"My dear Cottle,
It is not long since I heard of you from Mr. De Quincey: but I wish you
would sometimes let me hear from you. There was a time when scarcely a
day passed without my seeing you, and in all that time, I do not remember
that there was a passing cloud of coolness between us. The feeling I am
sure continues: do not then let us be so entirely separated by distance,
which in cases of correspondence may almost be considered as a mere
abstraction....
Can you tell me anything of Coleridge? We know that he is with the
Morgans at Calne. What is to become of him? He may find men who will give
him board and lodging for the sake of his conversation, but who will pay
his other expenses? He leaves his family to chance, and charity. With
good feelings, good principles, as far as the understanding is concerned,
and an intellect as clear, and as powerful, as was ever vouchsafed to
man, he is the slave of degrading sensuality, and sacrifices everything
to it. The case is equally deplorable and monstrous....
Believe me, my dear Cottle,
Ever your affectionate old friend,