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Bodleian Library, MS Eng. Lett. c. 22. Previously published: Kenneth Curry (ed.), New Letters of Robert Southey, 2 vols (London and New York, 1965), I, pp. 35–39.
These letters were edited with the assistance of Carol Bolton, Tim Fulford and Ian Packer
For permission to publish the text of MSS in their possession, the editor wishes to thank the Beinecke Rare Books and Manuscript Library, Yale University; Berg Collection of English and American Literature, The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations; the Bodleian Library Oxford University; the British Library; Boston Public Library; the Syndics of Cambridge University Library; the Syndics of the Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge; Haverford College, Connecticut; the Historical Society of Pennsylvania; the Hornby Library, Liverpool Libraries and Information Services; the Houghton Library, Harvard University; the John Rylands Library, Manchester; the Kenneth Spencer Research Library, University of Kansas; Luton Museum (Bedfordshire County Council); Massachusetts Historical Society; McGill University Library; the National Library of Scotland; the Newberry Library, Chicago; the New York Public Library (Pforzheimer Collections); the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York; the Public Record Offices of Bedford, Suffolk (Bury St Edmunds) and Northumberland, the Master and Fellows of Trinity College, Cambridge; the Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne; the Trustees of the William Salt Library, Stafford, the Wisbech and Fenland Museum; the University of Virginia Library.
A research grant from the British Academy made much of the archival work possible, as did support from the English Department of Nottingham Trent University.
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Your silence my dear Horace rather alarmed than surprized me, I concluded you were unhappy & that rather than communicate any disagreable intelligence you were silent. daily expectation prevented me from writing. it is not an hour since I received yours. but the weight of solitary reflection must be thrown off. learn the whole history of my situation & when you <know> what Philosophy has done for me — try my friend the same remedy.
you know my father was a tradesman. in those circumstances
which enabled him for twenty years to live happily & support a family in that honourable mediocrity most to be envied. three years
back he became the dupe of artifice & was ruined. he struggled in vain with misfortunes. an unfeeling brother refused assistance — & he was arrested not for his own debts but for
a bill endorsed for a deceitful friend. I saw him Horace in prison. I saw him
releasd just in time to reach home — meet fresh misfortunes & die of a broken heart. mine hav must
either have broken or grown callous. for what I am reservd I know not. few calamities can now afflict me for to these most dreadful
ones my own imprudence has added others. I contracted a debt for books when a false kindness conceald the misfortunes of my father. home you may easily imagine could be no longer agreable. I had always lived
with my Aunt. she is the best of women. but unmerited injuries — &
generosity (even prodigal) ill requited have soured her temper. the lodging house which my Mother supports herself by at Bath, is still more unpleasant I am compelld to
associate with fools & to know they think it condescension.
When Edmund Seward invited me to Sapey I gladly went. his
character commanded esteem. I saw Augusta Robertss
Johns attachment to Augusta. he describd his own situation & with a
generosity seldom equalld in Romance waited my reply declaring he would not interest himself for his brother. what remaind for me? at
the expence of my happiness I preservd that of two persons more deserving. I directed him to burn my letter. desird him to forget it
& promised what never can be performd to forget Augusta.
this last happened whilst I was at Brixton. compare your situation with mine Horace.
there was a period when I had almost abandond hope & resolvd to seek happiness in another world. at another time I have thought of selling myself to murder in the East Indies & relieve my family from a burden. but they look to me for future support. the church is allotted for my pursuit & when I reflect how unfit I am for the office — this appears the heaviest of my misfortunes. unfortunately my dear friend I am not stupid enough to be orthodox. doubts will intrude. I cannot stifle them I cannot find conviction & an oath <is> required at ordination — add to this that in my ideas the very existence of a priest is wrong. to obtain future support — to return the benefits I have received, I must become contemptible infamous & perjured.
on this most gloomy prospect one only ray of light appears. at the deaths of my fathers elder
brother & that of Lord Somerville
my eccentricities can no longer surprize. at the age of nineteen I have known more calamity than many who deserve it
more, meet with in long lives. the only society that could please me here is that of some young women sisters
I have written without reserve. never before did I totally unbosom myself. judge if I can be happy. how hard must be this heart that is yet whole!
let me turn to you. never were two young men more calculated for happiness or farther from it. your situation is
however preferable to mine — will you be surpassed in resolution? call up the latent energy of mind. seek refuge in study — &
remember no crime can equal despair. whilst life can be of service to one existing being it is criminal to quit it. what but this
witholds me either from seeking happiness in France in America or in the grave? but my family look forwards to my assistance — my
brothers
yet Horace I live. I make pursuits — draw out the most extensive plans & pursue them with resolution. my heart partakes of my friends happiness & has a pang in store for his affliction. I rise <in> the morning without expecting pleasure & lie down without wishing dissolution. my mind is fortified by philosophy. the conflict was severe but passion yielded. & at this period the least part of my misery or of my happiness is selfish. I feel more for my friends. below the malice of Fortune I feel myself above her influence. she now can have but few afflictions in store. her quiver must be almost exhausted. & whatever she can inflict I can sustain.
I could draw the comparison between our situations & point out how preferable is yours. consider them yourself. you have the affection of a deserving object. nothing but her becoming worthless can deprive you of it. I forbear to enlarge but you think me wrong. suffer me to say thus much — she must be unworthy of you if any earthly power can make her false. force can always be opposed. & remember in the most hazardous attempt you are sure of one associate.
excuse this. the subject is delicate & I have said perhaps too much.
let me turn to more chearful subjects. your verses were particularly good — & they have the additional merit of novelty in manner
& metre. write more. fame is a very late consideration — but let us remember that Pope acquired independance by his Homer.
study will not so effectuately please as composition. they do best mingled without order. I speak for myself. what I
have written you know. more than any author ever did at my age — in a very few years I shall out volume Lope de Vega