Mr. Coleridge, in the preceding letters, states his having preached
occasionally. There must have been a first sermon. It so happened that I
heard Mr. C. preach his first and also his second sermon, with some
account of which I shall now furnish the reader; and that without
concealment or embellishment. But it will be necessary, as an
illustration of the whole, to convey some previous information, which, as
it regards most men, would be too unimportant to relate.
When Mr. Coleridge first came to Bristol, he had evidently adopted, at
least to some considerable extent, the sentiments of Socinus. By persons
of that persuasion, therefore, he was hailed as a powerful accession to
their cause. From Mr. C.'s voluble utterance, it was even believed that
he might become a valuable Unitarian minister, (of which class of
divines, a great scarcity then existed, with a still more gloomy
anticipation, from most of the young academicians at their chief academy
having recently turned infidels.) But though this presumption in Mr.
Coleridge's favour was confidently entertained, no certainty could exist
without a trial, and how was this difficulty to be overcome? The
Unitarians in Bristol might have wished to see Mr. C. in their pulpit,
expounding and enforcing their faith; but, as they said, "the thing, in
Bristol, was altogether impracticable," from the conspicuous stand which
he had taken in free politics, through the medium of his numerous
lectures.[20]
It was then recollected by some of his anxious and importunate friends,
that Bath was near, and that a good judge of requisite qualifications was
to be found therein in the person of the Rev. David Jardine, with whom
some of Mr. C.'s friends were on terms of intimacy; so that it was
determined that Mr. Coleridge, as the commencement of his brilliant
career, should be respectfully requested to preach his inaugural
discourse in the Unitarian chapel at Bath.
The invitation having been given and accepted, I felt some curiosity to
witness the firmness with which he would face a large and enlightened
audience, and, in the intellectual sense, grace his canonical robes. No
conveyance having been provided, and wishing the young ecclesiastic to
proceed to the place of his exhibition with some decent respectability, I
agreed with a common friend, the late Mr. Charles Danvers, to take Mr. C.
over to Bath in a chaise.
The morning of the important day unfolded, and in due time we arrived at
the place of our destination. When on the way to the chapel, a man
stopped Charles Danvers, and asked him if he could tell where the Rev.
Mr. Coleridge preached. "Follow the crowd," said Danvers, and walked on.
Mr. C. wore his blue coat and white waistcoat; but what was Mr. Jardine's
surprise, when he found that his young probationer peremptorily refused
to wear the hide-all sable gown! Expostulation was unavailing, and the
minister ascended to the pulpit in his coloured clothes!
Considering that it had been announced on the preceding Sunday, that "the
Rev. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from Cambridge University" would preach
there on this day, we naturally calculated on an overflowing audience,
but it proved to be the most meagre congregation I had ever seen. The
reader will but imperfectly appreciate Mr. C.'s discourse, without the
previous information that this year (1796) was a year of great scarcity,
and consequent privation, amongst the poor; on which subject the sermon
was designed impressively to bear. And now the long-expected service
commenced.
The prayer, without being intended, was formal, unimpressive, and
undevotional; the singing was languid; but we expected that the sermon
would arouse the inattentive, and invigorate the dull. The moment for
announcing the text arrived. Our curiosity was excited. With little less
than famine in the land, our hearts were appalled at hearing the words,
"When they shall be hungry, they shall fret themselves, and curse their
king, and their God, and look upward." (Isaiah viii. 21.) Mr.
Winterbotham, a little before, had been thrown into prison for the
freedom of his political remarks in a sermon at Plymouth, and we were
half fearful whether in his impetuous current of feeling, some stray
expressions might not subject our friend to a like visitation. Our fears
were groundless. Strange as it may appear in Mr. Coleridge's vigorous
mind, the whole discourse consisted of little more than a Lecture on the
Corn Laws! which some time before he had delivered in Bristol, at the
Assembly Boom.
Returning from our edifying discourse to a tavern dinner, we were
privileged with more luminous remarks on this inexhaustible subject: but
something better (or worse, as the reader's taste may be) is still in
reserve. After dinner, Mr. Coleridge remarked that he should have no
objection to preach another sermon that afternoon. In the hope that
something redeeming might still appear, and the best be retained for the
last, we encouraged his proposal, when he rang the bell, and on the
waiter appearing, he was sent, with Mr. Coleridge's compliments, to the
Rev. Mr. Jardine, to say "If agreeable, Mr. C. would give his
congregation another sermon, this afternoon, on the Hair Powder Tax!"[21]
On the departure of the waiter, I was fully assured that Mr. Jardine
would smile, and send a civil excuse, satisfied that he had had quite
enough of political economy, with blue coat and white waistcoat, in the
morning; but to my great surprise, the waiter returned with Mr. Jardine's
compliments, saying, "he should be happy to hear Mr. Coleridge!"
Now all was hurry lest the concourse should be kept waiting. What
surprise will the reader feel, on understanding that, independently of
ourselves and Mr. Jardine, there were but seventeen persons present,
including men, women, and children! We had, as we expected, a
recapitulation of the old lecture, with the exception of its humorous
appendages, in reprobation of the Hair Powder Tax; and the twice-told
tale, even to the ear of friendship, in truth sounded rather dull!
Two or three times Mr. C. looked significantly toward our seat, when
fearful of being thrown off my guard into a smile, I held down my head,
from which position I was aroused, when the sermon was about half over,
by some gentleman throwing back the door of his pew, and walking out of
the chapel. In a few minutes after, a second individual did the same; and
soon after a third door flew open, and the listener escaped! At this
moment affairs looked so very ominous, that we were almost afraid Mr.
Jardine himself would fly, and that none but ourselves would fairly sit
it out. A little before, I had been in company with the late Robert Hall,
and S. T. Coleridge, when the collision of equal minds elicited light and
heat; both of them ranking in the first class of conversationalists, but
great indeed was the contrast between them in the pulpit. The parlour was
the element for Mr. Coleridge, and the politician's lecture, rather than
the minister's harangue. We all returned to Bristol with the feeling of
disappointment;--Mr. C. from the little personal attention paid to him by
Mr. Jardine; and we, from a dissatisfying sense of a Sunday desecrated.
Although no doubt can be entertained of Mr. Coleridge having, in the
journey before noticed, surpassed his first essay, yet, with every
reasonable allowance, the conviction was so strong on my mind that Mr. C.
had mistaken his talent, that my regard for him was too genuine to
entertain the wish of ever again seeing him in a pulpit.
It is unknown when the following letter was received, (although quite
certain that it was not the evening in which Mr. Coleridge wrote his "Ode
to the Departing Year,") and it is printed in this place at something of
an uncertainty.[22]
"January 1st.
My dear Cottle,
I have been forced to disappoint not only you, but Dr. Beddoes, on an
affair of some importance. Last night I was induced by strong and joint
solicitation, to go to a card-club, to which Mr. Morgan belongs, and,
after the playing was over, to sup, and spend the remainder of the night:
having made a previous compact, that I should not drink; however just on
the verge of twelve, I was desired to drink only one wine glass of punch,
in honour of the departing year; and, after twelve, one other in honour
of the new year. Though the glasses were very small, yet such was the
effect produced during my sleep, that I awoke unwell, and in about twenty
minutes after had a relapse of my bilious complaint. I am just now
recovered, and with care, I doubt not, shall be as well as ever
to-morrow. If I do not see you then, it will be from some relapse, which
I have no reason, thank heaven, to anticipate.
Yours affectionately,