DEAR J. P.
C.,—I know how zealously you feel for our friend S. T. Coleridge; and I know that you and your
family attended his lectures four or five years ago. He is in bad health and
worse mind: and unless something is done to lighten his mind he will soon be
reduced to his extremities; and even these are not in the best condition. I am
sure that you will do for him what you can; but at present he seems in a mood
to do for himself. He projects a new course, not of physic, nor of metaphysic,
nor a new course of life, but a new course of lectures on Shakspear and Poetry. There is no man better
qualified (always excepting number one); but I am pre-engaged for a series of
dissertations on India and India-pendence, to be completed at the expense of
the Company, in I know not (yet) how many volumes foolscap folio. I am busy
getting up my Hindoo mythology; and for the purpose I am once more enduring
Southey’s Curse. To be serious,
Coleridge’s state and affairs make me so; and
there are particular reasons just now,
| 1817 | HAYDON’S PARTY | 509 |
Yours (for Coleridge’s sake) in haste,
