It will doubtless afford much pleasure to the liberal portion of the
inhabitants of this city, to understand that a subscription has been
set on foot in different parts of the kingdom, for the wife and five
small children of poor Burns, the Scotch poet. There has already been
subscribed--
At Dumfries (where the Bard lived) £104 12 0
At Edinburgh ... ... ... 64 16 0
At Liverpool ... ... ... 67 10 0
Whoever, in Bristol, from their admiration of departed genius, may
wish to contribute, in rescuing from distress the family of Robert
Burns, will be pleased to leave their donations with Mr. Cottle,
High-Street. Mr. Nichol, of Pall-Mall, London, will publicly
acknowledge the receipt of all monies subscribed in this city.
The sum we transmitted to the general fund, did credit to the liberality
of Bristol.
Mr. Coleridge had often, in the keenest terms, expressed his contemptuous
indignation at the Scotch patrons of the poet, in making him an
exciseman! so that something biting was expected.
The Poem was entitled, "To a Friend, who had declared his intention of
writing no more Poetry." In reading the Poem immediately after it was
written, the rasping force which Mr. C. gave to the following concluding
lines was inimitable.
"Is thy Burns dead?
And shall he die unwept, and sink to earth,
Without the meed of one melodious tear?
Thy Burns, and nature's own beloved Bard,
Who to 'the illustrious of his native land,'[35]
So properly did look for patronage.
Ghost of Maecenas! hide thy blushing face!
They took him from the sickle and the plough--
To guage ale firkins!
O, for shame return!
On a bleak rock, midway the Aonian Mount,
There stands a lone and melancholy tree,
Whose aged branches to the midnight blast
Make solemn music, pluck its darkest bough,
Ere yet th' unwholesome night dew be exhaled,
And weeping, wreath it round thy Poet's tomb:
Then in the outskirts, where pollutions grow,
Pick stinking henbane, and the dusky flowers
Of night-shade, or its red and tempting fruit;
These, with stopped nostril, and glove-guarded hand,
Knit in nice intertexture, so to twine
Th' illustrious brow of Scotch Nobility!"
If Mr. C.'s nature had been less benevolent, and he had given full vent
to the irascible and satirical, the restrained elements of which abounded
in his spirit, he would have obtained the least enviable of all kinds of
pre-eminence, and have become the undisputed modern Juvenal.
Mr. George Burnet resided sometimes with his relations, sometimes with
Mr. Coleridge, at Stowey. Mr. and Mrs. C. happened to be now in Bristol,
when the former was summoned home on account of Burnet's sudden and
serious illness. On reaching Stowey, Mr. C. sent me the following letter.
"Stowey.
My dear friend,
I found George Burnet ill enough, heaven knows, Yellow Jaundice,---the
introductory symptoms very violent. I return to Bristol on Thursday, and
shall not leave till _all be done._
Remind Mrs. Coleridge of the kittens, and tell her that George's brandy
is just what smuggled spirits might be expected to be, execrable! The
smack of it remains in my mouth, and I believe will keep me most horribly
temperate for half a century. He (Burnet) was bit, but I caught the
Brandiphobia.[36] [obliterations ...]--scratched out, well knowing that
you never allow such things to pass, uncensured. A good joke, and it
slipped out most impromptu--ishly.
The mice play the very devil with us. It irks me to set a trap. By all
the whiskers of all the pussies that have mewed plaintively, or
amorously, since the days of Whittington, it is not fair. 'Tis telling a
lie. 'Tis as if you said, 'Here is a bit of toasted cheese; come little
mice! I invite you!' when, oh, foul breach of the rites of hospitality! I
mean to assassinate my too credulous guests! No, I cannot set a trap, but
I should vastly like to make a Pitt--fall. (Smoke the Pun!). But
concerning the mice, advise thou, lest there be famine in the land. Such
a year of scarcity! Inconsiderate mice! Well, well, so the world wags.
Farewell, S. T. C.
P. S. A mad dog ran through our village, and bit several dogs. I have
desired the farmers to be attentive, and to-morrow shall give them, in
writing, the first symptoms of madness in a dog.