This routine was repeated with every fresh number. My part was zealously
and cheerfully discharged, with the encouraging hope that it would
essentially serve my anxious and valued friend. But all would not do!
A feeling of disappointment prevailed early and pretty generally, amongst
the subscribers. The Prospectus promised too much. In the Review
department, no one article appeared embodying any high order of talent.
The Newspaper section pleased no one, from the confined limits to which
the editor was restricted, independently of which, nearly all the
subscribers had seen the Debates in their length, through other mediums;
and yet this profitless part of the work gave most trouble to the
compiler. Its dulness, I know, fretted Mr. Coleridge exceedingly.[15]
The theory of publishing was delightful; but the exemplification--the
practice, proved, alas! teasing, if not tormenting. One pitiful
subscriber of fourpence, every eighth day, thought his boys did not
improve much under it. Another expected more from his "Annual Register!"
Another wanted more Reviews! Another, more Politics! and those a little
sharper. As the work proceeded, joys decreased, and perplexities
multiplied! added to which, subscribers rapidly fell off, debts were
accumulated and unpaid, till, at the Tenth Number, the Watchman at the
helm cried "Breakers" and the vessel stranded!--It being formally
announced, that "The work did not pay its expenses!"
The "Address to the readers of the Watchman," in the last page, was the
following:
"This is the last Number of the Watchman.--Henceforward I shall cease
to cry the state of the Political atmosphere. While I express my
gratitude to those friends who exerted themselves so liberally in the
establishment of this Miscellany, I may reasonably be expected to
assign some reason for relinquishing it thus abruptly. The reason is
short and satisfactory.--The work does not pay its expences. Part of
my subscribers have relinquished it, because it did not contain
sufficient original composition; and a still larger number, because
it contained too much. Those who took it in as a mere journal of
weekly events, must have been unacquainted with 'FLOWER'S CAMBRIDGE
INTELLIGENCER;' a Newspaper, the style and composition of which would
claim distinguished praise, even among the productions of literary
leisure; while it breathes everywhere the severest morality; fighting
fearlessly the good fight against tyranny, yet never unfaithful to
that religion, whose service is perfect freedom. Those, on the other
hand, who expected from it much and varied original composition, have
naturally relinquished it in favour of the 'NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE;' a
work which has almost monopolized the talent of the country, and with
which I should have continued a course of literary rivalship, with as
much success as might be expected to attend a young recruit, who
should oppose himself to a phalanx of disciplined warriors. Long may
it continue to deserve the support of the patriot and the
philanthropist; and while it teaches its readers NATIONAL LIBERTY,
prepare them for the enjoyment of it; strengthening the intellect by
SCIENCE, and softening our affections by the GRACES! To return to
myself. I have endeavoured to do well: and it must be attributed to
defect of ability, not of inclination or effort, if the words of the
Prophet be altogether applicable to me.
"O, Watchman! thou hast watched in vain."
Many readers will feel a concern in the arrangements and perplexities of
Mr. Coleridge at the time of publishing his "Watchman;" for he had a more
vital interest involved in the success of that work than he had,
individually, in the rise and fall of empires. When he returned from his
northern journey laden with subscribers, and with hope ripened into
confidence, all that had yet been done was the mere scaffolding; the
building was now to be erected. Soon after this time I received from Mr.
Coleridge the following letter.
"1796.
My ever dear Cottle,
I will wait on you this evening at 9 o'clock, till which hour I am on
"Watch." Your Wednesday's invitation I of course accept, but I am rather
sorry that you should add this expense to former liberalities.
Two editions of my Poems would barely repay you. Is it not possible to
get twenty-five, or thirty of the Poems ready by to-morrow, as Parsons,
of Paternoster Row, has written to me pressingly about them. 'People are
perpetually asking after them.' All admire the Poetry in the 'Watchman;'
he says, I can send them with one hundred "of the First Number," which he
has written for. I think if you were to send half a dozen 'Joans of Arc,'
[4to. £1. 1. 0] on sale or return, it would not be amiss. To all the
places in the North, we will send my 'Poems,' my 'Conciones,' and the
'Joans of Arc,' together, per waggon. You shall pay the carriage for the
London and the Birmingham parcels; I for the Sheffield, Derby,
Nottingham, Manchester, and Liverpool.
With regard to the Poems I mean to give away, I wish to make it a common
interest; that is, I will give away a sheet full of Sonnets. One to Mrs.
Barbauld; one to Wakefield; one to Dr. Beddoes: one to Wrangham, (a
College acquaintance of mine, an admirer of me, and a pitier of my
principles!) one to George Augustus Pollen, Esq. one to C. Lamb; one to
Wordsworth; one to my brother G. and one to Dr. Parr. These Sonnets I
mean to write on the blank leaf, respectively, of each copy.[16]
Concerning the paper for the 'Watchman,' I was vexed to hear your
proposal of trusting it to Biggs, who, if he undertook it at all, would
have a profit, which heaven knows, I cannot afford. My plan was, either
that you should write to your paper-maker, saying that you had
recommended him to me, and ordering for me twenty or forty reams, at a
half year's credit; or else, in your own name; in which case I would
transfer to you, Reed's[17] weekly account, amounting to 120 3-1/2 d's,
(or 35 shillings) and the Birmingham monthly account, amounting to £14. a
month.
God bless you,
and S. T. Coleridge."
This letter requires a few explanations. In recommending that Biggs, the
printer, should choose the paper, it was not designed for him to provide
it, which, had he been so requested, he would not have done, but merely
to select one, out of different samples to be submitted to him, as that
which he, as a printer, thought the best. This was explained to Mr. C. It
will be perceived, that Mr. Coleridge's two proposals were virtually one:
as, if I ordered the paper for myself or for another, the responsibility
would rest with me. The plain fact is, I purchased the whole of the paper
for the "Watchman," allowing Mr. C. to have it at prime cost, and
receiving small sums from him occasionally, in liquidation. I became
responsible, also, to Mr. B. for printing the work, by which means I
reduced the price per sheet, as a bookseller, (1000) from fifty shillings
to thirty five shillings. Mr. C. paid me for the paper in fractions, as
he found it convenient, but from the falling off of his own receipts, I
never received the whole. It was a losing concern altogether, and I was
willing to bear, uncomplaining, my proportion of the loss. There is some
difference between this statement, and that of Mr. Coleridge in his
"Biographia Literaria."[18] A defect of memory must have existed, arising
out of the lapse of twenty two years; but my notices, made at that time,
did not admit of mistake.
My loss was also augmented from another cause. Mr. C. states in the above
work, that his London publisher never paid him "one farthing," but "set
him at defiance." I also was more than his equal companion in this
misfortune. The thirty copies of Mr. C.'s poems, and the six "Joans of
Arc" (referred to in the preceding letter) found a ready sale, by this
said "indefatigable London publisher," and large and fresh orders were
received, so that Mr. Coleridge and myself participated in two very
opposite feelings, the one of exultation that our publications had found
_so good a sale_; and the other of _depression_, that the time of
_payment_ never arrived!
All the copies also, of Mr. C.'s Poems, and the "Joan's of Arc," which
were sent to the North, so far as I am concerned, shared the same fate. I
do not know that they were ever paid for. If they were, in combination
with other things, it was my wish that the entanglement should never be
unravelled, for who could take from Mr. C. any portion of his slender
remittances.
The most amusing appendage to this unfortunate "Miscellany," will now be
presented to the reader, in the seven following letters of Mr. Coleridge,
addressed to his friend Mr. Josiah Wade, and written in the progress of
his journey to collect subscribers for the "Watchman."
"Worcester, Jan. 1796.
My dear Wade,
We were five in number, and twenty-five, in quantity. The moment I
entered the coach, I stumbled on a huge projection, which might be called
a belly, with the same propriety that you might name Mount Atlas a
mole-hill. Heavens! that a man should be unconscionable enough to enter a
stage coach, who would want elbow room if he were walking on Salisbury
Plain!
This said citizen was a most violent aristocrat, but a pleasant humourous
fellow in other respects, and remarkably well-informed in agricultural
science; so that the time passed pleasantly enough. We arrived at
Worcester at half-past two: I of course dined at the inn, where I met Mr.
Stevens. After dinner I christianized myself; that is, washed and
changed, and marched in finery and cleanliness to High-Street. With
regard to business, there is no chance of doing any thing at Worcester.
The aristocrats are so numerous, and the influence of the clergy so
extensive, that Mr. Barr thinks no bookseller will venture to publish the
'Watchman.'
P.S. I hope and trust that the young citizeness is well, and also Mrs.
Wade. Give my love to the latter, and a kiss for me to little Miss
Bratinella.