The following letter from Coleridge will serve to show how this change was foreseen and deplored by his truest friends:—
“Nether Stowey, Feby. 17, 1803.
“My dear Purkis, ... I have been here nearly a fortnight; and in better health than usual. Tranquillity, warm rooms and a dear old friend, are specifics for my complaints. Poole is indeed a very, very good man. I like even his incorrigibility in small faults and deficiencies; it looks like a wise determination of Nature to let well alone; and is a consequence, a necessary one perhaps, of his immutability in his important good qualities....
“I rejoice in Davy’s progress. There are three suns recorded in Scripture:—Joshua’s, that stood still; Hezekiah’s, that went backward; and David’s that went forth, and hastened on his course, like a bridegroom from his chamber. May our friend’s prove the latter! It is a melancholy thing to see a man, like the Sun in the close of the Lapland summer, meridional in his horizon; or like wheat in a rainy season, that shoots up well in the stalk, but does not kern. As I have hoped, and do hope, more proudly of Davy than of any other man; and as he has been endeared to me more than any other man, by the being a Thing of Hope to me (more, far more than my self to my own self in my most genial moments,)—so of course my disappointment would be proportionally severe. It were falsehood, if I said that I think his present situation most calculated, of all others, to foster either his genius, or the clearness and incorruptness of his opinions and moral feelings. I see two Serpents at the cradle of his genius: Dissipation with a perpetual increase of acquaintances, and the constant presence of Inferiors and Devotees, with that too great facility of attaining admiration which degrades Ambition into Vanity—but the Hercules will strangle both the reptile monsters. I have thought it possible to exert talents with perseverance, and to attain true greatness wholly pure, even from the impulses; but on this subject Davy and I always differed.... Yours sincerely
“S. T. Coleridge.”
It would seem that Coleridge’s doubts and fears were shared also by his host, and were communicated by him to the object of them. This, at least, may be inferred from the following extract from a letter from Davy to Poole:—
“London, May 1, 1803.
“My dear Poole, ... Be not alarmed, my dear friend, as to the effect of worldly society on my mind. The age of danger has passed away. There are in the intellectual being of all men, permanent elements, certain habits and passions that cannot change. I am a lover of Nature, with an ungratified imagination. I shall continue to search for untasted charms—for hidden beauties.
“My real, my waking existence is amongst the objects of scientific research: common amusements and enjoyments are necessary to me only as dreams, to interrupt the flow of thoughts too nearly analogous to enlighten and to vivify.
“Coleridge has left London for Keswick; during his stay in town, I saw him seldomer than usual; when I did see him, it was generally in the midst of large companies, where he is the image of power and activity. His eloquence is unimpaired; perhaps it is softer and stronger. His will is probably less than ever commensurate with his ability. Brilliant images of greatness float upon his mind: like the images of the morning clouds upon the waters, their forms are changed by the motion of the waves, they are agitated by every breeze, and modified by every sunbeam. He talked in the course of one hour, of beginning three works, and he recited the poem of Christabel unfinished, and as I had before heard it. What talent does he not waste in forming visions, sublime, but unconnected with the real world! I have looked to his efforts, as to the efforts of a creating being; but as yet, he has not even laid the foundation for the new world of intellectual form....
“Your affectionate friend
“Humphry Davy.”
Space will not permit of any more detailed account of Davy’s career as a lecturer at the Royal Institution. During the twelve years he occupied its Chair of Chemistry he held undisputed sway as the greatest living expositor of chemical doctrine, and session after session saw the theatre crowded with eager and expectant audiences.
This continued and increasing success was due not merely to his art and skill as a speaker, but to the remarkable and astonishing character of what he had to tell—of work which made the laboratory of the Royal Institution even more famous than its lecture-rooms.