“I am not sorry that you gave Godwin a dressing, and should not be sorry if
he were occasionally to remember it with the comfortable reflection
‘in vino
Veritas;’ for, in plain truth, already it does vex me to
see you so lavish of the outward and visible signs of friendship, and to know
that a set of fellows whom you do not care for and ought not to care for, boast
every where of your intimacy, and with good reason, to the best of their
understanding. You have accustomed yourself to talk affectionately, and write
affectionately, to your friends, till the expressions of affection flow by
habit in your conversation, and in your letters, and pass for more than they
are worth; the worst of all this is, that your letters will one day rise up in
judgment against you (for be sure, that hundreds which you have forgotten, are
hoarded up for some Curl or Philips of the next generation), and you will
be convicted of a double dealing, which, though you do not design, you
certainly do practise. And now that I am writing affectionately more meo, I will let out a little more.
You say in yours to Sara, that you love
and honour me; upon my soul I believe you: but if I did not thoroughly believe
it before, your saying so is the thing of all things that would make me open my
eyes and look about me to see if I were not deceived: perhaps I am too
intolerant to these kind of
| Ætat. 29. | OF ROBERT SOUTHEY. | 267 |
“—— was always looking for such things, but he was a foul feeder, and my moral stomach loathes anything like froth. There is a something outlandish in saying them, more akin to a French embrace than an English shake by the hand, and I would have you leave off saying them to those whom you actually do love, that if this should not break off the habit of applying them to indifferent persons, the disuse may at least make a difference. Your feelings go naked, I cover mine with a bear-skin; I will not say that you harden yours by your mode, but I am sure that mine are the warmer for their clothing. . . . . It is possible, or probable, that I err as much as you in an opposite extreme, and may make enemies where you would make friends; but there is a danger that you may sometimes excite dislike in persons of whose approbation you would yourself be desirous. You know me well enough to know in what temper this has been written, and to know that it has been some exertion; for the same habit which makes me prefer sitting silent to offering contradiction, makes me often withhold censure when, perhaps, in strictness of moral duty, it ought to be applied. The medicine might have been sweetened perhaps; but, dear Coleridge, take the simple bitters, and leave the sweetmeats by themselves.
“That ugly-nosed Godwin has led me to this. I dare say he deserved all you gave
him; in fact, I have never forgiven him his abuse of William Tay-
| 268 | LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE | Ætat. 29. |
“I wish you had called on Longman. That man has a kind heart of his own, and I wish you to think so: the letter he sent me was a proof of it. Go to one of his Saturday evenings; you will see a coxcomb or two, and a dull fellow or two: but you will, perhaps, meet Turner and Duppa, and Duppa is worth knowing; make yourself known to him in my name, and tell him how glad I should be to show him the Lakes. I have some hope, from Rickman’s letter, that you may see William Taylor in town; that would give me great pleasure, for I am very desirous that you should meet. For universal knowledge, I believe he stands quite unrivalled; his conversation is a perpetual spring of living water; and then in every relation of life so excellent is he, that I know not any man who, in the circle of his friends, is so entirely and deservedly beloved.”
