicist.</note>
<del rend="strikethrough">is that</del> had his quantity &amp; his spondees so
                    stuck in the mud of his brain that he could not get rid of them. he is an
                    excellent man whom every body teaches me to esteem – but he has an obstinacy
                    that would do honour to a pig. I was one day surprized by a visit from an old
                    Westminster, Lane<note n="9" place="foot" resp="editors">Richard Lane
                        (1772–1858), educated at Westminster and Trinity College, Cambridge, BA
                        1794, MA 1799. Clergyman; perpetual curate of Brixton, Devon from
                        1802.</note> – a man of whom the little I remember was not favourable. he
                    brought with him Cosserat the clergyman,<note n="10" place="foot" resp="editors">David Peloquin Cosserat (1772–1809), educated at Trinity College,
                        Cambridge, BA 1794, MA 1799, and probably a college friend of Richard
                        Lane’s. Cosserat was a clergyman and scion of a prominent Exeter family of
                        merchants and lawyers. His father, Nathaniel Elias Cosserat, an ex-Mayor of
                        Exeter, had died in 1795, leaving a widow, Elizabeth, with whom Southey
                        dined.</note> at whose mothers I dined. you know the man – shallow,
                    good-natured, apparently a man who left off debauchery when he took orders. he
                    talked of Jackson, &amp; of his son<note n="11" place="foot" resp="editors">William Jackson, Exeter-based composer, musician and painter. He had nine
                        children. The identity of his son who committed suicide is unknown.</note>
                    who shot himself in a hard hearted stile which only a bigot could have used. the
                    funeral was at midnight, &amp; when it was over the old man laid his hand on
                    Cosserats shoulder, who was the minister – I have followed six children to the
                    grave – &amp; this is the heaviest blow of all! – &amp; the man told me this
                    with exultation – because Jackson is an Atheist! I do not like Jackson – he is
                    an aristocrat &amp; an old debauchee – but he has had some severe blows lately,
                    &amp; he feels them. at Keenans<note n="12" place="foot" resp="editors">John
                        Keenan (fl. c. 1780–1819), Irish portrait painter, then living in Exeter.
                        Keenan painted two portraits of Southey. Mrs Keenan was a sister of Daniel
                        MacKinnon (1767-1830), whose <title>Tour through the British West
                            Indies</title> was reviewed by Southey in <title>Annual Review for
                            1804</title>, 3 (1805), 50–56.</note> I had been much interested by the
                    picture of a woman leaning on a harpsichord. the face was not beautiful – but in
                    the eyes there was an expression which spoke more than I had ever yet seen
                    picture speak – I should have expected quick feeling &amp; good sense from the
                    original – &amp; Keenan had painted her in a morning cap &amp; given such a home
                    appearance to her that I associated all domestic comforts with her. it was not
                    till the day or two before my departure that I learnt it was the portrait of
                    Miss Bradford,<note n="13" place="foot" resp="editors">Jane Bradford (d. 1797),
                        daughter of an Exeter clergyman, had been the mistress of William Jackson.
                        She died in childbirth in Bristol. Her son, William Elmsley QC (1797–1866),
                        was later adopted by his much older half-brother, William Jackson
                        (1754–1842), who had made a fortune in the East India Company.</note> whom
                    Jackson had kept – &amp; not used kindly. she died in child-birth. it was said,
                    poisoned by herself, &amp; the report was countenanced by her previous state of
                    wretchedness. they tell me he suffered bitterly on this occasion. nobody likes
                    Jackson – but it is curious – I heard the reverend aristocrats object only to
                    his atheism – &amp; the democrats complained of his immorality.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> I did not leave Exeter without a wish to revisit it. at
                    Dorchester I spent half an [MS torn] with <ref target="people.html#WakefieldGilbert">Gilbert Wakefield</ref>. his Lexicon
                    was before him, &amp; it is to be an English [MS torn] but he has no immediate
                    intention of fitting it for publication.<note n="14" place="foot" resp="editors">Whilst in prison, Wakefield was working on a Greek–English dictionary,
                        which he later abandoned due to lack of public interest.</note> I found him
                    well &amp; chearful – in a comfortable room, peeping im[MS torn] one, at green
                    fields thro iron bars &amp; over a prison wall. he told me there was a plan for
                    making <ref target="people.html#DyerGeorge">George Dyer</ref> comfortable – that
                    is his friends were to hold themselves ready to supply him to the amount of a
                    hundred a-year – but <ref target="people.html#DyerGeorge">George</ref> was not
                    to know it – for if he did he would always anticipate his resources, &amp; where
                    he publishes one book, publish three, – for it seems it is his everlasting
                    corrections of the press that perpetually keep him in debt.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> On my arrival here I found a letter from <ref target="people.html#LloydCharles">Lloyd</ref>. he tells me his motive for
                    being christened was that he might not be unlike other people! that he was sick
                    of antisocial speculations – that he ceasd to expect virtue in the world – &amp;
                    about taking orders – that conformity was more irksome than ever, &amp; that he
                    did not mean to budge an inch in matter of conscience. Since I left Minehead I
                    have never written to <ref target="people.html#LloydCharles">Lloyd</ref>, &amp;
                    with the conviction I feel that he has <del rend="strikethrough">belie</del>
                    belied you &amp; me to each other, <del rend="strikethrough">I</del> am somewhat
                    irresolute how to act towards him. I am averse to any irritating correspondence
                    &amp; probably shall maintain an unfrequent intercourse with him, till he take
                    orders, as I believe he will, &amp; become ashamed to recollect me.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> Let me have Christobel<note n="15" place="foot" resp="editors">The <title>Annual Anthology</title> (Bristol, 1800), opened with Southey’s
                        ‘St Juan Gualberto’ (pp. 1–19). ‘Christabel’ was never finished and remained
                        unpublished until 1816.</note> for the Anthology as soon as you can find
                    inclination. it should be the opening poem – &amp; the book should go to press
                    as early in December as possible. perhaps you may be in Bristol &amp; correct
                    your own proofs otherwise they may be sent to you. I am sanguine about
                        Mohammed<note n="16" place="foot" resp="editors">Coleridge and Southey’s
                        plan for a jointly-written poem in hexameters on Muhammad (570–632), the
                        Prophet of Islam, did not make much progress; see <title>Common-Place
                            Book</title>, ed. John Wood Warter, 4 series (London, 1849–1850), IV,
                        pp. 18–20. A fragment by Southey was published posthumously in <title>Oliver
                            Newman: a New-England Tale</title> (London, 1845), pp. 113–116; and 14
                        lines by Coleridge in <title>The Poetical Works of S. T. Coleridge</title>,
                        3 vols (London, 1834), II, p. 68.</note> &amp; wish I had nothing to call my
                    attention from it. when we have our scattered members ready you must come here
                    &amp; tack them all together. I wish we were nearer each other, but luckily by
                    way of Bristol the staging is not expensive. – <ref target="people.html#SoutheyTom">Tom</ref> is taken prisoner &amp; carried
                    into Ferrol.<note n="17" place="foot" resp="editors">It was widely reported in
                        the British Press in early October 1799, e.g. <title>St James’s
                            Chronicle</title>, 5 October 1799, that the brig, <hi rend="ital">Sylph</hi>, on which <ref target="people.html#SoutheyTom">Tom
                            Southey</ref> was serving, had been captured and was at the Spanish port
                        of Ferrol.</note> this was our first news here &amp; we learnt it from the
                    papers. whether after an action, we are ignorant &amp; of course in some
                    uneasiness. <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref> would have
                    written to her sister if I had not written to you. love from all – God bless
                    you.</p>
<closer>
<signed rend="indent3"> R Southey</signed>
</closer>
<postscript>
<p>
<address>
<placeName>direct <ref target="places.html#Burton">Burton</ref>, near Ringwood. Hampshire</placeName>
</address>
</p>
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