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Updated: June 14, 2025
My love to all whom you love, and believe me, with brotherly affection, with esteem and gratitude, and every warm emotion of the heart, Your faithful S. T. Coleridge." "London, 1797. Dear Cottle, If Mrs. Coleridge be in Bristol, pray desire her to write to me immediately, and I beg you, the moment you receive this letter, to send to No. 17, Newfoundland Street to know whether she be there.
Soon after this time I received from Mr. Coleridge the following letter. My ever dear Cottle, I will wait on you this evening at 9 o'clock, till which hour I am on "Watch." Your Wednesday's invitation I of course accept, but I am rather sorry that you should add this expense to former liberalities. Two editions of my Poems would barely repay you.
This unqualified approval determined me to publish the whole of the opium letters. I here give the next letter I received from Mr. Southey, when he had returned home, after his long excursion to Bristol, and the West of England, by which it will be perceived that no after inclination existed in Mr. S.'s mind to alter the opinion he had given. "Keswick, May 9, 1837. My dear Cottle,
The whole of the events thus recorded, appear through the dim vista of memory, already with the scenes before the flood! while all the busy, the aspiring, and the intellectual spirits here noticed, and once so well known, have been hurried off our mortal stage! Robert Lovell! George Burnet! Charles Lloyd! George Catcott! Dr. Beddoes! Charles Danvers! Amos Cottle! William Gilbert! John Morgan!
The Kirks disappeared quickly to-day, and some of the others went out, too. When Miss Thornton, Miss Sherman, Miss Cottle and Miss Brown were left, Miss Thornton said suddenly: "Say, listen, Susan. Listen here " Susan, who had been wiping the table carefully, artistically, with a damp rag, was arrested by the tone.
The extensive pile of buildings that confronts us at the outset was, as we know, erected by Mr. Ezra on the space formerly occupied by Scott Thomson's shop and the two adjoining houses, the one nearest being the residence of the manager of the firm, and the other for a considerable time by Morrison & Cottle, the saddlers. The Mansions contain twenty-four flats.
Dear Cottle, d'ye see, In writing to thee, I do it in rhyme, That I may save time, Determin'd to say, Without any delay, Whatever comes first, Whether best or worst. Alack for me!
Instead of the king, the hero, he constantly writes, "he the king," "he the hero," two flowers of rhetoric palpably from the "Joan." But Mr, Cottle soars a higher pitch; and when he is original, it is in a most original way indeed. His terrific scenes are indefatigable.
"I've always said that he knew something that made it very well worth while for this firm to keep his mouth shut," said Miss Cashell, darkly. "I'll bet you there's something in that," Miss Cottle agreed. "H. B. & H. is losing money hand over fist," Thorny stated, gloomily, with that intimate knowledge of an employer's affairs always displayed by an obscure clerk.
Unnumbered punctures, small, yet sore, Full fretfully the maiden bore, Till she her lily finger found Crimson'd with many a tiny wound, And to her eyes, suffused with watery woe, Her flower-embroidered web danced dim, I wist, Like blossom'd shrubs, in a quick-moving mist; Till vanquish'd, the despairing maid sank low. "Dear Cottle,
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