the same kind and cordial behaviour, which he had uniformly displayed for
nearly half a century, and which had never during that long period been
interrupted for a moment. Nor was steadfastness in friendship one of his
least excellencies. From the kindliness of his spirit, he excited an
affectionate esteem in his friends, which they well knew no
capriciousness on his part would interrupt: to which, it might be added,
his mind was well balanced, presenting no unfavourable eccentricities,
and but few demands for the exercise of charity. Justly also, may it be
affirmed, that he was distinguished for the exemplary discharge of all
the social and relative virtues; disinterestedly generous, and
scrupulously conscientious, presenting in his general deportment,
courteousness without servility, and dignity without pride. There was in
him so much kindliness and sincerity, so much of upright purpose, and
generous feeling, that the belief is forced on the mind, that, through
the whole range of biographical annals, few men, endowed with the higher
order of intellect, have possessed more qualities commanding esteem than
Robert Southey; who so happily blended the great with the amiable, or
whose memory will become more permanently fragrant to the lovers of
genius, or the friends of virtue. Nor would Southey receive a fair
measure of justice by any display of personal worth, without noticing the
application of his talents. His multifarious writings, whilst they embody
such varied excellence, display wherever the exhibition was demanded, or
admissible, a moral grandeur, and reverence of religion, which indirectly
reflects on some, less prodigally endowed, who do, and have, corrupted by
their prose, or disseminated their pollutions through the sacred, but
desecrated medium of song.
It was always a luxury with Southey to talk of old times, places, and
persons; and Bristol, with its vicinities, he thought the most beautiful
city he had ever seen. When a boy he was almost a resident among St.
Vincent's rocks, and Leigh Woods. The view, from the Coronation Road, of
the Hotwells, with Clifton, and its triple crescents, he thought
surpassed any view of the kind in Europe. He loved also to extol his own
mountain scenery, and, at his last visit, upbraided me for not paying him
a visit at Greta Hall, where, he said, he would have shown me the glories
of the district, and also have given me a sail on the lake, in his own
boat, 'The Royal Noah.' After dwelling on his entrancing water-scenes,
and misty eminences, he wanted much, he said to show me his library,
which at that time consisted of fourteen thousand volumes, which he had
been accumulating all his life, from the rare catalogues of all nations:
but still, he remarked, he had a list of five hundred other volumes to
obtain, and after possessing these, he said, he should be satisfied.
Alas! he little knew, how soon the whole would appear to him--less than
the herbage of the desert!
At this time, Mr. S. mentioned a trifling occurrence, arising out of what
happened to be the nature of our conversation, although it is hardly
worth naming to you, who so lightly esteem human honours. He said, some
years before, when he chanced to be in London, he accepted an invitation
to dine with the Archbishop of Canterbury but, subsequently, he received
an invitation for the same day, from the Duchess of Kent, to dine at
Kensington Palace; and as invitations from Royalty supersede all others,
he sent an apology to the Archbishop, and dined with more Lords and
Ladies than he could remember. At the conclusion of the repast, before
the Ladies retired, _she_ who was destined to receive _homage_, on proper
occasions, had learnt to pay _respect_, for the young Princess (our
present gracious Queen Victoria) came up to him, and curtseying, very
prettily said, 'Mr. Southey, I thank you for the pleasure I have received
in reading your Life of Lord Nelson.'