"In the year 1796, Mr. G. published the 'Hurricane, a Theosophical
and Western Eclogue,' and shortly afterwards placarded the walls of
London with the largest bills that had at that time been seen,
announcing 'the Law of Fire.' I knew him well and look back with a
melancholy pleasure to the hours which I have passed in his society,
when his mind was in ruins. His madness was of the most
incomprehensible kind, as may be seen in the notes to his
'Hurricane;' but the Poem possesses passages of exquisite beauty. I
have among my papers some memorials of this interesting man. They who
remember him (as some of my readers will,) will not be displeased at
seeing him thus mentioned, with the respect and regret which are due
to a noble mind."
Mr. Wordsworth, also at the end of his "Excursion," has quoted the
following note to the "Hurricane," with the remark that it "is one of the
finest passages of modern English prose."
"A man is supposed to improve by going out into the world, by
visiting London. Artificial man does, he extends with his sphere;
but, alas! that sphere is microscopic; it is formed of minutiae, and
he surrenders his genuine vision to the artist, in order to embrace
it in his ken. His bodily senses grow acute, even to barren and
inhuman pruriency; while his mental become proportionally obtuse. The
reverse is the man of mind. He who is placed in the sphere of nature
and of God, might be a mock at Tattersall's and Brookes's, and a
sneer at St. James's: he would certainly be swallowed alive by the
first Pizarro that crossed him; but when he walks along the river of
Amazons; when he rests his eye on the unrivalled Andes: when he
measures the long and watered savannah, or contemplates from a sudden
promontory, the distant, vast Pacific, and feels himself in this vast
theatre, and commanding each ready produced fruit of this wilderness,
and each progeny of this stream--his exaltation is not less than
imperial. He is as gentle too as he is great: his emotions of
tenderness keep pace with his elevation of sentiment; for he says,
'These were made by a good Being, who, unsought by me, placed me here
to enjoy them.' He becomes at once a child and a king. His mind is in
himself; from hence he argues and from hence he acts, and he argues
unerringly, and acts magisterially. His mind in himself is also in
his God; and therefore he loves, and therefore he soars.'"
As these pages are designed, by brief incidental notices, to furnish a
view of the Literature of Bristol during a particular portion of time;
and having introduced the name of Ann Yearsley, I here, in reference to
her, subjoin a few additional remarks.
* * * * *
I was well acquainted with Ann Yearsley, and my friendship for Hannah
More did not blind my eyes to the merits of her opponent. Candour exacts
the acknowledgment that the Bristol Milkwoman was a very extraordinary
individual. Her natural abilities were eminent, united with which, she
possessed an unusually sound masculine understanding; and altogether
evinced, even in her countenance, the unequivocal marks of genius. If her
education and early advantages had been favourable, there is no limiting
the distinction to which she might have attained; and the respect she did
acquire, proves what formidable barriers may be surmounted by native
talent when perseveringly exerted, even in the absence of those
preliminary assistances which are often merely the fret-work, the
entablature, of the Corinthian column.
Ann Yearsley's genius was discoverable in her Poems, but perhaps the
extent of her capacity chiefly appeared in her Novel, "The Man in the
Iron Mask;" in itself a bad subject, from the confined limit it gives to
the imagination; but there is a vigour in her style which scarcely
appeared compatible with a wholly uneducated woman. The late Mr. G.
Robinson, the bookseller, told me that he had given Ann Yearsley two
hundred pounds for the above work, and that he would give her one hundred
pounds for every volume she might produce. This sum, with the profits of
her Poems, enabled her to set up a circulating library, at the Hot Wells.
I remember, in the year 1793, an imposition was attempted to be practised
upon her, and she became also involved in temporary pecuniary
difficulties, when by timely interference and a little assistance I had
the happiness of placing her once more in a state of comfort. From a
grateful feeling she afterwards sent me a handsome copy of verses.
It has been too customary to charge her with ingratitude, (at which all
are ready to take fire,) but without sufficient cause, as the slight
services I rendered her were repaid with a superabundant expression of
thankfulness; what then must have been the feelings of her heart toward
Mrs. Hannah More, to whom her obligations were so surpassing?
The merits of the question involved in the dissension between Ann
Yearsley and Mrs. H. More, lay in a small compass, and they deserve to be
faithfully stated; the public are interested in the refutation of charges
of ingratitude, which, if substantiated, would tend to repress assistance
toward the humbler children of genius. The baneful effects arising from a
charge of ingratitude in Ann Yearsley towards her benefactress, might be
the proximate means of dooming to penury and death some unborn
Chatterton, or of eclipsing the sun of a future Burns.
Hannah More discovered that the woman who supplied her family daily with
milk, was a really respectable poetess. She collected her productions,
and published them for her benefit, with a recommendatory address. The
Poems, as they deserved, became popular; doubtless, in a great degree,
through the generous and influential support of Mrs. H. More, and the
profits of the sale amounted to some hundreds of pounds.
The money, thus obtained, the milkwoman wished, to receive herself: for
the promotion of herself in life, and the assistance of her two promising
sons, who inherited much of their mother's talent. Hannah More on the
contrary, in conjunction with Mrs. Montague, thought it most advisable to
place the money in the Funds, in the joint names of herself and Mrs. M.
as trustees for Ann Yearsley, so that she might receive a small permanent
support through life. In this, Hannah More acted with the purest
intention. If any judicious friend had stated to her that Ann Yearsley,
whom she had so greatly served, was a discreet woman and would not be
likely to squander her little all: that she wanted to educate her two
sons, and to open for herself a circulating library, neither of which
objects could be accomplished without trenching on her capital, no doubt
could have been entertained of her instantly acceding to it.
The great error on the part of the milkwoman, was in not prevailing on
some friend thus to interfere, and calmly to state her case; instead of
which, in a disastrous moment, she undertook to plead her own cause; and,
without the slightest intention of giving offence, called on her
patroness. Both parties meant well, but from the constitution of the
human mind, it was hardly possible for one who had greatly obliged
another in a subordinate station to experience the least opposition
without at least an uncomfortable feeling. There must have existed a
predisposition to misconstrue motives, as well as a susceptibility, in
the closest alliance with offence. And now the experiment commenced.
Here was a strong-minded illiterate woman on one side, impressed with a
conviction of the justice of her cause; and further stimulated by a deep
consciousness of the importance of success to herself and family; and on
the other side, a refined mind, delicately alive to the least
approximation to indecorum, and, not unreasonably, requiring deference
and conciliation. Could such incongruous materials coalesce? Ann
Yearsley's suit, no doubt was urged with a zeal approaching to
impetuosity, and not expressed in that measured language which propriety
might have dictated; and any deficiency in which could not fail to offend
her polished and powerful patroness.
Ann Yearsley obtained her object, but she lost her friend. Her name, from
that moment, was branded with ingratitude; and severe indeed was the
penalty entailed on her by this act of indiscretion! Her good name, with
the rapidity of the eagle's pinion, was forfeited! Her talents, in a
large circle at once became questionable, or vanished away. Her assumed
criminality also was magnified into audacity, in daring to question the
honour, or oppose the wishes of two such women as Mrs. H. More, and Mrs.
Montague! and thus, through this disastrous turn of affairs, a dark veil
was suddenly thrown over prospects, so late the most unsullied and
exhilarating; and the favorite of fortune sunk to rise no more!
Gloom and perplexities in quick succession oppressed the Bristol
milkwoman, and her fall became more rapid than her ascent! The eldest of
her sons, William Cromartie Yearsley, who had bidden fair to be the prop
of her age; and whom she had apprenticed to an eminent engraver, with a
premium of one hundred guineas, prematurely died; and his surviving
brother soon followed him to the grave! Ann Yearsley, now a childless and
desolate widow, retired, heart-broken from the world, on the produce of
her library; and died many years after, in a state of almost total
seclusion, at Melksham. An inhabitant of the town lately informed me that
she was never seen, except when she took her solitary walk in the dusk of
the evening! She lies buried in Clifton church-yard.
In this passing notice of the Bristol milkwoman, my design has been to
rescue her name from unmerited obloquy, and not in the remotest degree to
criminate Hannah More, whose views and impressions in this affair may
have been somewhat erroneous, but whose intentions it would be impossible
for one moment to question.[10]
The reader will not be displeased with some further remarks on Mrs.
Hannah More, whose long residence near Bristol identified her so much
with that city.
Mrs. H. More lived with her four sisters, Mary, Elizabeth, Sarah, and
Martha, after they quitted their school in Park-Street, Bristol, at a
small neat cottage in Somersetshire, called Cowslip Green. The Misses M.
some years afterward built a better house, and called it Barley Wood, on
the side of a hill, about a mile from Wrington. Here they all lived, in
the highest degree respected and beloved: their house the seat of piety,
cheerfulness, literature, and hospitality; and they themselves receiving
the honour of more visits from bishops, nobles, and persons of
distinction, than, perhaps, any private family in the kingdom.
My sisters having been educated by them, and myself having two intimate
friends, who were also the friends of the Misses More; the Rev. James
Newton,[11] and my old tutor, John Henderson, they introduced me to the
family in Park Street, and the acquaintance then commenced was
progressively ripened into respect that continued to the termination of
all their lives. Hannah More gave me unrestricted permission to bring
down to Barley-Wood, any literary or other friend of mine, at any time;
and of which privilege, on various occasions I availed myself.
Many years before, I had taken down, then by express, invitation, Mr.
Southey, to see these excellent ladies; and in the year 1814, I conducted
Mr. Coleridge to Barley Wood, and had the pleasure of introducing him to
Hannah More and her sisters. For two hours after our arrival, Mr. C.
displayed a good deal of his brilliant conversation, when he was listened
to with surprise and delight by the whole circle; but at this time,
unluckily, Lady--was announced, when Mrs. Hannah, from politeness,
devoted herself to her titled visitant, while the little folks retired to
a snug window with one or two of the Misses More, and there had their own
agreeable converse.
Hannah More's eminently useful life manifested itself in nothing more
than the effort she made to instruct the ignorant through the medium of
moral and religious _tracts_, and by the establishment of schools. These
were made blessings on a wide scale, whilst their good effects are
continued to this time, and are likely to be perpetuated.
It is here proper to mention that after superintending these various
schools, either personally or by proxy, for more than a quarter of a
century, and after the decease of her four benevolent and excellent
sisters, Hannah More found it necessary to leave Barley Wood, and to
remove to Clifton. Here her expenses were reduced one half, and her
comforts greatly increased. The house she occupied, No. 4, Windsor
Terrace, Clifton, was even more pleasant than the one she had left, and
the prospects from it much more enlivening. I remember to have called on
her with the late Robert Hall, when she discovered a cheerfulness which
showed that Barley Wood was no longer regretted. She brought us to the
windows of her spacious drawing room, and there, in the expanse beneath,
invited us to behold the new docks, and the merchants' numerous ships,
while the hill of Dundry appeared (at the distance of four miles) far
loftier than her own Mendip, and equally verdant. From the window of her
back room also, directly under her eye, a far more exquisite prospect
presented itself than any Barley Wood could boast; Leigh Woods, St.
Vincent's Rocks, Clifton Down, and, to crown the whole, the winding Avon,
with the continually shifting commerce of Bristol; and we left her with
the impression that the change in her abode was a great accession to her
happiness.
In a letter to Mr. Wilberforce, Hannah More thus rather pleasantly
writes:--
"4, Windsor Terrace, Oct. 29, 1828.
My Very Dear Friend,
... I am diminishing my worldly cares. I have sold Barley Wood. I have
exchanged the eight "pampered minions," for four sober servants. As I
have sold my carriage and horses, I want no coachman: as I have no
garden, I want no gardener. I have greatly lessened my house expenses,
which enables me to maintain my schools, and enlarge my charities. My
schools alone, with clothing, rents, &c., cost me £150 a year."
Mrs. H. More was sometimes liberally assisted in the support of these
schools (as I learned from Miss Martha More,) by three philanthropic
individuals, the late Mr. Henry Thornton, the late Mr. Wilberforce, and
the late Sir W. W. Pepys, Bart.
Mrs. H. More, in a letter to Sir W. W. Pepys, acknowledging the receipt
of one hundred pounds, says, "My most affectionate respects to Lady
Pepys. The young race, of course, have all forgotten me; but I have not
forgotten the energy with which your eldest son, at seven years old, ran
into the drawing room, and said to me, "After all, Ferdinand would never
have sent Columbus to find out America if it had not been for Isabella:
it was entirely her doing." How gratifying it would have been to H. More,
had she lived two or three years longer, to have found in the round of
human things, that this energetic boy of seven years, had become (1837)
the Lord High Chancellor of England! and now again in 1846.
All the paintings, drawings, and prints which covered the walls of the
parlour, on Hannah More's quitting Barley Wood, she gave to her friend,
Sir T. D. Ackland, Bart, with the exception of the portrait, by Palmer,
of John Henderson, which she kindly presented to myself.
* * * * *
As I purposed, in projecting the present work, to allow myself a certain
latitude in commenting on persons of talent connected recently with
Bristol, and with whom Mr. C. and Mr. S. were acquainted, and especially
when those persons are dead, I shall here in addition briefly refer to
the late Robert Hall.
Mr. Hall is universally admitted to have possessed a mind of the first
order. He united qualities, rarely combined, each of which would have
constituted greatness; being a writer of pre-eminent excellence, and a
sacred orator that exceeded all competition.
Posterity will judge of Robert Hall's capacity by his writings alone, but
all who knew him as a preacher, unhesitatingly admit that in his pulpit
exercises (when the absorption of his mind in his subject rendered him
but half sensible to the agony of internal maladies which scarcely knew
cessation, and which would have prostrated a spirit less firm) that in
these exercises, the superiority of his intellect became more undeniably
manifest than even in his deliberate compositions. Here some might
approach, who could not surpass; but, as a preacher, he stood, collected,
in solitary grandeur.
Let the reader who was never privileged to see or hear this extraordinary
man, present to his imagination a dignified figure[12] that secured the
deference which was never exacted; a capacious forehead; an eye, in the
absence of excitement, dark, yet placid, but when warmed with argument,
flashing almost coruscations of light, as the harmonious accompaniments
of his powerful language.
But the pulpit presented a wider field for the display of this
constitutional ardour. Here, the eye, that always awed, progressively
advanced in expression; till warmed with his immortal subject it kindled
into absolute radiance, that with its piercing beams penetrated the very
heart, and so absorbed the spirit that the preacher himself was forgotten
in the magnificent and almost overpowering array of impassioned thoughts
and images. With this exterior, let the reader associate a voice, though
not strong, eminently flexible and harmonious; a mind that felt, and
therefore never erred in its emphasis; alternately touching the chord of
pathos, or advancing with equal ease into the region of argument or
passion; and then let him remember that every sentiment he uttered was
clothed in expressions as mellifluous as perhaps ever fell from the
tongue of man.
Few would dispute the testimony of Dugald Stewart on subjects of
composition; and still fewer would question his authority in ascribing,
as he does, to Robert Hall, the excellencies of Addison, Johnson, and
Burke, without their defects: and to the works of Mr. H. reference will
hereafter doubtless be made, as exhibiting some of the finest specimens
that can be adduced, of the harmony, the elegance, the energy, and
compass of the English tongue.
After noticing the excellencies of Mr. Hall as a Christian advocate, it
appears almost bordering on the anti-climax, to name, that a great
accession to this his distinction as a writer arose from his exquisite
taste in composition, sedulously cultivated through life; and which (as
the reward of so chastened a judgment, attained with such labour) at
length superseded toil in the arrangement of his words,'since every
thought, as it arose in his mind, when expression was given to it,
appeared spontaneously, clothed in the most appropriate language.
Often has Mr. H. expatiated to me on the subject of style, so as to
manifest the depth and acuteness of his criticisms; as well as to leave a
firm conviction that the superiority he had acquired arose from no lax
endeavour and happy casualty, but from severe and permanent effort,
founded on the best models; at least, in that period of his life when the
structure of his mind was formed, or forming. He said that _Cicero_ had
been his chief model.
This habit of minute and general analysis, combined as it was with his
fine luminous intellect, enabled him with almost intuitive discernment,
to perceive promptly whatever was valuable or defective in the
productions of others; and this faculty being conjoined with solid
learning, extensive reading, a retentive memory, a vast |tore of
diversified knowledge, together with a creative fancy and a logical mind,
gave him at all times, an unobtrusive reliance on himself; with an
inexhaustible mental treasury that qualified him alike to shine in the
friendly circle, or to charm, and astonish, and edify, in the crowded
assembly.
That the same individual should so far excel both as a preacher and a
writer, and at the same time be equally distinguished for his brilliant
conversational talent, is scarcely conceivable, and would be too much
reputation for any man, unless tempered, as it was in Mr. Hall, by no
ordinary measure of Christian humility, and a preference ever expressed,
for the moral over the intellectual character.
It is not meant to imply that Mr. Hall was perfect, (a condition reserved
for another state) but he made gigantic strides towards that point, at
which all should aim. That such rare talents should have been devoted,
through a long and consistent life, to the cause of his Redeemer, must
excite thankfulness in the breast of every Christian, and at the same
time deepen the hue with which he contemplates some others, whose talents
and influences, were, and are, all banefully exercised, from what might
appear a design to corrupt man, and madly to oppose and defy the Supreme
himself!
Some of Mr. Hall's later admirers may resist the idea that there ever was
a period when his ministerial exercises were more eloquent than at the
last; but without hesitation, I adopt a different opinion. The estimate
formed of him in this place is chiefly founded on the earlier part of
life, when, without any opposing influences, a more unbridled range was
given to his imagination; when there was an energy in his manner, and a
felicity and copiousness in his language, which vibrated on the very
verge of human capability.
It is incredible to suppose that intense and almost unceasing pain,
should not partially have unnerved his mind; that he should not have
directed a more undiverted concentration of thought, and revelled with
more freedom and luxuriance of expression, before, rather than during the
ravages of that insidious and fatal disease, under which he laboured for
so many years, and which never allowed him, except when in the pulpit, to
deviate from a recumbent posture. However combated by mental firmness,
such perpetual suffering must have tended in some degree to repress the
vehemence of his intellectual fire; and the astonishment prevails, that
he possessed fortitude enough to contend so long with antagonists so
potent. Except for the power of religion, and the sustaining influence of
faith, nothing could have restrained him from falling back on despondency
or despair. Yet even to his final sermon, he maintained his preeminence;
and in no one discourse of his last years, did he decline into
mediocrity, or fail to remind the elder part of his audience of a period
when his eloquence was almost superhuman.[13]
After allowing, that many humble but sincere preachers of the gospel of
Christ may be as accepted of God, and be made as useful to their
fellow-men as the most prodigally endowed, yet the possession of great
and well-directed talents must not be underrated. Different soils require
different culture, and that which is inoperative on one man may be
beneficial to another, and it is hardly possible for any one to form a
due estimate of the elevation of which pulpit oratory is susceptible who
never heard Robert Hall. This character of his preaching refers more
particularly to the period when his talents were in their most vigorous
exercise; a little before the time when he published his celebrated
sermon on "Infidelity."
This sermon I was so happy as to hear delivered, and have no hesitation
in expressing an opinion that the oral was not only very different from
the printed discourse, but greatly its superior. In the one case he
expressed the sentiments of a mind fully charged with matter the most
invigorating, and solemnly important; but, discarding notes, (which he
once told me always "hampered him") it was not in his power to display
the same language, or to record the same evanescent trains of thought; so
that in preparing a sermon for the press, no other than a general
resemblance could be preserved. In trusting alone to his recollection,
when the stimulus was withdrawn of a crowded and most attentive auditory,
the ardent feeling; the thought that "burned," was liable, in some
measure, to become deteriorated by the substitution of cool philosophical
arrangement and accuracy for the spontaneous effusions of his overflowing
heart; so that what was gained by one course was more than lost by the
other.
During Mr. Hall's last visit to Bristol, (prior to his final settlement
there) I conducted him to view the beautiful scenery in the
neighbourhood, and no one could be more alive to the picturesque than Mr.
H. On former occasions, when beholding the expanse of water before him,
he has said, with a pensive ejaculation, "We have no water in
Cambridgeshire;" and subsequently, in noticing the spreading foliage of
Lord de Clifford's park, he has observed with the same mournful accent;
"Ah, sir, we have no such trees as these in Leicestershire." And when at
this time he arrived at a point which presented the grandest assemblage
of beauty, he paused in silence to gaze on the rocks of St. Vincent, and
the Avon, and the dense woods, and the distant Severn, and the dim blue
mountains of Wales, when with that devotional spirit which accorded with
the general current of his feelings, in an ecstacy he exclaimed; "Oh, if
these outskirts of the Almighty's dominion can, with one glance, so
oppress the heart with gladness, what will be the disclosures of
eternity, when the full revelation shall be made of the things not seen,
and the river of the city of God!"
But "Recollections" of Mr. Hall are not intended, although it may be
named, he stated, in one of these rides, that he had arisen from his bed
two or three times in the course of the night, when projecting his
"Sermon on the Death of the Princess Charlotte" to record thoughts, or to
write down passages that he feared might otherwise escape his memory.
This, at least, showed the intensity of the interest he felt, though a
superabundance of the choicest matter was ever at his command; and if one
idea happened accidentally to be lost, one that was better immediately
supplied its place.
Perhaps this notice may be deemed, by some, too extended, if not
misplaced; but if the present occasion of referring to Mr. Hall, had been
neglected, no other might have occurred. The man whose name is recorded
on high stands in no need of human praise; yet survivors have a debt to
pay, and whilst I disclaim every undue bias on my mind in estimating the
character of one who so ennobled human nature, none can feel surprise
that I should take a favorable retrospect of Mr. H. after an intercourse
and friendship of more than forty years. Inadequate as is the present
offering, some satisfaction is felt at the opportunity presented of
bestowing this small tribute to the memory of one whom I ever venerated,
and, in so doing, of adding another attestation to the merits of so good
and great a man.
* * * * *
The reader after this long digression, will have his attention directed
once more, to Mr. Coleridge, who was left at Clevedon in the possession
of domestic comfort, and with the hope, if not the prospect, of
uninterrupted happiness. It could hardly be supposed, that in the element
of so much excitement, the spirit of inspiration should remain
slumbering. On my next seeing Mr. C. he read me, with more than his
accustomed enthusiasm, those tenderly affectionate lines to his "Sara,"
beginning
"My pensive Sara, thy soft cheek reclined." &c,
Mr. Coleridge now began to console himself with the suspicion, not only
that felicity might be found on this side the Atlantic, but that Clevedon
concentrated the sum of all that Earth had to bestow. He was now even
satisfied that the Susquehannah itself retired into shade before the
superior attractions of his own native Severn. He had, in good truth,
discovered the grand secret; the abode of happiness, after which all are
so sedulously inquiring; and this accompanied with the cheering
assurance, that, by a merely pleasurable intellectual exertion, he would
be able to provide for his moderate expenses, and experience the
tranquillizing joys of seclusion, while the whole country and Europe were
convulsed with war and changes.
Alas, repose was not made for man, nor man for repose! Mr. Coleridge at
this time little thought of the joys and sorrows, the vicissitudes of
life, and revolutions of feeling, with which he was ordained ere long to
contend! Inconveniences connected with his residence at Clevedon, not at
first taken into the calculation, now gradually unfolded themselves. The
place was too far from Bristol. It was difficult of access to friends;
and the neighbours were a little too tattling and inquisitive. And then
again, Mr. Coleridge could not well dispense with his literary
associates, and particularly with his access to that fine institution,
the Bristol City Library; and, in addition, as he was necessitated to
submit to frugal restraints, a walk to Bristol was rather a serious
undertaking; and a return the same day hardly to be accomplished, in the
failure of which, his "Sara," was lonely and uneasy; so that his friends
urged him to return once more to the place he had left; which he did,
forsaking, with reluctance, his rose-bound cottage, and taking up his
abode on Redcliff-hill. There was now some prospect that the printer's
types would be again set in motion, although it was quite proper that
they should remain in abeyance while so many grand events were
transpiring in the region of the domestic hearth. This was late in the
year 1795.
After Mr. Coleridge had been some little time settled in Bristol, he
experienced another removal. To exchange the country, and all the
beauties of nature, for pent-up rooms on Redcliff-hill, demanded from a
poet, sacrifices for which a few advantages would but ill compensate. In
this uneasy state of mind, Mr. C. received an invitation from his friend,
Mr. T. Poole, of Stowey, Somersetshire, to come and visit him in that
retired town, and to which place Mr. and Mrs. Coleridge repaired.
The volume of poems, that, in the presence of so many more important
affairs, had retired into shade, was now about to reappear, as will be
found by the following letter.
"Stowey,
My dear Cottle,
I feel it much, and very uncomfortable, that, loving you as a brother,
and feeling pleasure in pouring out my heart to you, I should so seldom
be able to write a letter to you, unconnected with business, and
uncontaminated with excuses and apologies. I give every moment I can
spare from my garden and the Reviews (i. e.) from my potatoes and meat to
the poem, (Religious Musings) but I go on slowly, for I torture the poem
and myself with corrections; and what I write in an hour, I sometimes
take two or three days in correcting. You may depend on it, the poem and
prefaces will take up exactly the number of pages I mentioned, and I am
extremely anxious to have the work as perfect as possible, and which I
cannot do, if it be finished immediately. The "Religious Musings" I have
altered monstrously, since I read them to you and received your
criticisms. I shall send them to you in my next. The Sonnets I will send
you with the Musings. God love you!
From your affectionate friend,