Mr. Coleridge, in the course of his extensive journey, having had to act
the tradesman on rather an extended scale; conferring and settling with
all the booksellers in the respective towns, as to the means of
conveyance, allowance, remittances, &c. he thus wrote in a dejected mood,
to his friend Mr. Wade,--an unpropitious state of mind for a new
enterprise, and very different from those sanguine hopes which he had
expressed on other occasions.
"My dear friend,
... I succeeded very well here at Litchfield. Belcher, bookseller,
Birmingham; Sutton, Nottingham; Pritchard, Derby; and Thomson,
Manchester, are the publishers. In every number of the 'Watchman,' there
be printed these words, 'Published in Bristol, by the Author, S. T.
Coleridge, and sold, &c. &c.'
I verily believe no poor fellow's idea-pot ever bubbled up so vehemently
with fears, doubts and difficulties, as mine does at present. Heaven
grant it may not boil over, and put out the fire! I am almost heartless!
My past life seems to me like a dream, a feverish dream! all one gloomy
huddle of strange actions, and dim-discovered motives! Friendships lost
by indolence, and happiness murdered by mismanaged sensibility! The
present hour I seem in a quickset hedge of embarrassments! For shame! I
ought not to mistrust God! but indeed, to hope is far more difficult than
to fear. Bulls have horns, Lions have talons.
The Fox, and Statesman subtle wiles ensure,
The Cit, and Polecat stink and are secure:
Toads with their venom, Doctors with their drug,
The Priest, and Hedgehog, in their robes are snug!
Oh, Nature! cruel step-mother, and hard,
To thy poor, naked, fenceless child the Bard!
No Horns but those by luckless Hymen worn,
And those, (alas! alas!) not Plenty's Horn!
With naked feelings, and with aching pride,
He bears th' unbroken blast on every side!
Vampire booksellers drain him to the heart,
And Scorpion critics cureless venom dart![19]