Grove, Highgate, June 1, 1830.
My dear Friend,—Do you happen among your acquaintances and connections to know any one who knows any one who knows Sir Francis Freeling of the Post Office sufficiently to be authorised to speak a recommendatory word to him? Our Harriet,[206] whose love and willing-mindedness to me-ward during my long chain of bodily miserablenesses render it my duty no less than my inclination to shew to her that I am not insensible of her humbly affectionate attentions, has applied to me in behalf of her brother, a young man who can have an excellent character, from Lord Wynford and others, for sobriety, integrity, and discretion, and who is exceedingly ambitious to get the situation of a postman or deliverer of letters to the General Post Office. Perhaps, before I see you next, you will be so good as to tumble over the names of your acquaintances, and if any connection of Sir Francis’ should turn up, to tell me, and if it be right and proper, to make my request and its motive.
Dr. Chalmers with his daughter and his very pleasing wife honoured me with a call this morning, and spent an hour with me, which the good doctor declared on parting to have been “a refreshment” such as he had not enjoyed for a long season.[207] N. B.—There were no sandwiches; only Mrs. Aders was present, who is most certainly a bonne bouche for both eye and ear, and who looks as bright and sunshine-showery as if nothing had ever ailed her. The main topic of our discourse was Mr. Irving and his unlucky phantasms and phantis(ms). I was on the point of telling Dr. Chalmers, but fortunately recollected there were ladies and Scotch ladies present, that, while other Scotchmen were content with brimstone for the itch, Irving had a rank itch for brimstone, new-sublimated by addition of fire. God bless you and your
Ever obliged and affectionate friend,
S. T. Coleridge.
30 May? or 1 June? at all events.
Monday night, 11 o’clock.
P. S.—Kind remembrances to Mrs. Green. I continue pretty well, on the whole, considering, save the soreness across the base of my chest.
CCXLIX. TO THOMAS POOLE.
1830.
My dear Poole,—Mr. Stutfield Junr.[208] has been so kind as to inform me of his father’s purposed journey to Stowey, and to give me this opportunity of writing; though in fact I have little pleasant to say, except that I am advancing regularly and steadily towards the completion of my Opus Magnum on Revelation and Christianity, the Reservoir of my reflections and reading for twenty-five years past, and in health not painfully worse. I do not know, however, that I should have troubled you with a letter merely to convey this piece of information, but I have a great favour to request of you; that is, that, supposing you to have still in your possession the two letters of the biography of my own childhood which I wrote at Stowey for you, and a copy of the letter from Germany containing the account of my journey to the Harz and my ascent of Mount Brocken, you would have them transcribed, and send me the transcript addressed to me, James Gillman’s Esq., Highgate, London.