DEAR C,—Why
will you make your visits, which should give pleasure, matter of regret to your
friends? You never come but you take away some folio that is part of my
existence. With a great deal of difficulty I was made to comprehend the extent
of my loss. My maid Becky brought me a dirty bit of paper,
which contained her description of some book which Mr.
Coleridge had taken away. It was “Luster’s Tables,” which, for
some time, I could not make out. “What! has he carried away any of the
tables, Becky?”
“No, it wasn’t any tables, but it was a book that he called
Luster’s Tables.” I was obliged to search personally among
my shelves, and a huge fissure suddenly disclosed to me the true nature of the
damage I had sustained. That book, C., you should not have
taken away, for it is not mine; it is the property of a friend, who does not
know its value, nor indeed have I been very sedulous in explaining to him the
estimate of it; but was rather contented in giving a sort of corroboration to a
hint that he let fall, as to its being suspected to be not genuine, so that in
all probability it would have fallen to me as a deodand; not but I am as sure
it is Luther’s as I am sure that
Jack Bunyan wrote the “Pilgrim’s
Progress;” but it was not for me to pronounce upon the validity of
testimony that had been disputed by learneder clerks than I. So I quietly let
it occupy the place it had usurped upon my shelves, and should never have
thought of issuing an ejectment against it; for why should I be so bigoted as
to allow rites of hospitality to none but my own books, children, &c.?—a
species of egotism I abhor from my heart. No; let ’em all snug together,
Hebrews and Proselytes of the gate; no selfish partiality of mine shall make
distinction between them; I charge no warehouse-room for my friends’
commodities; they are welcome to come and stay as long as they like, without
paying rent. I have several such strangers that I treat with more than Arabian
courtesy; there’s a copy of More’s fine poem,
which is none of mine; but I cherish it as my own; I am none of those churlish
landlords that advertise the goods to be taken away in ten days’ time, or
then to be sold to pay expenses. So you see I had no right to lend you that
book; I may lend you my own books, because it is at my own hazard, but it is
not honest to hazard a friend’s property; I always make that distinction.
I hope you will bring it with you, or send it by
| 1820 | COLERIDGE’S BORROWINGS | 545 |
