S. T. C."
I continued to see Mr. Coleridge every day, and occasionally said to him, smiling, "Well, how much copy;" "None, to day," was the general reply, "but to-morrow you shall have some." To-morrow produced, if any, perhaps a dozen lines; and, in a favourable state of mind, so much, it might be, as half a dozen pages: and here I think I can correctly state, that Mr. C. had repeated to me at different times nearly all the poems contained in his volume, except the "Religious Musings," which I understood to be wholly a new poem. It may amuse the reader to receive one or two more of Mr. C.'s little apologies.
"My dear Friend,
The Printer may depend on copy by to-morrow.
S. T. C."
"My dear Cottle,
The Religious Musings are finished, and you shall have them on Thursday.
S. T. C."
Sometimes sickness interfered.
"Dear Cottle,