P. S. The volume (second edition, Coleridge, Lloyd, and Lamb) is a most
beautiful one. You have determined that the three Bards shall walk up
Parnassus, in their best bib and tucker.
"Stowey, June 29th, 1797.
My very dear Cottle,
... Charles Lamb will probably be here in about a fortnight. Could you
not contrive to put yourself in a Bridgwater coach, and T. Poole would
fetch you in a one-horse chaise to Stowey. What delight would it not give
us....
It was not convenient at this time to accept Mr. C.'s invitation, but
going to Stowey two or three weeks afterwards, I learnt how pleasantly
the interview had been between Charles Lamb and himself. It is
delightful, even at the present moment, to recal the images connected
with my then visit to Stowey, (which those can best understand, who, like
myself, have escaped from severe duties to a brief season of happy
recreation). Mr. Coleridge welcomed me with the warmest cordiality. He
talked with affection of his old school-fellow, Lamb, who had so recently
left him; regretted he had not an opportunity of introducing me to one
whom he so highly valued. Mr. C. took peculiar delight in assuring me (at
least, at that time) how happy he was; exhibiting successively, his
house, his garden, his orchard, laden with fruit; and also the
contrivances he had made to unite his two neighbours' domains with his
own.
After the grand circuit had been accomplished, by hospitable contrivance,
we approached the "Jasmine harbour," when to our gratifying surprise, we
found the tripod table laden with delicious bread and cheese, surmounted
by a brown mug of true Taunton ale. We instinctively took our seats; and
there must have been some downright witchery in the provisions which
surpassed all of its kind; nothing like it on the wide terrene, and one
glass of the Taunton, settled it to an axiom. While the dappled sun-beams
played on our table, through the umbrageous canopy, the very birds seemed
to participate in our felicities, and poured forth their selectest
anthems. As we sat in our sylvan hall of splendour, a company of the
happiest mortals, (T. Poole, C. Lloyd, S. T. Coleridge, and J. C.) the
bright-blue heavens; the sporting insects; the balmy zephyrs; the
feathered choristers; the sympathy of friends, all augmented the
pleasurable to the highest point this side the celestial! Every
interstice of our hearts being filled with happiness, as a consequence,
there was no room for sorrow, exorcised as it now was, and hovering
around at unapproachable distance. With our spirits thus entranced,
though we might weep at other moments, yet joyance so filled all within
and without, that, if, at this juncture, tidings had been brought us,
that an irruption of the ocean had swallowed up all our brethren of
Pekin; from the pre-occupation of our minds, "poor things," would have
been our only reply, with anguish put off till the morrow. While thus
elevated in the universal current of our feelings, Mrs. Coleridge
approached, with her fine Hartley; we all smiled, but the father's eye
beamed transcendental joy! "But, all things have an end." Yet, pleasant
it is for memory to treasure up in her choicest depository, a few such
scenes, (these sunny spots in existence!) on which the spirit may repose,
when the rough, adverse winds shake and disfigure all besides.
Although so familiar with the name and character of Charles Lamb, through
the medium of S. T. Coleridge, yet my intercourse (with the exception of
one casual visit) commenced with him in the year 1802, during a residence
of many months in London, when we often met. After this period, from my
residing permanently in Bristol, our acquaintance was intermitted, till
1819, when he requested the loan of a portrait, for the purpose expressed
in the following letter.
"Dear Sir,
It is so long since I have seen or heard from you, that I fear that you
will consider a request I have to make, as impertinent. About three years
since, when I was in Bristol, I made an effort to see you, by calling at
Brunswick Square, but you were from home. The request I have to make, is,
that you would very much oblige me, if you have any small portrait of
yourself, by allowing me to have it copied, to accompany a selection, of
the likenesses of 'Living Bards,' which a most particular friend of mine
is making. If you have no objection, and would oblige me by transmitting
such portrait, I will answer for taking the greatest care of it, and for
its safe return. I hope you will pardon the liberty,
From an old friend and well wisher,