Letter from Robert Southey, to Amos Cottle, Magdalen College, Cambridge.
"London, Feb. 28, 1797.
20, Prospect Place, Newington Butts.
... Here I am travelling on in the labyrinth of the law; and though I had
rather make books myself than read the best lawyer's composition, I am
getting on cheerfully, and steadily, and well.
While you are amusing yourself with mathematics, and I lounging over the
law, the political and commercial world are all in alarm and confusion. I
cannot call myself a calm witness of all this, for I sit by the fireside,
hear little about it, think less, and see nothing; 'all hoping, and
expecting all in patient faith.' Tranquillity of mind is a blessing too
valuable to sacrifice for all the systems man has ever established. My
day of political enthusiasm is over. I know what is right, and as I see
that everything is wrong, care more about the changing of the wind, lest
it should make the chimney smoke, than for all the empires of Europe...."
"London, 1797.
My dear friend,
... I physiognomise everything, even the very oysters may be accurately
judged by their shells. I discovered this at Lisbon, where they are all
deformed, hump-backed, and good for nothing. Is it not possible by the
appearance of a river to tell what fish are in it? In the slow sluggish
stream you will find the heavy chub. In the livelier current, the trout
and the pike. If a man loves prints you have an excellent clue to his
character; take for instance, the inventory of mine at College:--Four
views of the ruins at Rome; Charles Fox; Belisarius; Niobe; and four
Landscapes of Poussin; and Claude Lorraine. These last are of constant
source of pleasure. I become acquainted with the inhabitants in every
house, and know every inch of ground in the prospect. They have formed
for me many a pleasant day-dream. I can methodise these into a little
poem. I am now settled; my books are organised; and this evening I set
off on my race.
We have a story of a ghost here, who appears to the watchman,--the spirit
of a poor girl, whose life was abandoned, and her death most horrible. I
am in hopes it may prove _true!_ as I have a great love for apparitions.
They make part of the poetical creed. Fare you well.
Sincerely yours,
To Joseph Cottle.