C^otnell Untuerattg ffitbratg 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY 
 
 COLLECTED BY 
 
 BENNO LOEWY 
 
 1854-1919 
 
 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 

Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013549542 
 
LETTERS 
 
 TO 
 
 ELIZABETH KITCHENER. 
 
LETTERS 
 
 FROM 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 TO 
 
 ELIZABETH KITCHENER. 
 
 NOW FIRST PUBLISHED. 
 With an Introduction and Notes. 
 
 till the Future dares 
 
 Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be 
 An echo and a light unto eternity ! 
 
 London : 
 
 BERTRAM DOBELL, 
 
 77, Charing Cross Road, W.C. 
 
 New York : 
 DODD, MEAD & CO., 
 
 1908. 
 
 Vo 
 ce. 
 
A ssrj-'"^J 
 
" The Peculiar virtue of his [S/teiZey's] epistles is to 
 express the vtind of the poet as perfectly as Macaulay's 
 express the mind of the vtan of letters, or Welling- 
 ion's the mind of the general; . ... and a very 
 great Part of the pleasure to be derived from them is 
 the observation of their intimate correspondence with 
 the deliberate poetical achievement upon which they 
 arc an undesigned contmcntary. They prove that 
 Shelley's ideal ivarld was a real world to Shelley 
 himself; and contain nothing to suggest that the man 
 habitually lived on a lower level than tJte author." 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction xv 
 
 LE'XTER I. 
 
 Field Place, Horsham. 
 
 Wednesday, yh /une, iSll • • 3 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 Field Place, Horsham. 
 
 Tuesday, lUhJune, l8ll ... 6 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Field Place, Horsham. 
 
 Thursday, 20th June, 1811 , . 15 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Field Place, Horsham. 
 
 Tuesday, 2^thjune, iSlI. . . .22 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Cwm Elan, Rhayader. 
 
 Thursday, 2.t,thjuly, iSlI . , , 28 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 Cwm Elan, Rhayader. 
 
 Friday, 26th July, 18 1 1 . . . 34 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 London. 
 
 Saturday, loth August, l8li . . 39 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 London. 
 
 Monday, igt/i August, iSil . . 42 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 Coney Street, York. 
 
 Tuesday, %th October, l8n , . . 46 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 York. 
 Wednesday, 16th October, 1811 . . 50 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 Cuckfield. 
 
 Saturday, igi& October, 181 1 . . 59 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 Blake Street, York. 
 
 Saturday, 26th October, 1811 . . 63 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 Townhead, Keswick. 
 
 Friday, Ztk November, 1 811 . . 72 
 
CONTENTS. ix 
 
 PAGE 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 Chesnut Cottage, Keswick. 
 
 Tuesday, nth November, i8ii . . 78 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 Chesnut Hill, Keswick. 
 
 Thursday, 20th November, 181 1 , 84 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Wednesday, 2.0th November, 181 1 . 91 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Saturday, lyd November, iSll . 96 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Sunday, 2i^h November, i8ll , . lo6 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Tuesday, 26th November, i8li . . 113 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Monday, gih December, 1 81 1 , .123 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Tuesday, \oth December, 1811 . 125 
 
 LETTER XXn. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Sunday, lyh December, 181 1 r 134 
 
 LETTER XXIIL 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Thursday, 26th December, liil . 142 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Thursday, ind January , i8l2 . 151 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Tuesday, "jtk January, 181 2 . . 163 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Monday, 20th January, i8l2 . . 176 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Sunday, 26th January, 181 2 . . 192 
 
CONTENTS xi 
 
 PAGE 
 LETTER XXVin. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 Wednesday, 2gth January, 1812 204 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 Whitehaven. 
 
 Monday, yd February, 181 2 . . 21^ 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 Sackville St., Dublin. 
 
 Thursday, \ph February, 1812 . 222 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 Sackville St., Dublin. 
 
 Friday, 14M February, 1812 . 224 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 
 Sackville St., Dublin 
 
 Thursday, 20th February, 1812 . 238 
 
 LETTER XXXIII. 
 
 Sackville St., Dublin. 
 
 Monday, 2^th February, 1 81 2 . 239 
 
 LETTER XXXIV. 
 
 Sackville St., Dublin. 
 
 Thursday, z^lh February, 181 2 245 
 
xii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 LETTER XXXV. 
 
 Grafton St., Dublin. 
 
 Tuesday, loth March, 1812 . . 254 
 
 LETTER XXXVI. 
 
 Grafton St., Dublin. 
 
 Saturday, l^k March, 1812 . . 263 
 
 LETTER XXXVII. 
 
 Nantgwillt, Rhayader. 
 
 Saturday, \%th April, i8i2 . . 273 
 
 LETTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Nantgwillt, Rhayader. 
 
 Wednesday, z^t/t April, 1812 . 280 
 
 LETTER XXXIX. 
 
 Nantgwillt, Rhayader. 
 
 Wednesday, 2<jth April, 1812 . 284 
 
 LETTER XL. 
 
 Nantgwillt, Rhayader. 
 
 Friday y 1st May, 181 2 . , . 286 
 
 LETTER XLI. 
 
 Nantgwillt, Rhayader. 
 
 Thursday, 'jth May, 1812 . . 291 
 
CONTENTS xiii 
 
 PAGE 
 LETTER XLII. 
 
 Nantgwillt, Rhayader. 
 
 Tuesday, ind June, 1812 . . 299 
 
 LETTER XLIII. 
 
 Cwm Elan. 
 
 Saturday, 6th June, 1 8 12 . . 301 
 
 LETTER XLIV. 
 Cwm Elan. 
 Thursday, 11th June, 1Z12 . . 304 
 
 LETTER XLV. 
 Cwm Elan. 
 Thursday, iSth/une, 1 812 . . 307 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 Harriet Shelley to Elizabeth Hitchener. 
 Dublin. 
 Wednesday, iZtk March, 1812 . 311 
 
 LETTER XLVL 
 
 Cwm Elan, Rhayader. 
 
 \Sjuly, 181 1 319 
 
 NOTES 325 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Not the least of the gratifications 
 which I have had in introducing new 
 or unknown works to the reader is that 
 which I now feel in publishing for the 
 first time a complete edition of Shelley's 
 Letters to Miss Kitchener. To do 
 some service to the memory of the 
 great poet and the most single-minded 
 of men has long been my desire ; and 
 now that it has been placed within my 
 power to do this, my delight is only 
 dashed by the feeling of my own 
 inability to deal worthily and adequately 
 with my theme. I could have wished 
 indeed that a longer time had been 
 granted to me in which to accomplish 
 my task : as it is, it was necessary 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 either to do it rapidly or to leave it 
 undone ; and so it must needs be done 
 imperfectly. 
 
 Some day I believe that a great 
 tragic writer will take in hand the 
 dramatisation of the life of Shelley. 
 When this is done, the matter of the 
 first two acts, I think, will be derived 
 from the events of his early life up to 
 his marriage with Harriet Westbrook ; 
 the third and fourth acts will deal with 
 his separation from her, her death, and 
 his marriage to his second wife ; while 
 the fifth act will tell the story of his 
 life in Italy up to the final catastrophe. 
 So, at any rate, the poet's life seems to 
 me to unfold itself, if looked upon as 
 having been— as most assuredly it was 
 — a great tragic poem. In the present 
 volume we have the preparatory and 
 early scenes of the drama, which the 
 chief actor must have regarded, in spite 
 of some intervals of hope and exaltation, 
 as almost wholly a failure ; for I do not 
 
INTRODUCTION xvH 
 
 think he ever felt the assurance which 
 Shakespeare so proudly expressed as to 
 the eternity of his fame. We view in 
 these letters distinctly, and not as 
 through a glass darkly, what Shelley 
 was in his youth ; and see how his 
 nature, acting upon the circumstances 
 around him, and being in turn acted 
 upon by them, was moulding itself 
 into that fine flower of the human 
 spirit which we can now see in all 
 its incomparable beauty. Anyone of 
 ordinary penetration, to whom this 
 correspondence might at the time 
 have been communicated, could not 
 have failed to divine therefrom that 
 the writer was doomed to a stormy 
 career for himself, and to cause per- 
 plexity and unhappiness to most of 
 those with whom his fortunes might 
 chance to be interlinked. It may be 
 said that it is easy to prophesy after 
 the event ; but surely it needed no 
 conjuror in this case to come to the 
 
 b 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 conclusion I have indicated. What, 
 however, could not have been safely 
 prophesied, or indeed foreseen at all, 
 at the period covered by these letters, 
 is that which has alone given them 
 and all Shelley's writings previous to 
 the year 1813, value and importance ; 
 namely the fact that their author was 
 to become, if not the greatest poet of 
 the last century, at least one of the 
 three or four supreme singers of his 
 time. Looking back upon them with 
 the knowledge of what was to follow 
 we may indeed say that such a plentiful 
 crop of weeds at least attested the 
 fertility of the soil, and gave hope that 
 with proper cultivation flowers and 
 fruits would spring up with equal luxuri- 
 ance. But so rare are the instances 
 in which so bad a beginning has led 
 up to a final triumph that anyone who 
 had prophesied this in Shelley's case 
 would have been rash indeed. There 
 is no greater marvel in literature, 
 
INTRODUCTION xix 
 
 abounding as it does in marvels, than 
 the fact that the author of " Zastrozzi " 
 and " St. Irvyne " was to develope 
 into the writer of " The Cenci " and 
 " Prometheus Unbound." Yes ! even 
 if Shakespeare really wrote "Titus 
 Andronicus," it is not so extraordinary 
 that he should also have written 
 " Othello " and " King Lear," as is the 
 fact I have just mentioned. Had 
 Shelley lived ten years longer nothing 
 would have galled him more — perhaps 
 indeed even in the last few years of his 
 life it galled him much — than the 
 thought that he could not destroy the 
 evidences of his youthful inexperience 
 and folly. Yet it was really fortunate 
 that no misgivings prevented him in 
 his youth from writing and publishing 
 those formless abortions which we can 
 now only regard with mingled astonish- 
 ment and amusement. The art of 
 thinking must be acquired (how few 
 ever do acquire it !) before it becomes 
 
 b 2 
 
XX INTRODUCTION 
 
 possible to think to any purpose : the 
 use of words must be learnt before they 
 can be employed effectively : he who 
 desires to create a work of art must, 
 like the hero of Mrs. Shelley's story, 
 not even shrink from the risk of 
 creating a monster. To say that the 
 best way to write well is to write badly 
 is only a seeming paradox, not a real 
 one. Therefore, though it remains and 
 must ever remain unaccountable to us 
 how the young Shelley could pass from 
 the juvenilities of 1810 and 1811 to 
 the masterpieces of his later years, it is 
 certain that his early failures were the 
 indispensable preludes to his final 
 successes, and even contained within 
 them the germs from which his triumphs 
 were to spring. 
 
 Professor Dowden in his "Life of 
 Shelley " has made some use of these 
 letters, and has given a very clear and 
 good account of Shelley's relations 
 with Miss Kitchener. Mr. D. F. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxi 
 
 Mac-Carthy in his "Early Life of 
 Shelley" has also much to say about 
 the Kitchener correspondence. Never- 
 theless it seems necessary (since those 
 works are not within everyone's reach) 
 to give here at least a summary account 
 of the circumstances under which the 
 letters came to be written. I can add 
 little to the accounts which the two 
 writers named above have given ; and 
 therefore the reader will understand 
 that as regards the facts of the case I 
 am much indebted to them ; though 
 for all opinions expressed, or deductions 
 drawn from the evidence, I wish to be 
 held solely responsible. 
 
 The story of the Kitchener entangle- 
 ment — for that is what it really was — 
 is a strange one— as strange perhaps as 
 any of the events in a life which was 
 made up of marvels ; though it was not, 
 as it happened, so tragic in its sequel 
 as others were. Shelley alone, and no 
 one else of whom we have any record, 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 could have been the hero of such a ro- 
 mance. It was an episode in his search 
 for that ideal being, compounded of 
 beauty, wisdom, and virtue, not cold and 
 bloodless, but glowing with desire to 
 promote the welfare of humanity, which 
 his imagination had created, and which 
 of course was not to be found in any 
 mortal form. But Shelley's mistake, 
 after all, was not an uncommon one. 
 Most men idealise the women they 
 love ; or there would be a remarkable 
 falling-off in the number of marriages. 
 After a period of disillusionment, how- 
 ever, the average man learns, with 
 more or less grace, to reconcile himself 
 to the want of ideal qualities in his 
 partner. And until the ideal man 
 appears — and Shelley himself, we must 
 confess, fell short of the ideal standard 
 of humanity — the best companion for 
 the average man will be, not the ideal 
 woman, but woman as she is, with all 
 her faults and imperfections. Whether 
 
INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 Shelley ever realised this fact I do not 
 know J but he was growing so fast in 
 wisdom and knowledge of mankind at 
 the time of his death that he would 
 certainly have discovered it, as well 
 as many other truths of human nature 
 which were yet obscure to him, had he 
 lived a few years longer. Imagination 
 is an excellent servant but a bad 
 master. In his youth — and he had 
 hardly outgrown his youth at the time 
 of his death — Shelley's imagination 
 was certainly his master rather than 
 his servant : it made him a poet, but 
 it also made his career a life-long 
 tragedy. 
 
 Shelley's acquaintance with Miss 
 Hitchener began in 1811, while he 
 was staying at Cuckfield with his uncle. 
 Captain Pilfold. She was a school- 
 mistress at the neighbouring town of 
 Hurstpierpoint ; and a daughter of 
 Captain Pilfold was one of her pupils. 
 Her father, it appears, after having 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 been a smuggler, had become the 
 keeper of a public-house. Miss Kitch- 
 ener's parents were not qualified to 
 train her in mental discipline ; but she 
 owed much to her schoolmistress, Miss 
 (or Mrs) Adams, whom she termed 
 " the mother of her soul." When she 
 first met Shelley she was in her twenty- 
 ninth year, though she looked younger. 
 She was very thin, and somewhat tall 
 in figure, with strong and well-formed 
 features. She was dark in complexion, 
 had lustrous black eyes, and an abund- 
 ance of black hair. Altogether she vpas a 
 somewhat attractive-looking woman, 
 and her mental qualities were certainly 
 a good deal above those of the average 
 woman of her time. Her opinions 
 were liberal, both on politics and 
 religion ; but, like most of her sex she 
 did not care to set herself in open 
 opposition to the received opinions of 
 the world. She was, in short, a woman, 
 and not even a woman with masculine 
 
INTRODUCTION xxv 
 
 qualities ; but yet a woman of more 
 than ordinary ability, and with a nature 
 which responded eagerly to the ad- 
 vances of one who, in spite of the 
 difference in station between them, was 
 willing to treat her, not as her neigh- 
 bours did, as a visionary or eccentric 
 creature, but as a kindred spirit, anxious 
 like himself to promote the general wel- 
 fare of humanity, and the progress of 
 enlightenment. She could not but be 
 flattered at the thought that the well- 
 born young man, who, whatever men 
 might think of him, almost invariably 
 gained the good-will and respect, if not 
 the affection, of the women with whom 
 he became acquainted, was willing so 
 far to defer to her opinions as to give 
 them at least an attentive hearing. So 
 began one of the most singular corre- 
 spondences that ever passed between 
 man and woman. As that correspond- 
 ence (complete, as far as it exists) is in 
 the reader's hands it will not now be 
 
xxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 necessary for me to do more than to 
 make some observations upon points 
 which seem to require elucidation ; or 
 on which (to speak quite candidly) I 
 desire to express some opinions of my 
 own, perhaps of no great value, and 
 not too much to the purpose. ■ 
 
 I' At the beginning of this corrrespon- 
 dence, Shelley had not yet reached 
 his nineteenth birthday. He was 
 therefore little more than a boy; as 
 regards knowledge of the world indeed, 
 no more than a boy. That kind of 
 knowledge he was always slow to acquire. 
 Nothing indeed could ever teach it to 
 him but the bitterest experience and 
 the most cruel disenchantments. In 
 the first of these letters we find him 
 protesting that henceforth reason alone 
 shall be his guiding star through life. 
 How little did he know himself when 
 he made that avowal ! Did he, in fact, 
 ever in his life see things in the clear 
 light of reason ? Or rather, since that 
 
INTRODUCTION xxvii 
 
 is a light in which no one ever sees 
 them, did he ever see them in the Hght 
 in which they appear to the average 
 sensual (or sensible) human being? 
 Only on Bishop Berkeley's theory, 
 that mind creates what it sees and that 
 the things seen have no independent 
 existence, can it be said that Shelley 
 ever saw clearly anything in the world 
 outside his own consciousness. He 
 no more saw the world as it is seen by 
 ordinary humanity than Traherne or 
 William Blake did. Every object that 
 presented itself to his senses assumed 
 characteristics not belonging to itself, 
 but to the mirror which in receiving it, 
 transmuted it, it might be into some- 
 thing more precious, but certainly into 
 something different from what it really 
 was. Like Turner in his later paintings, 
 he saw all nature arrayed in hues of 
 the most iridescent splendour, or in 
 the most fantastic combinations of 
 colours. The moon as we behold it 
 
xxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 shining serenely in the sky does not 
 differ more from the barren and desolate 
 wilderness which astronomers tell us 
 it really is than Shelley's world differed 
 from the world of reality. Until this 
 fact is thoroughly grasped, a true and 
 sympathetic judgment of Shelley's 
 character — and only a sympathetic 
 judgment can be a true one — is im- 
 possible. 
 
 Perhaps the most remarkable thing 
 about these letters is the fact that it is 
 hard to look upon them as veritable 
 epistles which were indeed sent through 
 the post to a real and not an imaginary 
 recipient. Did we not know that there 
 can be no question as to their genuine- 
 ness, we should be tempted to believe 
 them to be the invention of some 
 novelist — and rather a female than a 
 male novelist — who wrote them with an 
 eye to their publication by the Minerva 
 Press. In the early part of the last 
 century novels which were written in the 
 
INTRODUCTION xxix 
 
 form of letters were very common, and 
 seem to have been very popular. It is 
 really wonderful how great is the 
 likeness between works of this class 
 and the contents of the present volume. 
 " But you have formed in your mind 
 the Deity of Virtue." " My dear friend 
 Hogg, that noble being, is with me, 
 and will be always, but my wife will 
 abstract from our intercourse the 
 shadow of impropriety." "But with 
 the sister of my soul I have no obliga- 
 tions : to her I feel no gratitude : I stand 
 not on etiquette, alias insincerity." 
 "With, I hope, eternal love." "I 
 hesitate not a moment to write to you : 
 rare though it be in this existence, 
 communion with you can unite mental 
 benefit with pure gratification." Pas- 
 sages like these, and a hundred others 
 which might be quoted, were the 
 commonplaces of the romancists of the 
 period, and were, I suppose, taken by 
 the readers of the time as the proper 
 
XXX INTRODUCTION 
 
 language of friendship and affection. 
 Strange contradiction ! if we look at 
 the caricatures of Gillray, Rowlandson, 
 and their contemporaries, we must 
 conclude (unless we are resolved to 
 think that their drawings had little or no 
 relation to the real life of the period) 
 that a generation more gross in 
 appearance, more vicious in morals, 
 and more selfishly intent upon mere 
 sensual gratification, never existed than 
 that of the early years of the nineteenth 
 century : while if we take the popular 
 novels of the time as our criterion, 
 we must believe that men and 
 women alike were then creatures 
 of the most refined sensibilities, the 
 most exquisite delicacy of thought and 
 the noblest impulses.^ That Shelley 
 
 ^ Of course I intend to say no more than 
 that this was the case as far as words and 
 professions went : as a matter of fact, the 
 actions and conduct of these creatures of senti- 
 ment were often anything but consistent with 
 their noble utterances. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxi 
 
 had been a great reader of novels of 
 this sort we are well aware ; and that his 
 head was full of crude ideas as to the 
 problems of life and the relations be- 
 tween the sexes, derived, partly at least, 
 from them, is also certain. Though we 
 have indeed our own schools of foolish 
 or foul fiction, these romances of false 
 sentiment and impossible incidents 
 seem to us now to bear so little relation 
 to sense or nature, that it is hard to real- 
 ise that they were once admired, and had 
 even a considerable influence over the 
 minds of their readers. Every now and 
 then we have an outcry against the so- 
 called "penny dreadfuls," or romances 
 of blood, piracy, and highway robbery ; 
 but it is doubtful if these things have 
 ever done half so much mischief as was 
 done in their time by these 
 effusions — yes ! ' effusions ' is exactly 
 the right word here — of overbubbling 
 sentimentality and affected emotion. It 
 is no wonder that the mind of Shelley, 
 
xxxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 quite uncritical as yet, full of visionary 
 notions, and devoid of that sense of the 
 humorous which is the great safeguard 
 against the formation of false views of 
 life, failed to perceive the hollowness 
 and artificiality of these productions. 
 I cannot doubt that they exercised a 
 considerable influence over his feelings 
 and his conduct. Do I wrong him in 
 thinking that all through the present 
 correspondence I^see him congratulating 
 himself on the fact that he was playing 
 a part in a series of romantic events such 
 as might well form the material for a 
 thriUing story ? He may not have been 
 conscious of this feeling ; but I believe 
 it was there nevertheless. He was 
 avid of ideas and sensations ; and 
 even if they were painful ones, he pre- 
 ferred them to the mere vacuity of 
 mind which was common enough then, 
 as it is now in ordinary humanity. One 
 might say indeed that he was always 
 going out of his way to find or create 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxiii 
 
 difficulties for himself in order that he 
 might derive from them some new sen- 
 sation, or become the Prometheus of a 
 new rebellion against the ancient gods. 
 All this while we are treating the lady 
 in the case somewhat ungallantly. Let 
 tis return to her, and ask how the corre- 
 spondence is to be regarded from her 
 point of view. Upon the whole she was, 
 I think, a lucky woman. She came into 
 contact with Shelley at his most im- 
 pressionable period, and remained for 
 more than twelve months the goddess 
 of his idolatry. It is true that it was 
 not to a not much more than ordinarily- 
 endowed schoolmistress, but to a 
 creature almost wholly created by his 
 own imagination, that Shelley was 
 devoted ; but that was a fact which she 
 would have been more than a woman 
 if she had perceived. To have been 
 for such a length of time the recipient 
 of the poet's most intimate confidences, 
 and to have had the pleasure of pouring 
 
 c 
 
xxxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 out to him in return on the most 
 generous scale her own effusions of 
 heart and brain, must have been almost 
 as great a pleasure as life could give 
 her. There was one drop indeed of 
 bitternesss in the cup of delight. She 
 would hardly have been a woman had 
 she not sometimes felt a sharp pang of 
 disappointment when she reflected that 
 much as Shelley admired her mental 
 qualities, it was without any thought of 
 her as an object of sexual affection. 
 Few women desire to be admired for 
 their intellect or talent, if that admira- 
 tion is not conjoined with some re- 
 gard for their persons ; and I feel sure 
 that Miss Kitchener would have been 
 content if Shelley had rated her mental 
 qualities much less highly, provided 
 she could have flattered herself that love 
 had at least a little share in attracting 
 him towards her. But apart from this 
 the correspondence must have been an 
 unmingled pleasure to her ; and such it 
 
TNTRODUCTION xxxv 
 
 would doubtless have'remained had she 
 not in an evil hour yielded to Shelley's 
 oft repeated invitations that she should 
 domesticate herself with him and his 
 newly-married wife. Could she have 
 resisted this temptation she would have 
 been able all her life to cherish the 
 thought that she, above all women, had 
 been the poet's most intimate friend and 
 confidante, and had even been in some 
 degree his teacher and inspirer. It is 
 true that Shelley must have at last 
 discovered, as he discovered in so many 
 other cases, that the idol of his imagina- 
 tion was but a woman and not a very 
 wise one ; but this need not have in- 
 volved any other consequence than a 
 gradual dropping of the correspondence, 
 for which the lady might have found 
 a hundred good reasons without 
 suspecting the true one. 
 
 Not even if Miss Kitchener had 
 possessed all the virtues and all the 
 wisdom with which Shelley's imagina- 
 
 C 2 
 
xxxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 tion had endowed her, could the ex- 
 periment of becoming a member of 
 his household have proved a success. 
 It was strange indeed that the lady, 
 who was ten years older than Shelley, 
 •and who was therefore not without 
 experience of the world, and knowledge 
 •of the characteristics of her sex, did 
 not perceive how impossible it was 
 that such an arrangemer/ could last. 
 A little thought would have shown her 
 how utterly unlikely it was that she 
 could hold her ground against the wife 
 and the sister-in-law, both of whom 
 would inevitably regard her as an 
 intruder, and who would be all the 
 more bitterly opposed to her the 
 more she was valued by Shelley. It 
 was, it must be confessed, a trial too 
 great for feminine human nature, and 
 one which no one but fehelley would 
 have expected it to endure. We may 
 be sure that immediately on Miss 
 Kitchener's arrival the contest between 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxvii 
 
 the three women, which could have 
 only one issue, was begun. Nor will 
 anyone who has the least acquaint- 
 ance with the character of the sex be 
 at any loss to imagine in what way the 
 campaign against the intruder was 
 conducted. Women have a far keener 
 eye to detect the weaknesses of their own 
 sex than men have ; and we may be 
 sure that the failings of the new-comer 
 were quickly discerned, and instantly 
 made known to her male friend and 
 admirer. Even had Shelley remained 
 altogether blind to the lady's defects of 
 temper and intellect, he would have 
 had eventually to choose between the 
 wife and the friend ; and, since the 
 wife still retained his affection, he must 
 have decided sooner or later against 
 Miss Kitchener. But no doubt he 
 soon came to see for himself that the 
 ' sister of his soul,' so far from being a 
 fit helpmate for him in his mission of 
 reforming the world, was not much 
 
xxxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 more than an ordinary woman with a 
 good many of her sex's weaknesses, 
 and with no great quaUties to redeem 
 them. It was unfortunate that Shelley 
 had seen her only on one or two 
 occasions before she came to live with 
 them. Had he met her more frequently 
 he could hardly have failed to discover 
 the limitations of her character, and 
 would have been saved alike from his 
 extravagant over-estimate of her talents, 
 and from his almost equally erroneous 
 judgment of her when she had become 
 the ' brown demon ' of his violent 
 aversion. 
 
 This is a matter which it is not 
 pleasant or profitable to dwell upon. 
 I will therefore pass over as lightly as 
 possible the remainder of the story. 
 After a residence of nearly five months 
 with the Shelleys, it became evident 
 that Miss Kitchener must be dismissed. 
 This was done as decently as the 
 circumstances allowed. An arrange- 
 
INTR OD UCTJON xxxix 
 
 ment was made whereby, in compensa- 
 tion for the sacrifice which she had 
 made in giving up her school, she was 
 to receive an annuity of ;^ioo from 
 Shelley. Whether she declined to 
 receive this, or whether any part of the 
 sum was ever paid to her, does not 
 appear; but looking at the fact of 
 Shelley's straitened means at this time 
 and for some time afterwards, it hardly 
 seems likely that the arrangement 
 resulted in any pecuniary advantage 
 to her. There is a letter of Shelley's, 
 written some little time after she had 
 left him, in which he speaks bitterly 
 and in very unmeasured terms of her. 
 But his disappointment in her had been 
 so great that he could not for some 
 time afterwards think of her calmly or 
 dispassionately. Afterwards no trace 
 is to be found of this episode either in 
 his letters or poems, unless we resolve 
 to find an allusion to her in an obscure 
 passage of " Epipsychidion." 
 
xl INTRODUCTION 
 
 One charge which Mr. Mac-Carthy 
 brings against Miss Hitchener I must 
 mention, though merely to pronounce 
 it to be incredible. Some months after 
 her dismissal a mysterious assault was 
 made upon Shelley at Tremadoc, where 
 he was then residing. Some have 
 been disposed to treat this assault 
 as a mere figment of Shelley's imagina- 
 tion ; but this can hardly have been the 
 case. No satisfactory explanation of 
 the affair has ever been given ; but 
 Mr. Mac-Carthy suggests that the 
 attack was made at Miss Kitchener's 
 instigation on account of the non- 
 payment of her promised annuity ! 
 Such an accusation, unsupported as it 
 is by anything more than mere conjec- 
 ture, deserves only to be unceremo- 
 niously dismissed. 
 
 A few words must be said as to the 
 after-life of Miss Hitchener. In 1822, 
 she published a poem entitled " The 
 Weald of Kent," calling herself on the 
 
INTRODUCTION xlr 
 
 title-page " Miss E. Kitchener," a fact 
 which shows that she was still, at the 
 age of forty, unmarried. There is little 
 poetry in the volume, but there are sense 
 and spirit in the verse, and the numer- 
 ous notes show that she had a mind 
 which was interested in many things, 
 and which was not ill-stored on 
 historical and antiquarian subjects. 
 From some " Apologetic Stanzas " it 
 appears that she still retained her 
 liberal opinions ; and one stanza seems 
 to show that she had a fond remem- 
 brance of her connexion with Shelley. 
 Afterwards, according to Professor 
 Dowden, she became a school-mistress 
 at Edmonton, where she was much 
 respected, and had some reputation 
 as a successful teacher. The same 
 writer rather leads us to suppose that 
 she was still a school-mistress at the 
 time of her death, and that she was 
 never married. This, however, was not 
 the case. She married (when or where 
 
xlii INTRODUCTION 
 
 I do not know) an officer in the 
 Austrian service, and went abroad with 
 him. Before leaving the country she 
 deposited with her soUcitor, Mr. John 
 Slack, the Shelley letters, together with 
 transcripts of some of her own letters 
 to him. These she never reclaimed, 
 and Mr. Slack heard no more of her, 
 so that what happened to her afterwards 
 is not now known.^ It is to be 
 regretted that it never seems to have 
 occurred to her that her recollections of 
 Shelley as he was during her acquaint- 
 ance with him, if written and published, 
 would have been received not ungrate- 
 fully or unheedfully by the poet's 
 admirers. But, after all, Shelley is his 
 own best biographer, and in the letters 
 in this volume, and in his other writings, 
 we have as complete a picture of his 
 life and character as Marcus Aurelius 
 
 ' These facts were communicated to Mr. 
 T. J. Wise by the late Mr. Slack. 
 
INTRODUCTION xliii 
 
 has given us of himself, or Boswell has 
 given us of Dr. Johnson. 
 
 Once started on such a theme as 
 Shakespeare or Lamb or Shelley, it is 
 not easy to make an end. All I have 
 written here seems but a mere prelude 
 to a long discourse, wherein, without 
 straying from the subject, most of the 
 matters which affect or interest mankind 
 would come under review. Shelley 
 touched life at so many points that to 
 write adequately of him one would 
 have to deal with all the great questions 
 of religion, morals, metaphysics, and 
 politics which have ever perplexed, and 
 (so far as may be foreseen) must 
 ever perplex the intellect of humanity. 
 Few men have, in so short a life as 
 Shelley's, covered so wide a range of 
 studies, or helped forward so greatly 
 the cause of freedom and enlighten- 
 ment. He might have claimed, like 
 Heine, that he was a dauntless soldier 
 
xliv INTRODUCTION 
 
 in the struggle for emancipation from 
 religious and political tyranny; and for 
 that reason, even if we do not take into 
 account his genius as a poet, he de- 
 serves to be gratefully remembered by 
 all who believe that falsehood can never 
 be preferable to truth, that the right is 
 ever to be chosen rather than the 
 expedient, and that the one unpardon- 
 able sin is to think that the doing of 
 evil may be the means whereby good 
 may be promoted. 
 
 In his Introduction to the Parchment 
 Library volume of selections from the 
 letters of Shelley, Dr. Garnett says 
 that if, among the great poets of the 
 early part of the last century, there was 
 any master of epistolary composition 
 " it was Shelley : Shelley or none." 
 And Matthew Arnold, it is well known 
 (too well known perhaps, since he did 
 not often make so great a mistake) 
 doubted " whether Shelley's delightful 
 Essays and Letters, which deserve to- 
 
INTRODUCTION xlv 
 
 be far more read than they are now, 
 will not resist the wear and tear of 
 time better, and finally come to stand 
 higher, than his poetry." With two 
 such testimonies as these on record it 
 is needless for me to express an opinion 
 of my own upon the matter. It must 
 be remarked, however, that Shelley as 
 an artist in letter-writing is not seen at 
 his best in the present volume. He 
 was in i8 1 1, as I have already observed, 
 a writer in the making, and not yet 
 made. It was not indeed until the 
 period of his residence in Italy, that he 
 arrived at his highest excellence as a 
 letter-writer.i The intellect of Shelley 
 
 1 Was it necessary for him to go there in 
 order that his genius should have its fullest 
 scope and reach its supreme development? 
 It seems so. Was it so also with Byron? 
 Probably, though not so certainly. That 
 Browning also derived much of his inspira- 
 tion from his residence in Italy is manifest. 
 And indeed it may be said of all our poets 
 that hardly any of them could have failed 
 
xlvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 was not a very precocious one. Not 
 to mention Chatterton, many writers 
 might be named who at or before nine- 
 teen have produced works, which, 
 if of no great value in themselves, have 
 been full of promise for the future. 
 But this, as I have already said, was 
 not the case with Shelley. I can see 
 absolutely no promise in his early verse 
 and prose of the great things which 
 were to follow. But when his intellect 
 began fairly to develop itself — I think 
 we may fix the period as between 
 his twentieth and twenty-first year — it 
 grew with phenomenal rapidity. I do 
 not think that even the mind of Keats 
 passed so quickly from juvenility to 
 maturity as did that of Shelley. From 
 his twentieth to his twenty-fourth or 
 twenty-fifth year his intellect made 
 more progress towards the supreme 
 
 to derive from a sojourn in that country a 
 great stimulus to their powers of thought and 
 invention. 
 
INTRODUCTION xlvii. 
 
 heights of achievement which are 
 possible to man, than most men, 
 even men of superior powers, make 
 in a long lifetime. All that he 
 saw, felt, or experienced became 
 matter for his genius to work upon, 
 and was re-created by the alchemy 
 of his imagination into forms of 
 divine beauty, or into music of such 
 magical harmony as had never before 
 been heard by the ears of mortal men. 
 And his mind grew only less rapidly in 
 critical, than it did in creative power. 
 Whether it could be truly said that 
 Shelley was the best of English critics- 
 I do not know ; but certainly not a- 
 little might be said in defence of such- 
 an assertion. With a mind of such 
 wonderful power of growth and ex- 
 pansion, controlled as it was by a 
 judgment of such penetrating discern- 
 ment, it is not too much to say that 
 Shelley, had he lived but ten years 
 longer, would have rivalled, at least iit 
 
xlviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 all the more peculiarly poetical 
 ■qualities, even Shakespeare himself.^ 
 
 The interest of the letters in this 
 volume depends not so much upon 
 their merit as literary compositions — 
 though some of them are, even from 
 that point of view, of singular excellence 
 — as upon the light which they throw 
 upon the growth and development of 
 their author's mind and genius. It is 
 not too much to say that they are the 
 most illuminating documents which 
 we possess for the period of his life 
 which they cover. If we knew abso- 
 lutely nothing from any other source 
 as to his proceedings during the months 
 from June, i8u, to June, 1812, we 
 should be able to construct from them 
 alone a complete narrative of all that 
 
 ^ It would, or course, be foolish to assert 
 that he could ever have rivalled Shakespeare 
 in humour ; but that quality, invaluable as it 
 is to a writer of any kind, is certainly not 
 .indispensable to the poet. 
 
INTRODUCTION xlix 
 
 happened to him during that period. 
 And that narrative might be absolutely 
 relied upon as representing the facts as 
 they appeared to Shelley's mind ; though 
 some allowance might have to be made 
 in a few cases owing to his inability to 
 see things in the light in which they 
 appeared to more prosaic persons. 
 And as the period of these letters was 
 also that of most of the events which 
 were destined to have the strongest 
 influence on the future career of the 
 poet, it need hardly be said that they 
 are on this account, not less important 
 than the later letters from Italy, much 
 as the latter surpass them in point of 
 literary art. 
 
 It was at first my intention to go 
 through these letters in detail, pointing 
 out by the way the manner in which 
 they accounted for and explained his 
 actions. But this it now seems un- 
 necessary to do, since it has already 
 been done about as well as it could be 
 
 d 
 
I INTRODUCTION 
 
 in Dowden's " Life of Shelley." To 
 that book the reader, who seeks for 
 further enlightenment, may confidently 
 be recommended. 
 
 Here I will bring these inadequate 
 remarks to an end, not because I 
 would not willingly continue them, 
 but because I fear I have reached " the 
 limits of endurance" as far as the 
 reader's patience is concerned. What 
 I have said I have said, as a famous 
 politician remarked on a certain occa- 
 sion. Whether it was worth saying I 
 .do not know ; but I do know that I 
 have derived a good deal of pleasure 
 from saying it. If the reader gets no 
 pleasure from what I have written 
 I shall be sorry; but after all my 
 remarks are at the worst merely a 
 makeweight which can in no way 
 diminish the value of the commodity 
 purchased. And so I take my leave, 
 fully believing that all good Shelleyans 
 (for whom alone this book is intended) 
 
INTRODUCTION li 
 
 •will receive it in the spirit of their 
 master, whose fixed principle it was to 
 deal with all men as if they were 
 influenced by the best motives only, 
 and were as free from mean or un- 
 generous thoughts as he was himself.'^ 
 
 B.D. 
 
 ^ It should be stated perhaps that these 
 letters were transcribed in 1896 by Mr. Thos. 
 J. Wise, who in 1900 printed them for private 
 circulation only, in an issue consisting of thirty 
 copies. The book is now reprinted from 
 stereotyped plates then made ; but the Intro- 
 duction and Notes are now added for the first 
 time. 
 
LETTERS 
 
LETTERS TO 
 ELIZABETH KITCHENER. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 Field Place, 
 
 [Pf^ednesiiay\yune S, 1811. 
 
 Dear Madam, 
 
 I desired Locke to be sent to 
 5'ou from London, and the Captain has 
 two books which he will give you — 
 7%« Curse of Kehama, and Ensor's 
 National Education. The latter is the 
 production of a very clever man. You 
 may keep the poem as long as you 
 please ; but I shall want the latter in 
 the course of a month or two, — before 
 which, however, I shall have the plea- 
 sure of seeing you. 
 
 B 2 
 
4 LETTERS TO 
 
 I fear our arguments are too long, 
 and too candidly carried on, to make 
 any figure on paper. Feelings do not 
 look so well as reasonings on black 
 and white. If, however, secure of 
 your own orthodoxy, you would at- 
 tempt my proselytism, believe me I 
 should be most happy to subject my- 
 self to the danger. But I know that 
 you, like myself, are a devotee at the 
 shrine of Truth. Truth is my God ; 
 and say he is air, water, earth, or 
 electricity, but I think yours is redu- 
 cible to the same simple Divinityship. 
 Seriously, however : if you very widely 
 differ, or differ indeed in the least, 
 from me on the subject of our late 
 argument, the only reason which would 
 induce me to object to a polemical 
 correspondence is that it might deprive 
 your time of that application which its 
 value deserves : mine is totally vacant. 
 Walter Scott has published a new 
 poem, T'/^ Vision of Don Roderick. I 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 5 
 
 have ordered it. You shall have it 
 when I have finished. I am not very 
 enthusiastic in the cause of Walter 
 Scott. The aristocratical tone which 
 his writings assume does not prepossess 
 me in his favour, since my opinion is 
 that all poetical beauty ought to be 
 subordinate to the inculcated moral, — 
 that metaphorical language ought to 
 be a pleasing vehicle for useful and 
 momentous instruction. But see Ensor 
 on the subject of poetry. 
 Adieu. 
 
 Your sincere 
 
 Percy Shelley. 
 
LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 Field Place, 
 \Tuesday\ June li, iSlI. 
 
 My Dear Madam, 
 
 With pleasure I engage in a 
 correspondence which carries its own 
 recommendation both with my feelings 
 and my reason. I am now, however, 
 an undivided votary of the latter. I 
 do not know which were most compli- 
 mentary : but, as you do not admire, 
 as I do not study, this aristocratical 
 science, it is of little consequence. 
 
 Am I to expect an enemy or an 
 ally in Locke? Locke proves that 
 there are no innate ideas j that, in 
 consequence, there can be no innate 
 speculative or practical principles, — 
 thus overturning all appeals oi feeling 
 in favour of Deity, since that feeling 
 must be referable to some origin. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 7 
 
 There must have been a time when 
 it did not exist; in consequence, a 
 time when it began to exist. Since 
 all ideas are derived from the senses, 
 this feeling must have originated from 
 some sensual excitation : consequently 
 the possessor of it may be aware of 
 the time, of the circumstances, attend- 
 ing its commencement. Locke proves 
 this by induction too clear to admit 
 of rational objection. He affirms, 
 in a chapter of whose reasoning I 
 leave your reason to judge, that there 
 is a God : he affirms also, and that 
 in a most unsupported way, that the 
 Holy Ghost dictated St. Paul's writings. 
 Which are we to prefer? The proof 
 or the affirmation? 
 
 To a belief in Deity I have no 
 objection on the score of feeling : I 
 would as gladly, perhaps with greater 
 pleasure, admit than doubt his exist- 
 ence. I now do neither : I have not 
 the shadow of a doubt. 
 
8 LETTERS TO 
 
 My wish to convince you of his 
 non-existence is twofold : first, on the 
 score of truth; secondly, because I 
 conceive it to be the most summary 
 way of eradicating Christianity. I 
 plainly tell you my intentions and my 
 views. I see a being whose aim, like 
 mine, is virtue. Christianity militates 
 with a high pursuit of it. Hers is a 
 high pursuit of it : she is therefore not 
 a Christian. Yet wherefore does she 
 deceive herself? Wherefore does she 
 attribute to a spurious, irrational (as 
 proved), disjointed system of desultory 
 ethics, — insulting, intolerant theology, 
 — that high sense of calm dispassionate 
 virtue which her own meditations have 
 elicited ? Wherefore is a man who has 
 profited by this error to say : " You 
 are regarded as a monster in society; 
 eternal punishment awaits your infi- 
 delity?" "I do not believe it," is 
 your reply. " Here is a book,'' is the 
 rejoinder. " Pray to the Being who is 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 9 
 
 here described, and you shall soon 
 believe." 
 
 Surely, if a person obstinately wills 
 to believe, — determines spite of him- 
 self, spite of the refusal of that part 
 of mind to admit the assent in which 
 only can assent rationally be centred, 
 — wills thus to put himself under the 
 influence of passion, — all reasoning is 
 superfluous. Yet I do not suppose 
 that you act thus (for action it must be 
 called, as belief is a passion) ; since the 
 religion does not hold out high morality 
 as an apology for an aberration from 
 reason. In this latter case, reason 
 might sanction the aberration, and 
 fancy become but an auxiliary to its 
 influence. 
 
 Dismiss, then, Christianity, in which 
 no arguments can enter. Passion and 
 Reason are in their natures opposite. 
 Christianity is the former ; and Deism 
 (for we are now no further) is the 
 latter. 
 
lO LETTERS TO 
 
 What, then, is a " God " ? It is a 
 name which expresses the unknown 
 cause, the suppositious origin of all 
 existence. When we speak of the soul 
 of man, we mean that unknown cause 
 which produces the observable effect 
 evinced by his intelligence and bodily 
 animation, which are in their nature 
 conjoined, and (as we suppose, as we 
 observe) inseparable. The word God, 
 then, in the sense which you take it, 
 analogizes with the universe as the soul 
 of man to his body ; as the vegetative 
 power to vegetables ; the stony power 
 to stones. Yet, were each of these 
 adjuncts taken away, what would be 
 the remainder ? What is man without 
 his soul ? He is not man. What are 
 Vegetables without their vegetative 
 power? stones without their stony? 
 Each of these as much constitutes the 
 essence of men, stones, &c., as much 
 make it what it is, as your " God " does 
 the universe. In this sense I acknow- 
 
ELIZABETH HITCH ENER. II 
 
 ledge a God ; but merely as a synonym 
 for the existing power of existence. 
 
 I do not in this (nor can you do, I 
 think) recognize a being which has 
 created that to which it is confessedly 
 annexed as an essence, as that without 
 which the universe would not be what 
 it is. It is therefore the essence of the 
 universe : the universe is the essence of 
 it. It is another word for " the essence 
 of the universe." You recognize not in 
 this an identical being to whom are 
 attributable the properties of virtue, 
 mercy, loveliness. Imagination delights 
 in personification. Were it not for this 
 embodying quality of eccentric fancy, 
 we should be, to this day, vnthout a 
 God. Mars was personified as the God 
 of War, Juno of Policy, &c. 
 
 But you have formed in your mind 
 the Deity of Virtue. The personifica- 
 tion — ^beautiful in poetry, inadmissible 
 in reasoning — in the true style of 
 Hindoostanish devotion, you have 
 
12 LETTERS TO 
 
 adopted. I war against it for the sake 
 of truth. There is such a thing as 
 virtue : but what, who, is this Deity of 
 Virtue ? Not the father of Christ, not 
 the source of the Holy Ghost ; not the 
 God who beheld with favour the coward 
 wretch Abraham, who built the grandeur 
 of his favourite Jews on the bleeding 
 bodies of myriads, on the subjugated 
 necks of the dispossessed inhabitants 
 of Canaan. But here my instances 
 were as long as the memoir of his 
 furious King-like exploits, did not con- 
 tempt succeed to hatred. Did I now 
 see him seated in gorgeous and tyrannic 
 majesty, as described, upon the throne 
 of infinitude, if I bowed before him, 
 what would Virtue say ? Virtue's voice 
 is almost inaudible ; yet it strikes upon 
 the brain, upon the heart. The howl 
 of self-interest is loud ; but the heart 
 is black which throbs solely to its note. 
 You say our theory is the same : I 
 believe it. Then why all this ? The 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 1 3 
 
 power which makes me a scribbler 
 knows ! 
 
 I have just finished a novel of the 
 day — The Missionary, h^ Mrs. Owenson. 
 It dwells on ideas which, when young, 
 I dwelt on with enthusiasm : now I 
 laugh at the weakness which is past. 
 
 The Curse ofKehama, which you will 
 have, is my most favourite poem ; yet 
 there is a great error — faith in the 
 character of the divine Kailyal. 
 
 Yet I forgot. I intended to mention 
 to you something essential. I recom- 
 mend reason. Why? Is it because, 
 since I have devoted myself unreserved- 
 ly to its influencing, I have never felt 
 happiness 1 I have rejected all fancy, 
 all imagination : I find that all pleasure 
 resulting to self is thereby completely 
 annihilated. I am led into this egotism, 
 that you may be clearly aware of the 
 nature of reason, as it affects me. I 
 am sincere: will you comment upon 
 this? 
 
14 LETTERS TO 
 
 Adieu. A picture of Christ hangs 
 opposite in my room : it is well done, 
 and has met my look at the conclusion 
 of this. Do not believe but that I am 
 sincere : but am I not too prolix ? 
 Yours most sincerely, 
 
 Percy Shelley 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 15 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Field Place. 
 \Thursday\ June 20, 181 1. 
 
 My Dear Madam, 
 
 Your letter, though dated the 
 14th, has not reached me until this 
 moment. 
 
 " Reason sanctions an aberration 
 from reason." I admit it ; or rather, on 
 some subjects, I conceive it to com- 
 mand a dereliction of itself. What I 
 mean by this is an habitual analysis of 
 our own thoughts. It is this habit, 
 acquired by length of solitary labour, 
 never then to be shaken off, which 
 induces gloom; which deprives the 
 being thus afifected of any anticipation 
 or retrospection of happiness, and leaves 
 him eagerly in pursuit of virtue, — yet 
 (apparent paradox) pursuing it without 
 the weakest stimulus. It is this, then. 
 
i6 LETTERS TO 
 
 against which I intended to caution 
 you : this is the tree which it is 
 dangerous to eat, but which I have fed 
 upon to satiety. 
 
 We both look around us. We find 
 that we exist We find ourselves 
 reasoning upon the mystery which 
 involves our being. We see virtue 
 and vice; we see light and darkness. 
 Each is separate, distinct : the line 
 which divides them is glaringly per- 
 ceptible. Yet how racking it is to 
 the soul, when enquiring into its own 
 operations, to find that perfect virtue is 
 very far from attainable, — to find reason 
 tainted by feeling, to see the mind, 
 when analysed, exhibit a picture of 
 irreconcileable inconsistencies, even 
 when perhaps, a moment before, it 
 imagined that it had grasped the fleet- 
 ing phantom of virtue ! But let us 
 dismiss the subject. 
 
 It is still my opinion, for reasons 
 before mentioned, that Christianity 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 17 
 
 strongly militates ^vith virtue. Both 
 yourself and Lyttelton are guiltyof amis- 
 take of the term " Christian.'' A Chris- 
 tian is a follower of the religion which 
 has constantly gone by the name of 
 Christianity, as a Mahometan is of 
 Mahometanism. Each of these pro- 
 fessors ceases to belong to the sect 
 which either word means, when they 
 set up a doctrine of their own, irre- 
 concileable with that of either religion 
 except in a few instances in which 
 common and self-evident morality coin- 
 cides with its tenets. It is then morality, 
 virtue, which they set up as the 
 criterion of their actions, and not the 
 exclusive doctrine preached by the 
 founder of any religion. Why, your 
 religion agrees as much with Bramah, 
 Zoroaster, or Mahomet, as with Christ. 
 Virtue is self-evident : consequently I 
 act in unison with its dictates when 
 the doctrines of Christ do not differ 
 from virtue ; there I follow them. 
 
1 8 LETTERS TO 
 
 Surely you then follow virtue : or you 
 equally follow Bramah and Mahomet 
 as Christ. Your Christianity does not 
 interfere with virtue : and why ? 
 Because it is not Christianity ! 
 
 Yet you still appear to court the 
 delusion. How is this ? Do I know 
 you as well as I know myself? Then 
 it is that this religion promises a future 
 state, which otherwise were a matter at 
 least of doubt. Let us consider. A 
 false view of any subject, when a true 
 one were attainable, were best avoided, 
 inasmuch as truth and falsehood are in 
 themselves good and bad. All that nat- 
 ural reason enables us to discover is that 
 we now are ; that there was a time when 
 we were not ; that the moment, even, 
 when we are now reasoning is a point be- 
 fore and after which is eternity. Shall 
 we sink into the nothing from whence we 
 have arisen ? But could we have arisen 
 from nothing ? We put an acorn into the 
 ground. In process of time it modifies 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 19 
 
 the particles of earth, air and water 
 by infinitesimal division, so as to pro- 
 duce an oak. That power which makes 
 it to be this oak we may call its 
 vegetative principle, symbolizing with 
 the animal principle, or soul of animated 
 existence. 
 
 An hundred years pass. The oak 
 moulders in putrefaction : it ceases to 
 be what it is : its soul is gone. Is then 
 soul annihilable? Yet one of the pro- 
 perties of animal soul is consciousness 
 of identity. If this is destroyed, in 
 consequence the soul (whose essence 
 this is) must perish. But, as I conceive 
 (and as is certainly capable of demon- 
 stration) that nothing can be annihilated, 
 but that everything appertaining to 
 nature, consisting of constituent parts 
 infinitely divisible, is in a continual 
 change, then do I suppose — and I think 
 I have a right to draw this inference — 
 that neither will soul perish ; that, in a 
 future existence, it will lose all conscious- 
 
 c 2 
 
20 LETTERS TO 
 
 ness of having formerly lived elsewhere, 
 — will begin life anew, possibly under 
 a shape of which we have no idea. — But 
 we have no right to make hypotheses. 
 This is not one : at least I flatter myself 
 that I have kept clear of supposition. 
 
 What think you of the bubbling 
 brooks and mossy banks at Carlton 
 House, — the allies vertes, &c. ? It is 
 said that this entertainment will cost 
 ;^i 20,000. Nor will it be the last 
 bauble which the nation must buy to 
 amuse this overgrown bantling of 
 Regency. How admirably this grow- 
 ing spirit of ludicrous magnificence 
 tallies with the disgusting splendours of 
 the stage of the Roman Empire which 
 preceded its dfestruction ! Yet here 
 are a people advanced in intellectual 
 improvement wilfully rushing to a 
 revolution, the natural death of all 
 great commercial empires, which must 
 plunge them in the barbarism from 
 which they are slowly arising. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 21 
 
 Don Roderick is not yet coiue 
 out : when it is, you shall see it,-" 
 Adieu. 
 
 Yours most sincerely, 
 
 Percy Shelley. 
 
22 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Field Place. 
 \_Tuesday\ yune 2S, 1811. 
 
 My Dear Madam, 
 
 Do not speak any more of my 
 time thrown away, or you will compel 
 me, in my own defence, to say things 
 which, although they could not share in 
 the nature, would participate in the 
 appearance, of compliment. 
 
 What you say of the fallen state of 
 Man I will remark upon. Man is fallen. 
 How is he fallen ? You see a thing 
 imperfect and diminutive ; but you 
 cannot infer that it had degenerated to 
 this state, without first proving that it 
 had anteriorly existed in a perfect 
 state. Apply this rule, the accuracy of 
 which is unquestionable, to Man. 
 Look at history, even the earliest. 
 What does it tell you of Man ? An 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 23 
 
 ancient tradition recorded in the Bible 
 (upon the truth or falsehood of which 
 this depends) tells you that Man once 
 existed in a superior state. But how 
 are you to believe this? how, in 
 short, is this to be urged as a proof of 
 the truth of the Scriptures, which itself 
 depends upon the previously demon- 
 strated truth or fallacy of them ? 
 
 You look around, you say ; and see 
 in everything a wonderful harmony 
 conspicuous. How know you this ? 
 Might not some animal, the victim of 
 man's capricious tyranny, itself possibly 
 the capricious tyrant of another, reason 
 thus ? " How wretched, how peculi- 
 arly wretched, is our state ! In man all 
 is harmony. Their buildings arise in 
 method, their society is united by 
 bonds of indissolubility. All nature, 
 but that of horses, is harmonical ; and 
 he is born to misery only because he is 
 a horse." Yet this reasoning is yours. 
 Surely this applies to all nature : surely 
 
24 LETTERS TO 
 
 this may be called harmony. But 
 then it is the harmony of irregular con- 
 fusion, which equalizes everything by 
 being itself unequal, wherever it acts. 
 
 This brings me again to the point 
 which I aim at — the eternal existence 
 of Intellect. You have read Locke. 
 You are convinced that there are no 
 innate ideas, and that you do not 
 always think when asleep. Yet, let me 
 enquire : in these moments of intellec- 
 tual suspension do you suppose that the 
 soul is annihilated? You cannot 
 suppose it, knowing the infallibility of 
 the rule — " From nothing, nothing can 
 come : to nothing, nothing can return ; '' 
 as, by this rule, it could not be annihil- 
 ated, or, if annihilated, could not be 
 capable of resuscitation. This brings 
 me to the point. Those around the 
 lifeless corpse are perfectly aware that 
 it thinks not : at least, they are aware 
 that, when scattered through all the 
 changes which matter undergoes, it 
 
ELIZABETH HITCH EN ER. 25 
 
 cannot then think. You have witnessed 
 one suspension of intellect in dreamless 
 sleep : you witness another in death. 
 From the first, you well know that you 
 cannot infer diminution of intellectual 
 force. How contrary then to all 
 analogy to infer annihilation from 
 death, which you cannot prove suspends 
 for a moment the force of mind. — This 
 is not hypothesis, this is not assumption : 
 at least, I am not aware of the admis- 
 sion of either. Willingly would I 
 exclude both — ^would influence you to 
 their total exclusion. 
 
 Yet examine this argument with 
 your reason : tell me the result. 
 
 You wish to " pass among those who, 
 like you, have deceived themselves." 
 I defy you to produce to me one who 
 like you has deceived herself. Deceive 
 the world like yourself, and I will no 
 longer object to the immoral influence 
 of Christianity : in short, let the world 
 be Christians, /»/4«^ca. Z«/ them not 
 
26 LETTERS TO 
 
 be Christians, and they would not be 
 Christians. 
 
 Atheism appears a terrific monster at 
 a distance. Dare to examine it, look 
 at its companions, — it loses half 
 its terrors. In short, treat the word 
 Atheism as you have done that of 
 Christianity : it is not then much. I 
 do not place your wish for justification 
 to prejudice, but to the highest, the 
 noblest, of motives. You have named 
 your God. The worship of that God 
 is clear, self-evident, perspicuous : it 
 alone is unceremonious, it alone refuses 
 to contradict natural analogies, can be 
 the subject of no disputes, the 
 countenancer of no misconceptions. 
 
 Since we conversed on the subject, I 
 have seen no reason to change my 
 political opinions. In theology, — 
 enquiries into our intellect, its eternity 
 or perishability, — I advance with 
 caution and circumspection. I pursue 
 it in the privacy of retired thought, or 
 the interchange of friendship. But in 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 27 
 
 politics — here I am enthusiastic. I have 
 reasoned ; and my reason has brought 
 me, on this subject, to the end of my 
 enquiries. I am no aristocrat, nor any 
 " crat" at all ; but vehemently long for 
 the time when man may dare to live in 
 accordance with Nature and Reason, — 
 in consequence, with Virtue : to which 
 I firmly believe that Religion, its 
 establishment, — Polity, and its establish- 
 ments, — are the formidable, though 
 destructible, barriers. 
 
 We heard from the Captain the other 
 day : I am happy to find that my aunt 
 is recovering. 
 
 On Monday I shall be in London on 
 my way to Wales, where I purpose to 
 spend the summer. My excursion will 
 be on foot, for the purpose of better 
 remarking the manners and disposi- 
 tions of the peasantry. I shall call on 
 you in London, and write to you from 
 the resting-places of my movements. 
 Your sincere friend, 
 
 Percy Shelley. 
 
38 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 CwM Elan, Rhayader, 
 
 Radnorshire. 
 Thursday \July 25, 1811.] 
 
 My DEAR Madam, 
 
 Be assured that, as long as you 
 are what you are, as long as I am what 
 I am — which is likely to continue until 
 our transmigration — you will always 
 occupy a most exalted place in my 
 warmest esteem. I am no courtier, 
 aristocrat, or loyalist : therefore you 
 may believe that your correspondence 
 would be resigned with the pain of 
 having lost a most valuable thing, when 
 I tell you so. 
 
 I am truly sorry to hear that my aunt 
 has not recovered : I shall write to the 
 Captain to-day. 
 
 You say that Equality is unattainable : 
 so, will I observe, is Perfection. Yet 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 29 
 
 they both symbolize in their nature : 
 they both demand that an unremitting 
 tendency towards themselves should 
 be made : and, the nearer society 
 approaches towards this point, the 
 happier will it be. No one has yet 
 been found resolute enough in dog- 
 matizing to deny that Nature made 
 man equal : that society has destroyed 
 this equality is a truth not more in- 
 controvertible. It is found that the 
 vilest cottager is often happier than the 
 proud lord of his manorial rights. Is 
 it fit that the most frightful passions 
 of human nature should be let loose, 
 by an unnatural compact of society, 
 upon this unhappy aristocrat ? Is he 
 not to be pitied when, by an hereditary 
 possession of a fortune which, if divided, 
 would have very different effects, he is, 
 as it were, predestined to dissipation, 
 ennui, self-reproach, and (to crown the 
 climax) a deathbed of despairing in- 
 utility? It is often found that the 
 
30 LETTERS TO 
 
 peasant's life is embittered by the 
 commission of crime. — (Yet can we 
 call it crime? Certainly, when we 
 compare the seizure of a few shillings 
 from the purse of a Nobleman, to pre- 
 serve a beloved family from starving, to 
 the destruction which the unrestrained 
 propensities of this Nobleman scatter 
 around him, we may almost call it 
 virtue). — To what cause are we to 
 refer this ? The noble has too much : 
 therefore he is wretched and wicked. 
 The peasant has too little. Are not 
 then the consequences the same from 
 causes which nothing but Equality can 
 annihilate ? And, although you may 
 consider equality as impossible, yet, 
 admitting this, a strenuous tendency 
 towards it appears recommended by the 
 consequent diminution of wickedness 
 and misery which my system holds 
 out. Is this to be denied ? Ridicule per- 
 fection as impossible. Do more : prove 
 it by arguments which are irresistible. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 31 
 
 Let the defender of perfection acknow- 
 ledge their cogency. Still, a strenuous 
 tendency towards this principle, how- 
 ever unattainable, cannot be considered 
 as wrong. 
 
 You are willing to dismiss for the 
 present the subject of Religion. As 
 to its influence on individuals, we will. 
 But it is so intimately connected with 
 politics, and augments in so vivid a 
 degree the evils resulting from the 
 system before us, that I will make a 
 few remarks on it. Shall I sum up the 
 evidence ? It is needless. The per- 
 secutions against the Christians under 
 the Greek Empire, their energetic 
 retaliations and burning each other, the 
 excommunications bandied between 
 the Popes of Rome and the Patriarchs 
 of Constantinople, their influence up- 
 on politics (war, assassination, the 
 SiciUan Vespers, the Massacre of St. 
 Bartholomew, Lord G. Gordon's mob, 
 and the state of religious things at 
 
32 LETTERS TO 
 
 present), can amply substantiate my 
 assertions. 
 
 And Liberty ! — Poor Liberty ! even 
 the religionists who cry so much for 
 thee use thy name but as a mask, that 
 they alone may seize the torch, and 
 show their gratitude by burning their 
 deliverer. 
 
 I should doubt the existence of a 
 God who, if he cannot command our 
 reverence by love, surely can have no 
 demand upon it, from Virtue, on the 
 score of terror. It is this empire of 
 terror which is established by Religion. 
 Monarchy is its prototype : Aristocracy 
 may be regarded as symbolizing with 
 its very essence. They are mixed : one 
 can now scarce be distinguished from 
 the other ; and equality in politics, like 
 perfection in morality, appears now far 
 removed from even the visionary 
 anticipations of what is called "the 
 wildest theorist." /, then, am wilder 
 than the wildest. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 33 
 
 I am happy that you like Kehama. 
 Is not the chapter where Kailyal 
 despises the leprosy grand ? You 
 would like also Joan of Arc hy 
 Southey. — Whenever I have any new 
 books, I will send them to you. 
 
 I will write again soon. I now 
 remain, with the highest esteem, 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 Percy Shelley. 
 
34 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 CWM El-AN. 
 [Friday] July 26, 1811. 
 
 My dear Madam, 
 
 I wrote to you yesterday 
 in a great hurry ; at least, very much 
 interfered with. I began politics ; and 
 although, from the mental discussion 
 which I have given the subject, I do 
 not think my arguments are incon- 
 clusive, still they may be obscure. 
 
 What I contend for is this. Were 
 I a moral legislator, I would propose 
 to my followers that they should arrive 
 at the perfection of morality. Equality 
 is natural : at least, many evils totally 
 inconsistent with a state which 
 symbolizes with Nature prevail in 
 every system of inequality. I will 
 assume this point. Therefore, even 
 although it be your opinion, or my 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 35 
 
 opinion, that equality is unattainable 
 except by a parcel of peas, or beans, 
 still political virtue is to be estimated 
 in proportion as it approximates to 
 this ideal point of perfection, however 
 unattainable. But what can be worse 
 than the present aristocratical system ? 
 Here are, in England, 10,000,000, only 
 500,000 of whom live in a state of 
 ease : the rest earn their livelihood 
 with toil and care. If therefore these 
 500,000 aristocrats, who possess re- 
 sources of various degrees of immensity, 
 were to permit these resources to be 
 resolved into their original stock (that 
 is, entirely to destroy it), if each earned 
 his own living (which I do not see is 
 at all incompatible with the height of 
 intellectual refinement), then I affirm 
 that each would be happy and con- 
 tented — that crime, and the temptation 
 to crime, would scarcely exist. — " But 
 this paradise is all visionary." — Why 
 is it visionary ? Have you tried ? The 
 
 D 2 
 
36 LETTERS TO 
 
 first inventor of a plough doubtless 
 was looked upon as a mad innovator : 
 he who altered it from its original 
 absurd form doubtless had to contend 
 with great prejudices in its disfavour. 
 But is it not worth while that (although it 
 may not be certain) the remaining 
 9,500,000 victims to its infringement 
 [should] make some exertions in favour 
 of a system evidently founded on the 
 first principles of natural justice ? If two 
 children were placed together in a 
 desert island, and they found some 
 scarce fruit, would not justice dictate 
 an equal division ? If this number is 
 multiphed to any extent of which 
 number is capable, — if these children 
 are men, families, — is not justice 
 capable of the same extension and 
 multiplication ? Is it not the same ? 
 Are not its decrees invariable ? and, 
 for the sake of his earth-formed 
 schemes, has the politician a right to 
 infringe upon that which itself consti- 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 37 
 
 tutes all right and wrong? Surely 
 not. 
 
 I know why you differ from me on 
 this point. It is because you suspect 
 yourself of partiality for the cause 
 with which you agree. I must say, 
 my friend and fellow-traveller in the 
 path of truth, that this is wrong. You 
 are unworthy of the suspicion with 
 which you regard yourself. 
 
 I am now with people who, strange 
 to say, never think : I have, however, 
 much more of my own society than of 
 theirs. Nature is here marked with 
 the most impressive characters of 
 lordliness and grandeur. Once I was 
 tremulously alive to tones and scenes : 
 the habit of analysing feelings, I fear, 
 does not agree with this. It is 
 spontaneous ; and, when it becomes 
 subject to consideration, ceases to 
 exist. But you do right to indulge 
 feeUng, where it does not miUtate with 
 reason : I wish I could too. 
 
38 LETTERS TO 
 
 This valley is covered with trees : so 
 are partly the mountains that surround 
 it. Rocks, piled on each other to an 
 immense height, and clouds intersecting 
 them, — in other places, waterfalls midst 
 the umbrage of a thousand shadowy 
 trees, — form the principal features of 
 the scenery. I am not wholly unin- 
 fluenced by its magic in my lonely 
 walks. But I long for a thunder- 
 storm. 
 
 Adieu : let me soon hear from 
 you. 
 
 Your most sincere friend, 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 39 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 London. 
 \Saturday\ Aug. \o, 1811. 
 
 My dear Madam, 
 
 I understand that there is a 
 letter for me at Cwm Elan. I have 
 not received it. Particular business 
 has occasioned my sudden return. I 
 shall be at Field Place to-morrow, and 
 shall possibly see you before 
 September. 
 
 My engagements have hindered 
 much devotion of time to a consider- 
 ation of the subject of our discussion. 
 I here see palaces the thirtieth part of 
 which would bless with every requisite 
 of habitation, their pampered owners ; 
 theatres converted from schools of 
 morality into places for the inculcation 
 of abandonment of every moral 
 principle ; whilst the haughty aristocrat 
 
40 LETTERS TO 
 
 and the commercial monopolist unite in 
 sanctioning by example the depravities 
 to which the importations of the latter 
 give rise. 
 
 All monopolies are bad. I do not 
 however, when condemning commercial 
 aggrandizement, think it in the least 
 necessary to panegyrize hereditary 
 accumulation. Both are flagrant 
 encroachments on liberty : neither can 
 be used as an antidote for the poison 
 of the other. We will suppose even 
 the best aristocrat. Yet look at our 
 noblemen : take the Court Calendar : 
 hear even what the world, who judges 
 favourably of grandeur, narrates con- 
 cerning their actions. The very 
 encomia which it confers are insults 
 to reason. Take the best aristocrat. 
 He monopoUzes a large house, gold 
 dishes, glittering dresses : his very 
 servants are decked in magnificence. 
 How does one monopoly differ from 
 another, — that of the mean Duke from 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 41 
 
 that of the mean pacer between the 
 pillars of the Exchange ? 
 
 Having once established the position 
 that a state of equality, if attainable, 
 were preferable to any other, I think 
 that the unavoidable inference must 
 induce us to confess the irrationality of 
 Aristocracy. Intellectual inequality 
 could never be obviated until moral 
 perfection be attained : then all 
 distinctions would be levelled. 
 
 Adieu. 
 
42 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER VI 1 1. 
 
 \]Monday,\ August \<)th, [iSll.] 
 
 My dear Madam, 
 
 Your letter yesterday disap- 
 pointed me; not because it set me 
 right in one of those trivial sacrifices 
 to custom which I am wont, through 
 their real unimportance, to overlook, 
 but because, in place of liberal ideas 
 which have ever marked those 
 characters of your mind which I have 
 had an opportunity of observing, I 
 noticed that you said : " though you 
 should have disregarded the real 
 difference that exists between us.'' 
 You remind me thus of a misfortune 
 which I could never have obviated : 
 not that the sturdiest aristocrat could 
 suppose that a real difference sub- 
 sisted between me, who am sprung 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 43 
 
 from a race of rich men, and you, 
 whom talents and virtue have lifted 
 from the obscurity of poverty. If 
 there is any difference, surely the 
 balance of real distinction would fall 
 on your side. You remind me of what 
 I hate, despise, and shudder at, what 
 willingly I would not : and the part 
 which I can emancipate myself from, 
 in this detestable coil of primaeval 
 prejudice, that will I free myself from. 
 Have I not forsworn all this ? Am I 
 not a worshipper of Equality ? It was 
 the custom, even with the Jews, never to 
 insult the Gods of other nations : why 
 then do you put a sarcasm so galling 
 upon the object of my adoration ? 
 
 Let us consider. In a former letter 
 you say that " Nature has decidedly 
 distinguished degrees among a degen- 
 erate race." Admit for a moment 
 that the composition of soul varies in 
 every recipient, still Nature must have 
 been blind to give a kingdom to a foolj 
 
44 LETTERS TO 
 
 a dukedom to a sensualist, an empire 
 to a tyrant. If she thus distinguishes 
 degrees, how does the wildest anarchy 
 differ from Nature's law ? or rather, 
 how are they not, by this account, 
 synonymous ? — Again : Soul may be 
 proved to be, not that which changes 
 its first principles in every new 
 recipient, but an elementary essence, 
 an essence of first principles which 
 bears the mark of casual or of intended 
 impressions. For instance : the non- 
 existence of innate ideas is proved by 
 Locke ; he challenges any one to find 
 an idea which is innate. This is 
 conclusive. If no ideas are innate, 
 then all ideas must take their origin 
 subsequent to the transfusion of the 
 soul. In consequence of this indis- 
 putable truth, intellect varies but in 
 the impressions with which casuality 
 or inattention has marked it. Where 
 is now Nature, distinguishing degrees ? 
 or rather do you not see that Art has 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER 45 
 
 assumed that office, even in the gifts of 
 the mind ? 
 
 I see the impropriety of dining with 
 you — even of calling upon you. I 
 shall not willingly, however, give up the 
 friendship and correspondence of one 
 whom, however superior to me, my 
 arrogance calls an equal. 
 
 Adieu. 
 
 Yours most sincerely, 
 
 Percy S. 
 
 Excuse the haste in which I write this, 
 
46 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 York. Miss Dancer's, Coney Street. 
 \Tuesday, 8 October, 1811.] 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 May I still call you so ? or have 
 I forfeited, by the equivocality of my 
 conduct, the esteem of the wise and 
 virtuous? have I disgraced the pro- 
 fessions of that virtue which has been 
 the idol of my love, whose votaries 
 have been the brothers and sisters of 
 my soul? 
 
 When last I saw you, 1 was about to 
 enter into the profession of physic. 1 
 told you so. I represented my views 
 as unembarrassed ; myself at liberty to 
 experiment upon morality, uninfluenced 
 by the possibility of giving j)ain to 
 others. You will know that my 
 relational connexions were such as 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER 47 
 
 could have no hold but that of con- 
 sanguinity : how weak this is may be 
 referred to the bare feeling to explain. 
 I saw you. In one short week, how 
 changed were all my prospects ! How 
 are we the slaves of circumstances ! 
 how bitterly I curse their bondage ! 
 Yet this was unavoidable. 
 
 You will enquire how I, an Atheist, 
 chose to subject myself to the ceremony 
 of marriage, — how my conscience could 
 consent to it. This is all I am now 
 anxious of elucidating. Why I united 
 myself thus to a female, as it is not in 
 itself immoral, can make no part in 
 diminution of my rectitude : this, if 
 misconceived, may. 
 
 / am indifferent to reputation : all are 
 not. Reputation, and its consequent 
 advantages, are rights to which every 
 individual may lay claim, unless he has 
 justly forfeited them by an immoral 
 action. Political rights also, which 
 justly appertain equally to each, ought 
 
48 LETTERS TO 
 
 only to be forfeited by immorality. 
 Yet both of these must be dispensed 
 with, if two people live together without 
 having undergone the ceremony of 
 marriage. How unjust this is ! Cer- 
 tainly it is not inconsistent with morality 
 to evade these evils. How useless to 
 attempt, by singular examples, to re- 
 novate the face of society, until reason- 
 ing has made so comprehensive a 
 change as to emancipate the experi- 
 mentalist from the resulting evils, and 
 the prejudice with which his opinion 
 (which ought to have weight, for the 
 sake of virtue) would be heard by the 
 immense majority ! — These are my 
 reasons. 
 
 Will you write to me? Shall we 
 proceed in our discussions of Nature 
 and Morality ? Nay more : will you 
 be my friend, may I be yours ? The 
 shadow of worldly impropriety is 
 effaced by my situation. Our strictest 
 intercourse would excite none of those 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER 49 
 
 disgusting remarks with yi\\v^ females of 
 the present day think right to load the 
 friendships of opposite sexes. Nothing 
 would be transgressed by your even living 
 with us. Could you not pay me a visit ? 
 My dear friend Hogg, that noble being, 
 is with me, and will be always : but 
 my wife will abstract from our inter- 
 course the shadow of impropriety. 
 How happy should I be to see you I 
 There is no need to tell you this ; and 
 my happiness is not so great that it 
 becomes a friend to be sparing in that 
 society which constitutes its only charm. 
 I will close this letter. I have 
 enough to say, but will wait for your 
 answer until I write again. 
 
 Your great friend, 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
so LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 York, 
 \Wednesday, i6] October, 1811. 
 
 I write to-day, because not to 
 answer such a letter as yours instantly, 
 eagerly — I will add, gratefully — were 
 impossible. But I shall be at Cuckfield 
 on Friday night. My dearest friend 
 (for I will call you so), you, who under- 
 stand my motives to action, which, I 
 flatter myself, unisonize with your own, 
 — you, who can contemn the world's 
 prejudices, whose views are mine, — I 
 will dare to say I love: nor do I risk 
 the possibility of that degrading and 
 contemptible interpretation of this 
 sacred word, nor do I risk the sup- 
 position that the lump of organized 
 matter which enshrines thy soul excites 
 the love which that soul alone dare 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 51 
 
 claim. Henceforth will I be yours — 
 yours with truth, sincerity, and unreserve. 
 Not a thought shall arise which shall 
 not seek its responsion ia your bosom ; 
 not a motive of action shall be un- 
 enwafted by your cooler reason : and, by 
 so doing, do I not choose a criterion 
 more infallible than my own conscious- 
 ness of right and wrong (though this 
 may not be required) ? for what conflict 
 of a frank mind is more terrible than the 
 balance between two opposing imparl- 
 ances of morality ? This is surely the 
 only wretchedness which a mind who 
 only acknowledges virtue its master can 
 feel. 
 
 I leave York to-night for Cuckfield, 
 where I shall arrive on Friday. That 
 mistaken man, my father, has refused 
 us money, and commanded that our 
 names should never be mentioned. I 
 had thought that this blind resentment 
 had long been banished to the regions 
 of Dullness, comedies and farces ; or 
 
 £ 2 
 
52 LETTERS TO 
 
 was used merely to augment the 
 difficulties, and consequently the at- 
 tachment, of the hero and heroine of a 
 modem novel. I have written fre- 
 quently to this thoughtless man, and 
 am now determined to visit him, in 
 order to try the force of truth ; though 
 I must confess I consider it nearly as 
 hyperbolical as "music rending the 
 knotted oak." Some philosophers have 
 ascribed indefiniteness to the powers of 
 intellect; but I question whether it 
 ever would make an ink-stand capable 
 of free agency. Is this too severe ? 
 But, you know, I, like the God of the 
 JewSj set myself up as no respec- 
 ter of persons ; and relationship is con- 
 sidered by me as bearing that relation 
 to reason which a band' of straw does 
 to fire. I love you more than any 
 relation ; I profess you are the sis- 
 ter of my soul, its dearest sister; 
 and I think the component parts 
 of that soul must undergo complete 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 53 
 
 dissolution before its sympathies can 
 perish. 
 
 Some philosophers have taken a 
 world of pains to persuade us that 
 congeniality is but romance. Cer- 
 tainly, reason can never either account 
 for, or prove the truth of, feeling. I 
 have considered it in every possible 
 light; and reason tells me that death 
 is the boundary of the life of man : yet 
 I feel, I believe, the direct contrary. 
 The senses are the only inlets of know- 
 ledge, and there is an inward sense 
 that has persuaded me of this. 
 
 How I digress ! how does one rea- 
 soning lead to another, involving a 
 chain of endless considerations ! Cer- 
 tainly, everything is connected. Both 
 in the moral and physical world there 
 is a train of events; and (though not 
 likely) it is impossible to deny that 
 the turn which my mind has taken 
 originated from the conquest of England 
 by WiUiam of Normandy. 
 
54 LETTERS TO 
 
 By the bye, I have something to talk 
 to you of — Money. I covet it. — 
 " What, you ? you a miser ! you desire 
 gold ! you a slave to the most con- 
 temptible of ambitions ! " — No, I am 
 not ; but I still desire money, and I 
 desire it because 1 think I know the 
 use of it. It commands labour, it gives 
 leisure ; and to give leisure to those 
 who will employ it in the forwarding 
 of truth is the noblest present an in- 
 dividual can make to the whole. I 
 will open to you my views. On my 
 coming to the estate which, worldly 
 considered, is mine, but which actually 
 I have not more, perhaps not so great 
 a right to, as you, — ^justice demands 
 that it should be shared between my 
 sisters. Does it, or does it not ? Man- 
 kind are as much my brethren and 
 sisters as they : all ought to share. 
 This cannot be; it must be confined. 
 But thou art a sister of my soul, he is 
 its brother : suiely these have a right. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 55 
 
 Consider this subject, write to me on 
 it. Divest yourself of individuality: 
 dare to place self at a distance, which 
 I know you can : spurn those bugbears, 
 gratitude, obhgation, and modesty. 
 The world calls these "virtues." They 
 are well enough for the world. It 
 wants a chain : it hath forged one for 
 itself. But with the sister of my soul 
 I have no obligation : to her I feel no 
 gratitude : I stand not on etiquette, 
 alias insincerity. The ideas excited by 
 these words are varying, frequently un- 
 just, always selfish. Love, in the sense 
 in which we understand it, needs not 
 these succedanea. — Consider the ques- 
 tion which I have proposed to you. I 
 know you are above that pretended 
 confession of your own imbecility which 
 the world has nicknamed modesty, and 
 you must be conscious of your own high 
 worth. To underrate your powers is an 
 evil of greater magnitude than the con- 
 trary: the former benumbs, whilst the 
 
56 LETTERS TO 
 
 latter excites to action. My friend 
 Hogg and myself consider our property 
 in common : that the day will arrive 
 when we shall do the same is the wish 
 of my soul, whose consummation I 
 most eagerly anticipate. 
 
 My uncle is a most generous fellow. 
 Had he not assisted us, we should still 
 [have] been chained to the filth and 
 commerce of Edinburgh. Vile as aris- 
 tocracy is, commerce — purse-proud 
 ignorance and illiterateness — is more 
 contemptible. 
 
 I still see Religion to be immoral. 
 When I contemplate these gigantic 
 piles of superstition — when I consider, 
 too, the leisure for the exercise of mind 
 which the labour which erected them 
 annihilated — I set them down as so 
 many retardations of the period when 
 Truth becomes omnipotent. Every 
 useless ornament — the pillars, the iron 
 railings, the juttings of wainscot, and 
 (as Southey says) the cleaning of grates 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 57 
 
 • — are all exertions of bodily labour 
 which — ^though trivial, separately con- 
 sidered, — when united, destroy a vast 
 proportion of this invaluable leisure. 
 How many things could we do with- 
 out ! How unnecessary are mahogany 
 tables, silver vases, myriads of viands 
 and liquors, expensive printing, — that, 
 worst of all Look even [around some] 
 little habitation, — the dirtiest cottage, 
 which [exhibits] myriads of instances 
 where ornament is sacrificed [? pre- 
 ferred] to cleanliness or leisure. 
 
 Whither do I wander ? Certainly, I 
 wish to prove, by my own proper 
 prowess, that the chain which I spoke 
 of is real. 
 
 The letter at Field Place has been 
 opened and read, exposed to all the 
 remarks of impertinence : not that they 
 understood it. 
 
 Henceforth I shall have no secrets 
 from you; and indeed I have much 
 then to tell you — wonderful changes 1 
 
58 LETTERS TO 
 
 Direct to me at the Captain's until you 
 hear again : but I only stay two days 
 in Sussex, — but I shall see you. 
 Sister of my soul, adieu. 
 
 With, I hope, eternal love, 
 Your 
 
 Percy Shei.ley. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 59 
 
 LETTER XI, 
 
 CUCKFIELD. 
 {^Saturday, 19 October, 181 1.?] 
 
 I do not know that I shall have time 
 to see you, my dear friend, whilst in 
 Sussex. On Monday or Tuesday I 
 ■must return. The intervening periods 
 will be employed in the hateful task of 
 combating prejudice and mistake. Yet 
 our souls can meet, for these become 
 embodied on paper: all else is even 
 emptier than the breath of fame. 
 
 I omitted mentioning something in 
 my last : 'tis of your visiting us. You 
 say that at sotne remote period, &c. 
 What is this remote period ? when will 
 it arrive ? The term is indefinite, and 
 friendship cannot be satisfied with this. 
 I do not mean to-day, to-morrow, or 
 this week ; but the time approaches 
 when you need not attend the buisness 
 
6o LETTERS TO 
 
 of the school : then you have your own 
 choice to make of the place of your 
 intermediate residence. If that choice 
 were in favour of me ! 
 
 I shall come to live in this county. 
 My friend Hogg, Harriet, my new 
 sister, . . . could but be added to these 
 the sister of my soul ! That I cannot 
 hope : but still she may visit us. 
 
 I have been convinced of the even- 
 tual omnipotence of mind over matter. 
 Adequacy of motive is sufficient to any- 
 thing : and my Golden Age is when the 
 present potence will become omnipo- 
 tence. This will be the millennium of 
 Christians, when "the lion shall he 
 down with the lamb " : though neither 
 will it be accomplished to complete a 
 prophecy, nor by the intervention of 
 a miracle. This has been the favourite 
 idea of all religions, the thesis on which 
 the impassioned and benevolent have 
 delighted to dwell. Will it not be the 
 task of human reason, human powers, — 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 6i 
 
 whose progression in improvement has 
 been so great since the remotest tradi- 
 tion, tracing general history to the point 
 where now we stand ? The series is in- 
 finite — can never end ! 
 
 Now you will laugh at what I am 
 about to tell you. Whence think [you] 
 this reasoning has arisen? Just [con- 
 ceive] its possible origin ! Nisver [could] 
 you have [conceived] that three days on 
 the outside of a coach caused it. [Yet] 
 so it is. I am now at Cuckfield; I 
 arrived this morning; and, though 
 three nights without sleep, I feel now 
 neither sleepy nor fatigued. This is 
 adequacy of motive. During my jour- 
 ney I had the proposed end in view 
 of accumulating money to myself for 
 the motives which I stated in my last 
 letter. 
 
 I know I have something more to 
 tell you — I forget what. The Captain 
 is talking. 
 
62 LETTERS TO 
 
 I must settle my plan of attack to- 
 morrow. 
 Adieu, my dear friend. 
 
 Your 
 
 Percy S. 
 I am happy to hear what I have just 
 heard. You are to come to dine here, 
 and bring Emma, on Monday 21st, in 
 the coach. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 63 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 Mr. Strickland's, Blake St., York. 
 {Saturday, 26 October, 181 1.?] 
 
 It is no " generosity " : it is justice — 
 bare, simple justice. Oh, to what a 
 state must poor human nature have 
 arrived when simply to do our duty 
 merits praise ! Let us delight in the 
 anticipation (though it may not be our 
 lot to breathe that air of paradise) that 
 the time will arrive when all that now 
 is called generosity will be simply, 
 barely duty. But you shall not refuse 
 it. Private feelings must not be grati- 
 fied at the expense of public benefit by 
 your refusal : deeply would the latter 
 suffer. I know you speak from con- 
 viction; nor, except from conviction, 
 should I allow you to act as far as con- 
 cerns me. It is impossible that you 
 should do otherwise. Yet I hope to 
 
64 LETTERS TO 
 
 produce that conviction. You cannot 
 be convinced — quite convinced. It is 
 impossible that any one should thor- 
 oughly know themselves, particularly in 
 an instance like this, where Self-deceit 
 is so hkely to creep in from the con- 
 tagious sophistications of society, and, 
 assuming the garb of virtue, represent 
 itself to you as its substance. I know 
 you to be superior to that mock-modesty 
 of self-depreciation : this therefore has 
 no weight. See yourself, then, as you 
 are. I esteem you more than I esteem 
 myself. Am I not right therefore in 
 giving you at least equal opportunities 
 of conferring on mankind the benefits 
 of that which has excited this esteem ? 
 You may then share your possessions 
 with that friend whom I ardently long 
 to know and to love, but who must 
 receive the tribute of gratitude from 
 you, — though, if she has made you what 
 you are, what claims may not just re- 
 tribution make upon me in her behalf? 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 65 
 
 I have thus said what I think, at 
 least two years before I can accomplish 
 the projects which I have to execute. 
 " It is the mere prodigality of promise," 
 would the slave of others' opinion ex- 
 claim, " never to be executed : two 
 months will dissipate the sickly rav- 
 ings ; it demands two years of uniform 
 opinion." Let them thus rave, — 'tis 
 their element ! But, whilst the sister of 
 my soul, the friend of my heart, knows 
 its unchangeableness, how futile are 
 these gnat-bites ! But it is necessary 
 that the world should not know this : to 
 preserve in some measure the good 
 opinion of Prejudice is necessary to its 
 destruction. This must be the most 
 secret of communications : thine are 
 most sacredly secret to me. But the 
 time you lose in thus acquiring money 
 for the noblest of human purposes 
 would be saved by your acceptance 
 of my offer. There are two years, 
 however, to argue this subject in. We 
 
66 LETTERS TO 
 
 have now begun : I am convinced that 
 I shall conquer. 
 
 When may I see the woman who 
 indeed deserves my love, if she was thy 
 instructress? Let not the period be 
 very distant. I already reverence her 
 as a mother. How useful are such 
 characters ! how they propagate intel- 
 lect, and add to the list of the virtuous 
 and free ! Every error conquered, every 
 mind enlightened, is so much added to 
 the progression of human perfectibility. 
 Sure, such as you, then, ought to 
 possess the amplest leisure for a task to 
 the completion of which each of those 
 excellencies which excite my love for 
 you is so adapted. Believe that I do 
 not flatter; suspect me not of rash 
 judgment. My judgment of you has 
 been unimpassioned, though now un- 
 impassionateness is over, and I could 
 not believe you other than the being I 
 have hitherto considered as enshrined 
 in the identity of Elizabeth Kitchener. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 67 
 
 I hesitate not a moment to write to 
 you : rare though it be in this existence, 
 communion with you can unite mental 
 benefit with pure gratification. I will 
 explain, however, the circumstances 
 which caused my marriage : these must 
 certainly have caused much conjecture 
 in your mind. 
 
 Some time ago, when my sister was 
 at Mrs. Fenning's school, she contracted 
 an intimacy with Harriet. At that 
 period I attentively watched over my 
 sister, designing, if possible, to add her 
 to the list of the good, the disinterested, 
 the free. I desired therefore to inves- 
 tigate Harriet's character : for which 
 purpose I called on her, requested to 
 correspond with her, designing that her 
 advancement should keep pace with, 
 and possibly accelerate, that of my 
 sister. Her ready and frank accept- 
 ance of my proposal pleased me ; and, 
 though with ideas the remotest to those 
 which have led to this conclusion of our 
 
 F 2 
 
68 LETTERS TO 
 
 intimacy, [I] continued to correspond 
 with her for some time. The frequency 
 of her letters became greater during my 
 stay in Wales. I answered them : they 
 became interesting. They contained 
 complaints of the irrational conduct of 
 her relations, and the misery of living 
 where she could love no one. Suicide 
 was with her a favourite theme, her total 
 uselessness was urged in its defence. 
 This I admitted, supposing she could 
 prove her inutility, [and that she] was 
 powerless. Her letters became more 
 and more [gloomy]. At length one 
 assumed a tone of such despair as in- 
 duced me to quit Wales precipitately. 
 I arrived in London. I was shocked 
 at observing the alteration of her looks. 
 Little did I divine its cause : she had 
 become violently attached to me, and 
 feared that I should not return her 
 attachment. Prejudice made the con- 
 fession painful. It was impossible to 
 avoid being much affected I promised 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 69 
 
 to unite my fate with hers. I stayed in 
 London several days, during which she 
 recovered her spirits. I had promised at 
 her bidding to come again to London. 
 They endeavoured to compel her to 
 return to a school where mahce and 
 pride embittered every hour : she wrote 
 to me. I came to Londoa I pro- 
 posed marriage, for the reasons which 
 I have given you, and she comphed. — 
 Blame me if thou wilt, dearest friend, 
 for still thou art dearest to me : yet pity 
 even this error, if thou blamest me. 
 If Harriet be not, at sixteen, all that 
 you are at a more advanced age, assist 
 me to mould a really noble soul into 
 all that can make its nobleness useful 
 and lovely. Lovely it is now, or I am 
 the weakest slave of error. 
 
 Adieu to this subject until I hear 
 again from you. Write soon, in pity 
 to my suspense. 
 
 We did not call on Whitton as we 
 passed. We find he means absolutely 
 
70 LETTERS TO 
 
 nothing: he talks of disrespect, duty, 
 &c. 
 
 I observed that you were much 
 shocked at my mother's depravity. I 
 have heard some reasons (and as mere 
 reasons they are satisfactory) that there 
 is no such thing as moral depravity. 
 But it does not prove the non-existence 
 of a thing that it is not discoverable by 
 reason : feeling here affords us sufficient 
 proof. I pity those who have not this 
 demonstration, though I can scarce 
 believe that such exist. 
 
 Those who really feel the being of a 
 God, have the best right to believe it. 
 They may, indeed, pity those who do 
 not ; they may pity me : but, until I 
 feel it, I must be content with the sub 
 stitute. Reason. 
 
 Here is a letter ! — ^well, answer some 
 of it, — though I allow 'tis terribly long. 
 
 Southey has published something new 
 — The Bridal of Fernandez : have you 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 71 
 
 seen it ? Have you read St. Leon or 
 Caleb Williams 1 
 
 Adieu, dear friend. Believe me 
 Ever yours sincerely, 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
 Have you heard anything of Cap- 
 tain P[iIfold's] proceedings at Fpeld] 
 P[lace] ? — I have more to say, but no 
 more room, so adieu. 
 
72 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 [Keswick, 
 Friday, 8 November, 1811. ?] 
 
 My friend will be surprised to hear 
 of me from Keswick in Cumberland : 
 more so will [she] be astonished at the 
 occasion. It is a thing that makes my 
 blood run cold to think of. I almost 
 lose my confidence in the power of 
 truth, its unalterableness. Human na- 
 ture appears so depraved. Even those 
 in whom we place unlimited confidence, 
 between whom and yourself suspicion 
 never came, appear depraved as the 
 rest. High powers appear but to pre- 
 sent opportunities for occasioning supe- 
 rior misery. Can it be thus always ? 
 
 You know how I have described 
 Hogg, — my enthusiasm in his defence, 
 my love for him. You know I have 
 considered him but little below perfec- 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 73 
 
 tion. I have spoken to you of him^ 
 have described him not with the exag- 
 gerations but with the truth of friend- 
 ship. I have resolved, because I am 
 your friend, to make you the deposi- 
 tary of a secret : it is to me a most 
 terrible one. 
 
 Hogg is a mistaken man — vilely, 
 dreadfully mistaken. But you shall 
 hear; then judge of the extent of the 
 evil which I deplore. That he whom 
 my fond expectations had pictured the 
 champion of virtue, the enemy of pre- 
 judice, should himself become the 
 meanest slave of the most contemptible 
 of prejudices, is indeed dreadful. But 
 listen. How fast you read this ! I 
 fancy I behold you ! 
 
 You know I came to Sussex to settle 
 my affairs, and left Harriet at York 
 under the protection of Hogg. You 
 know the implicit faith I had in him, 
 the unalterableness of my attachment, 
 the exalted thoughts I entertained of 
 
74 LETTERS TO 
 
 his excellence. Can you then conceive 
 that he would have attempted to seduce 
 my wife? that he should have chosen 
 the very time for this attempt when I 
 most confided in him, when least I 
 doubted him? Yet when did I ever 
 doubt him? Yet, my friend, this is 
 the case. And such an attempt ! You 
 may conceive his sophistry ; you may 
 conceive the energy of vice, for energy 
 is inseparable from high powers : but 
 never could you conceive, never having 
 experienced it, that resistless and pathe- 
 tic eloquence of his, never the illumi- 
 nation of that countenance, on which I 
 have sometimes gazed till I fancied the 
 world could be reformed by gazing too 1 
 You — you have never seen him, never 
 heard him; or Harriet would have 
 stood first in your regards as the heroic, 
 or the unfeeling, who could have done 
 other than as he directed. The latter 
 she is not 
 
 Conjecture, conceive, friend, how I 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 75 
 
 love you ! how firm my reliance is on 
 your principles, how impossible to be 
 shaken is my faith in your nobleness ! 
 Then, then imagine what I have felt at 
 losing by so terrible a reverse, a friend 
 like you — lost too not only to me but 
 to the world ! Virtue has lost one of 
 its defenders, Vice has gained a prose- 
 lyte. The thought makes me shudder ! 
 But must it be thus ? Cannot I pre- 
 vent it? cannot I reason with him? 
 Is he dead, cold, gone, annihilated ? 
 None, none of these ! therefore not 
 irretrievable — not fallen like Lucifer, 
 never to rise again ! 
 
 Before I quitted York, I spoke to 
 him. Our conversation was long. He 
 was silent, pale, over-whelmed. The 
 suddenness of the disclosure — and oh 
 I hope its heinousness — had affected 
 him. I told him that I pardoned him 
 — freely, fully, completely pardoned ; 
 that not the least anger against him 
 possessed me. His vices, and not 
 
76 LETTERS TO 
 
 himself, were the objects of my horror 
 and my hatred. I told him I yet 
 ardently panted for his real welfare ; 
 but that ill-success in crime and misery 
 appeared to me an earnest of its oppo- 
 site in benevolence. I engaged him to 
 promise to write to me. You can con- 
 jecture that my letters to him will be 
 neither infrequent nor short. 
 
 I have little time to-day, but I pay 
 this short tribute to friendship. Never, 
 dearest friend, may you experience a 
 disappointment so keen as mine ! Write. 
 I am at Mr. D. Crosthwaite's, Town- 
 head, Keswick, Cumberland. The 
 scenery is awfully grand : it even affects 
 me in such a time as this. Adieu : 
 write to me. I am in need of your 
 sympathy. 
 
 Harriet and her sister liked this part 
 of the country ; and / was, at the mo- 
 ment of our sudden departure, indiffe- 
 rent to all places. 
 
 A letter, I suppose, is waiting for me 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER 77 
 
 at York. H. will forward them. Adieu, 
 my almost only friend. 
 
 Yours eternally, sincerely, 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
78 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 [Chesnut Cottage, Keswick. 
 
 Tuesday, 12 November, 1811]. 
 
 Your letter of the 1st hath this 
 moment reached me. I answer it 
 according to our agreement, which 
 shall be inviolable. 
 
 Truly did you say that, at our 
 arising in the morning, Nature assumes 
 a different aspect. Who could have 
 conjectured the circumstances of my 
 last letter ? Friend of my soul, this is 
 terrible, dismaying : it makes one's 
 heart sink, it withers vital energy. 
 Had a common man done so, 'twould 
 have been but a common event, but a 
 common mistake. Now, if for a 
 moment the soul forgets (as at times 
 it will) that it must enshrine the body 
 for others, how beautiful does death 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 79 
 
 appear, what a release from the crimes 
 and miseries of mortality ! To be con- 
 demned to feed on the garbage of 
 grinding misery, that hungry hyaena, 
 mortal life ! — But no ! I will not, I do 
 not, repine. Dear being, I am thine 
 again : thy happiness shall again 
 predominate over this fleeting tribute 
 to self-interest. Yet who would not 
 feel now ? Oh 'twere as reckless a 
 task to endeavour to annihilate per- 
 ception while sense existed, as to blunt 
 the sixth sense to such impressions as 
 these ! — Forgive me, dearest friend ! 
 I pour out my whole soul to you. I 
 write by fleeting intervals : my pen 
 runs away with my senses. The im- 
 passionateness of my sensations grows 
 upon me. 
 
 Your letter, too, has much af- 
 fected me. Never, with my consent, 
 shall that intercourse cease which has 
 been the day-dawn of my existence, 
 the sun which has shed warmth on the 
 
8o LETTERS TO 
 
 cold drear length of the anticipated 
 prospect of life. Prejudice might 
 demand this sacrifice, but she is an 
 idol to whom we bow not. The world 
 might demand it ; its opinion might 
 require : but the cloud which fleets 
 over yon mountain were as important 
 to our happiness, to our usefulness. 
 This must never be, never whilst this 
 existence continues; and, when Time 
 has enrolled us in the list of the 
 departed, surely this one friendship 
 will survive to bear our identity to 
 heaven. 
 
 What is love, or friendship ? Is 
 it something material — a ball, an apple, 
 a plaything — which must be taken 
 from one to be given to another? Is 
 it capable of no extension, no com- 
 munication ? Lord Kaimes defines love 
 to be a particularization of the gen- 
 eral passion. But this is the love of 
 sensation, of sentiment — the absurdest 
 of absurd vanities : it is the love of 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 8 1 
 
 pleasure, not the love of happiness. 
 The one is a love which is self-centred, 
 self-devoted, self-interested : it desires 
 its own interest : it is the parent of 
 jealousy. Its object is the plaything 
 which it desires to monopolize. Selfish- 
 ness, monopoly, is its very soul ; and 
 to communicate to others part of this 
 love were to destroy its essence, to 
 annihilate this chain of straw. But 
 love, the love which we worship, — 
 virtue, heaven, disinterestedness — in a 
 word, Friendship, — which has as 
 much to do with the senses as with 
 yonder mountains ; that which seeks 
 the good of all, — the good of its object 
 first, not because that object is a 
 minister to its pleasures, not merely 
 because it even contributes to its 
 happiness, but because it is really 
 worthy, because it has powers, sen- 
 sibilities, is capable of abstracting self, 
 and loving virtue for virtue's own love- 
 liness, — desiring the happiness of others 
 
82 LETTERS TO 
 
 not from the obligation of fearing hell 
 or desiring heaven ; but for pure, simple, 
 unsophisticated virtue. 
 
 You will soon hear again. Adieu, 
 my dearest friend. Continue to be- 
 lieve that when I am insensible to 
 your excellence, I shall cease to exist. 
 Yours most sincerely, 
 
 inviolably, eternally, 
 Percy S. 
 
 I have filled my sheet before I 
 was aware of it. I told Harriet of your 
 scruples, for which there is not the 
 slightest foundation. You have mis- 
 taken her character, if you consider 
 her a slave to this meanest of mean 
 jealousies. She desires to add some- 
 thing : I have scarcely room for her. 
 
 Southey lives at Keswick. I 
 have been contemplating the outside 
 of his house. More of him hereafter. 
 
 Write : I need not tell you, write. 
 I am in need of your letters. 
 
 Harriet desires her love to you and 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 83 
 
 begs you will not entertain so un- 
 favourable an opinion of her. She 
 desires me to say that she longs to see 
 you, — to welcome you to our habitation, 
 wherever we are, as my best friend and 
 sister. 
 
 Direct me at Cliesnut Cottage, 
 Mr. Dayer's, Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 G 2 
 
84 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 Keswick, Chesnut Hill, Cumberland. 
 \Thursday, 14 November, 181 1]. 
 
 My dearest Friend, 
 
 Probably my letters have not 
 left Keswick sufficiently long for your 
 answer, I have more to tell you, how- 
 ever, which relates to this late terrible 
 affair. 
 
 The day we left him, he wrote 
 several letters to me, — the first evidently 
 in the frenzy of his disappointment (for 
 I had not told him the time of our 
 departure). " I will have Harriet's 
 forgiveness, or blow my brains out at 
 her feet" The others, being written in 
 moments of tranquillity, appeased im- 
 mediate alarm on that score. You are 
 already surprised, shocked : I can con- 
 ceive it. Oh, it is terrible ! this stroke 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 85 
 
 has almost withered my being ! Were it 
 not for that dear friend whose happi- 
 ness I so much prize, which at some 
 future period I may perhaps consti- 
 tute, — did I not live for an end, an 
 aim, sanctified, hallowed, — I might 
 have slept in peace. Yet no — not 
 quite that : I might have been a colo- 
 nist of Bedlam. 
 
 Stay : I promised to relate the cir- 
 cumstances. I will proceed histori- 
 cally. 
 
 I had observed that Harriet's beha- 
 viour to my friend had been greatly 
 altered : I saw she regarded him with 
 prejudice and hatred. I saw it with 
 great pain, and remarked it to her. 
 Her dark hints of his unworthiness 
 alarmed me, yet alarmed me vaguely ; 
 for, believe me, this alarm was un- 
 tainted with the slightest suspicion of 
 his disloyalty to virtue and friendship. 
 Conceive my horror when, on pressing 
 the conversation, the secret of his un- 
 
86 LETTERS TO 
 
 faithfulness was divulged ! I sought 
 him, and we walked to the fields be- 
 yond York. I desired to know fully 
 the account of this affair. I heard it 
 from him, and I believe he was sincere. 
 All I can recollect of that terrible day 
 was that I pardoned him — freely, fully 
 pardoned him ; that I would still be a 
 friend to him, and hoped soon to con 
 vince him how lovely virtue was ; that 
 his crime, not himself, was the object 
 of my detestation ; that I value a 
 human being, not for what it has been, 
 but for what it is ; that I hoped the 
 time would come when he would re- 
 gard this horrible error with as much 
 disgust as I did. He said little : he 
 was pale, terror-struck, remorseful. 
 
 This character is not his own : it sits 
 ill upon him, — it will not long be his. 
 His account was this. He came to 
 Edinburgh. He saw me ; he saw 
 Harriet. He loved her (I use the 
 word because he used it. You com- 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 87 
 
 prehend the different ideas it excites 
 under different modes of application). 
 He loved her. This passion, so far 
 from meeting with resistance, was en- 
 couraged, — purposely encouraged, from 
 motives which then appeared to him 
 not wrong. On our arrival at York, he 
 avowed it. Harriet forbade other 
 mention ; yet forbore to tell me, 
 hoping she might hear no more of it. 
 On my departure from York to Sus- 
 sex (when you saw me), he urged the 
 same suit, — urged it with arguments of 
 detestable sophistry. " There is no in- 
 jury to him who knows it not : — why is 
 it wrong to permit my love, if it does 
 not alienate affection ? " These failed 
 of success. At last, Harriet talked to 
 him much of its immorality : and 
 (though I fear her arguments were such 
 as could not be logically superior to his) 
 he confessed to her his conviction of 
 having acted wrong, and, as some ex- 
 piation, proposed instantly to inform 
 
88 LETTERS TO 
 
 me by letter of the whole. This Har- 
 riet refused to permit, fearing its effect 
 upon my mind at such a distance : she 
 could not know when I should return 
 home. I returned the very next day. 
 
 This, as near as I recollect, was 
 the substance of what cool considera- 
 tion can extract from his account. The 
 circumstances are true : Harriet's ac- 
 count coincides. 
 
 I have since written to him — fre 
 quently, and at great length. His 
 letters are exculpatory : you shall see 
 them. — Adieu at present to the subject. 
 
 No, my dearest friend, I will never 
 cease to write to you. I never can 
 cease to think of you. 
 
 Happiness, fleeting creation of cir- 
 cumstances, where art thou? I read 
 your letter with delight; but this de- 
 light is even mixed with melancholy. 
 And you ! Tell me that you too are 
 unhappy, — the cup of my misfortunes 
 is then completed to the dregs. Yet 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 89 
 
 did you not say that we should stimu- 
 late each other to virtue ? Shall 
 I be the first to fail ? No I This 
 listless torpor of regret will never 
 do — it never shall possess me. Be- 
 hold me then reassuming myself, de- 
 serving your esteem, — you, my second 
 self! 
 
 Harriet has laughed at your sup- 
 positions. She invites you to our 
 habitation wherever we are : she does 
 this sincerely, and bids me send her 
 love to you. 
 
 Eliza, her sister, is with us. She is, 
 I think, a woman rather superior to 
 the generality. She is prejudiced ; but 
 her prejudices I do not consider un- 
 vanquishable. Indeed, I have already 
 conquered some of them. 
 
 The scenery here is awfully beauti- 
 ful. Our window commands a view of 
 two lakes, and the giant mountains 
 which confine them. But the ob- 
 ject most interesting to my feelings is 
 
90 LETTERS TO 
 
 Southey's habitation. He is now on 
 a journey : when he returns, I shall 
 call on him. 
 
 Adieu, dearest friend. 
 
 Ever yours, with true devotement 
 and love, 
 
 Percy Shelley. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 91 
 
 LETTER XVL 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 \Wednesday, 20 N(n<emher, iSll] 
 
 Writing is slow, soulless, incommu- 
 nicative. I long to talk with you. My 
 soul is bursting. Ideas, millions of 
 ideas, are crowding into it : it pants for 
 communion with you. 
 
 Your letter, too, has affected me 
 deeply. You must not quite despair 
 of human nature. Our conceptions 
 are scarcely vivid enough to picture 
 the degree of crime, of degradation, 
 which sullies human society : but what 
 words are equal to express their inade- 
 quacy to picture its hidden virtue ? 
 My friend, my dear only friend, never 
 doubt virtue so long as yourself exists. 
 Be yourself a living proof that human 
 nature is a creation of its own, resolves 
 its own determinations ; that on the 
 
92 LETTERS TO 
 
 vividness of these depends the inten- 
 sity of our characters. 
 
 It was a terrible, a soul-appalHng 
 fall : but it was not, it could not be, a 
 fall never to rise again. It shall not, if 
 I can retrieve it. He desires to live 
 with us again. His supplications (if 
 his letters are, as mine have been, the 
 language of his soul) have much of 
 ardency, passionateness, and sincerity, 
 in them. But this must not be. I 
 have endeavoured to judge on this 
 subject, if possible, with disinterested- 
 ness ; and I think I owe to Harriet's 
 happiness and his reformation that this 
 should not be. Keen as might have 
 been my feelings, I think, if virtue 
 compelled it, I could have lived with 
 him now. 
 
 You say he mistook the love of 
 virtue for the practice. I think that 
 you have endeavoured to separate cause 
 and effect. No cause do I esteem so 
 indissolubly annexed to its effect as the 
 
ELIZABETH HITCH ENER. 93 
 
 real sincere love of virtue to the dis- 
 interested practice of its dictates. You 
 seem to have confounded love of virtue 
 with talking of the love of virtue. Yet 
 was not his conduct most nobly disin- 
 terested at Oxford? This appeared 
 real love, of virtue. Then what a fall ! 
 But not a remediless one. How are 
 we to tell a tree? Not even by its 
 fruits. Are changes possible so quick, 
 so sudden ? I am immersed in a 
 labyrinth of doubt. My friend, I need 
 your advice, your reason : my own 
 seems almost withered. 
 
 Will you come here in your Christ- 
 mas holidays? Harriet delights so 
 much in this place that I do not think 
 I can quit it. Will you come here? 
 The poison-blast of calumny will not 
 dare to infect you. Besides, what is 
 the world ? Eliza Westbrook is here : 
 it is not likely, therefore, that anything 
 would be said. 
 
 We will never part in spirit : we are 
 
94 LETTERS TO 
 
 too firmly convinced of what we 
 are ever to fear failure. Let the Chris- 
 tian talk of faith, but I am convinced 
 that the wildest bigot who ever carried 
 fury and fanaticism through a country 
 never could so firmly believe his idol 
 as I believe in you. Be you but false, 
 and I have no more to accomplish : 
 my usefulness is ended. 
 
 You talk of religion, — the influence 
 human depravity gained over your 
 mind towards acceding to it. But, 
 for this purpose, the religion of the 
 deist or the worshiper of virtue would 
 suffice, without involving the persecu- 
 tion, battles, bloodshed, which counten- 
 ancing Christianity countenances. I 
 think, my friend, we are the devoutest 
 professors of true religion I know, — ^if 
 the perverted and prostituted name of 
 " religion " is applicable to the idea of 
 devotion to virtue. 
 
 " The just man made perfect " I 
 doubt not of : but to this simple truth 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER 95 
 
 where is the necessity of annexing 
 fifty contradictory dogmas, in order 
 that men may destroy each other to 
 know which is right ? You see even 
 now I can write against Christianity, 
 " the enormous faith of many made 
 for one." 
 
 I write this hasty letter by return of 
 post, because I do not wish to excite 
 the anxiety you name : it is a terrible 
 feeling. 
 
 My friend, my dearest friend, adieu. 
 One blessing has Fate given, to coun- 
 terpoise all the evil she has thrown 
 into my balance ; and, when I cease to 
 estimate this blessing — a true, dear 
 friend — may I cease to live 1 
 
 Your true, sincere, affectionate, 
 
 Percy Shelley. 
 
96 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 Keswick, 
 
 Nov. 23, 181 1 — Saturday. 
 My dearest Friend, 
 Your letter reached me one day 
 too late, on account of a tempest 
 happening, and delaying the mail. It 
 hath at length reached me ; and dear, 
 sacredly dear, to me is every Une of it. 
 I feel as if this occurrence had de- 
 prived me of the breath of life which 
 now with such eagerness I inhale. Oh 
 friendship like ours ! its most soul- 
 lulling comforts can, ought, never to 
 be called selfish ; for, although we 
 give each other pleasure, our love is 
 not selfish. Reasoning is necessary to 
 selfishness ; and the delight I feel in 
 bracing my mind with the energies of 
 yours is involuntary. It is the remote 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 97 
 
 result of reason ; but, in cases of this 
 nature, it is necessary that a pleasure 
 should immediately arise from the cool 
 calculation of degree of benefit result- 
 ing to itself, before it can be called 
 selfishness. Your letter has soothed, 
 tranquillized me : it seems as if every 
 bitter disappointment had changed its 
 bitter character. 
 
 I could have borne to die, to die 
 eternally, with my once-loved friend. 
 I could coolly have reasoned : to the 
 conclusions of reason I could have un- 
 hesitatingly submitted. Earth seemed 
 to be enough for our intercourse : on 
 earth its bounds appeared to be stated, 
 as the event hath dreadfully proved. 
 But with you — your friendship seems 
 to have generated a passion to which 
 fifty such fleeting inadequate existences 
 as these appear to be but the drop in 
 the bucket, too trivial for account. 
 With you, I cannot submit to perish 
 like the flower of the field. I cannot 
 
 H 
 
98 LETTERS TO 
 
 consent that the same shroud which 
 shall moulder around these perishing 
 frames shall enwrap the vital spirit 
 which hath produced, sanctified — may 
 I say, eternized ? — a friendship such 
 as ours. Most high and noble feelings 
 are referable to passion : but these — 
 these are referable to reason (certainly 
 " inspiration " hath nothing to do with 
 the latter). I say, passion is referable 
 to reason : but I mean the great aspir- 
 ing passions of disinterested Friend- 
 ship, Philanthropy. It is necessary 
 that reason should disinterestedly de- 
 termine : the passion of the virtuous 
 will then energetically put its decrees 
 in execution. 
 
 Your fancy does not run away with 
 your reason ; but your too great de- 
 pendence on mine does. Preserve 
 your individuality; reason for yourself; 
 compare and discuss with me, I will do 
 the same with you : for are you not 
 my second self, the stronger shadow of 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 99 
 
 that soul whose dictates I have been 
 accustomed to obey ? 
 
 I have taken a long solitary ramble 
 to-day. These gigantic mountains 
 piled on each other, these water-falls, 
 these million-shaped clouds tinted by 
 the varying colours of innumerable 
 rainbows hanging between yourself and 
 a lake as smooth and dark as a plain 
 of polished jet — oh, these are sights 
 attunable to the contemplation ! I 
 have been much struck by the gran- 
 deur of its imagery. Nature here sports 
 in the awful waywardness of her soli- 
 tude. The summits of the loftiest of 
 these immense piles of rock seem but 
 to elevate Skiddaw and Helvellyn. 
 Imagination is resistlessly compelled 
 to look back upon the myriad ages 
 whose silent change placed them here ; 
 to look back when perhaps this retire- 
 ment of peace and mountain-simplicity 
 was the pandemonium of druidical 
 imposture, the scene of Roman poUu- 
 
 H 2 
 
loo LETTERS TO 
 
 tion, the resting-place of the savage 
 denizen of these solitudes with the 
 wolf.— Still, still further. Strain thy 
 reverted fancy when no rocks, no lakes, 
 no cloud-soaring mountains, were here ; 
 but a vast, populous and licentious 
 city stood in the midst of an immense 
 plain. Myriads flocked towards it. 
 London itself scarcely exceeds it in the 
 variety, the extensiveness of its corrup- 
 tion. Perhaps ere Man had lost rea- 
 son, and lived an happy, happy race : 
 no tyranny, no priestcraft, no war. — 
 Adieu to the dazzling picture ! 
 
 I have been thinking of you and of 
 human nature. Your letter has been 
 the partner of my solitude, — or rather 
 I have not been alone, for you have 
 been with me. Ought I to grieve? 
 I ? and hath not Fate been more than 
 kind to me? Did I expect her to 
 lavish on me the inexhaustible stores of 
 her munificence? Yet hath she not 
 done so? What right have I to 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. loi 
 
 lament, to accuse her of barbarity? 
 Hath she not given you to me? Oh 
 how pityful ought all her other boons, 
 how contemptible ought all her inju- 
 ries, now to be considered ! and you 
 to share my sorrows ! Oh am I not 
 doubly now a wretch to cherish them ? 
 I will tear them from my remembrance. 
 I cannot be gay — gaiety is not my 
 nature : I have seen too much ever to 
 be so. Yet I will be happy : and I 
 claim it as a sacred right too that you 
 should share my happiness. I will 
 not be very long at this distance from 
 you. 
 
 I transcribe a little poem I found 
 this morning. It was written some 
 time ago ; but, as it appears to show 
 what I then thought of eternal life, I 
 send it. 
 
I02 LETTERS TO 
 
 TO MARY, 
 
 WHO DIED IN THIS OPINION. 
 
 Maiden, quench the glare of sorrow 
 
 Struggling in thine haggard eye : 
 Firmness dare to borrow 
 
 From the wreck of destiny ; 
 For the ray mom's bloom revealing 
 
 Can never boast so bright an hue 
 As that which mocks concealing, 
 
 And sheds its loveliest light on you. 
 
 Yet is the tie departed 
 
 Which bound thy lovely soul to bliss ? 
 Has it left thee broken-hearted 
 
 In a world so cold as this ? 
 Yet, though, fainting fair one, 
 
 Sorrow's self thy cup has given, 
 Dream thou'lt meet thy dear one, 
 
 Never more to part, in heaven. 
 
 Existence would I barter 
 
 For a dream so dear as thine, 
 
 And smile to die a martyr 
 
 On affection's bloodless shrine. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 103 
 
 Nor would I change for pleasure 
 That withered hand and ashy cheek, 
 
 If my heart enshrined a treasure 
 Such as forces thine to break. 
 
 Pardon me for thus writing on. I 
 preserve no connexion : I do not 
 hesitate, I do not pause one moment, 
 in writing to you. It seems to me as 
 if some spirit guided my pen. 
 
 I feel with you. I will stifle all 
 these idle regrets. I will sympathize 
 with you. Write to me your sensa- 
 tions, your feelings . ah, I fear I have 
 monopolized them ! Would that this 
 terrible sensation had not forced me 
 to call them thus into action ! But to 
 share grief is a sacred right of friend- 
 ship — to share every thought, every 
 idea. Remember, this is a sacred right. 
 But why need I remind you of what 
 neither of us is in any danger of 
 forgetting ? 
 
 Harriet will write to you : I have 
 
I04 LETTERS TO 
 
 persuaded her. May she not share 
 the sunshine of my life ? O lovely sym- 
 pathy 1 thou art indeed life's sweetest, 
 only solace ! and is not my friend the 
 shrine of sympathy ? 
 
 I hear nothing of my temporal 
 affairs. The D[uke] of N[orfolk] hath 
 written to me: I have answered his 
 letter. He is polite enough. In truth, 
 I do not covet any ducal intercourse 
 or interference. I suppose this is 
 inevitable and necessary. 
 
 I have not seen Southey : he is not 
 now at Keswick. Believe that, on his 
 return, I will not be slow to pay 
 homage to a really great man. 
 
 Oh I have much, much to say 1 Me- 
 thinks words can scarcely embody ideas: 
 how wretchedly inadequate are letters ! 
 
 Adieu, dearest of friends. Never do 
 I for a moment forget how eternally, 
 sincerely, I am 
 
 Yours, 
 
 Percy S. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 105 
 
 Your letters are six days in coming. 
 Perhaps one of those hateful Sundays 
 has been envious of my solace. 
 
io6 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland, 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 24, 181 1. 
 
 I ANSWER your letter, my dearest 
 Friend, not by return of post, because 
 the Keswick post comes in at seven and 
 goes out at nine, and we are some 
 distance. 
 
 Your letters revive me : they resus- 
 citate my slumbering hopes. The 
 languid flame of life, which before 
 burns feebly, glows at communication 
 with that vivid spark of friendship. 
 " Love " I do not think is so adequate 
 a sign of the idea : its usual significa- 
 tion involves selfish monopoly, the 
 sottish idiotism of frenzy-nourished 
 fools, as once I was. But let that era 
 be blotted from the memory of my 
 shame, when purity, truth, reason, 
 virtue, all sanctify a friendship which 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 107 
 
 shall endure when the " love " of com- 
 mon souls shall sleep where the shroud 
 moulders around their soulless bodies. 
 — What a rhapsody ! But with you I 
 feel half inspired ; and then feel half 
 ashamed, lest my inspiration, like 
 that of others, result from a Uttle 
 vanity. 
 
 I am discouraged. His letters of 
 late appear to me to betray cunning, 
 deep cunning. But I may be de- 
 ceived : oh that I were in all that 
 these five weeks had brought forth ! 
 His letters are long ; but they never ex- 
 press any conviction or unison. They 
 appear merely calculated to bring about 
 what he calls " intimacy on the same 
 happy terms as formerly.'' This I 
 have positively forbade the very thought 
 of. I tell him that I am open to rea- 
 son, — I wish, ardently wish, that he 
 would reason sincerely ; but that, were 
 I even convinced that his conduct re- 
 sulted from disinterested love of virtue, 
 
io8 LETTERS TO 
 
 he could not live with us, as I should 
 thereby barter Harriet's happiness for 
 his short-lived pleasure, — since, my 
 friend, if it is true that such passions 
 are unconquerable (which I do not 
 believe), how much greater ascend- 
 ency will they gain when under the 
 immediate influence of their original 
 excitement ! 
 
 Love of what? Not love of my 
 wife, for love seeks the happiness of its 
 object, even when combined with the 
 common-place infatuation of novels 
 and gay life (oh no ! I don't know 
 that). Love of self; aye, as genuine 
 and complete as the most bigoted 
 believer in original sin could desire to 
 defile mankind,^these fine suscepti- 
 bilities, to which casual deformity and 
 advanced age are such wonderful cures 
 and preventatives. But these have 
 nothing to do with real love, with 
 friendship. Suppose your frame were 
 wasted by sickness, your brow covered 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 109 
 
 with wrinkles ; suppose age had bowed 
 your form till it reached the ground, 
 would you not be as lovely as now ? 
 Yet one of these beings would pass 
 that intellect, that soul, that sensi- 
 bility, with as much indifference as I 
 would show to the night-star of a ball- 
 room, the magnet of the apes, asses, 
 geese, its inhabitants. So much for 
 real [ ? false] and so much for true 
 love. The one perishes with the body 
 whence on earth it never dares to soar ; 
 the other lives with the soul which was 
 the exclusive object of its homage. 
 Oh if this last be but true ! 
 
 You talk of a future state : " is not 
 this imagination," you ask, " a proof of 
 it ? " To me it appears so : to me 
 everything proves it. But what we 
 earnestly desire we are very much 
 prejudiced in favour of. It seems to 
 me that everything lives again. — What 
 is the Soul ? Look at yonder flower. 
 The blast of the North sweeps it from 
 
no LETTERS TO 
 
 the earth ; it withers beneath the 
 breath of the destroyer. Yet that 
 flower hath a soul : for what is soul 
 but that which makes an organized 
 being to be what it is, — without which 
 it would not be so ? On this hypo- 
 thesis, must not that (the soul) without 
 which a flower cannot be a flower 
 exist, when the earthly flower hath 
 perished? Yet where does it exist — 
 in what state of being ? Have not 
 flowers also some end which Nature 
 destines their being to answer ? Doubt- 
 less, it ill becomes us to deny this 
 because we cannot certainly discover 
 it ; since so many analogies seem to 
 favour the probability of this hypo- 
 thesis. I will say, then, that all Na- 
 ture is animated ; that microscopic 
 vision, as it hath discovered to us 
 millions of animated beings whose pur- 
 suits and passions are as eagerly fol- 
 lowed as our own; so might it, if 
 extended, find that Nature itself was 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. in 
 
 but a mass of organized animation. 
 Perhaps the animative intellect of all 
 this is in a constant rotation of change : 
 perhaps a future state is no other 
 than a different mode of terrestrial 
 existence to which we have fitted our- 
 selves in this mode. 
 
 Is there any probability in this sup- 
 position ? On this plan, congenial souls 
 must meet ; because, having fitted 
 themselves for nearly the same mode 
 of being, they cannot fail to be near 
 each other. Free-will must give energy 
 to this infinite mass of being, and 
 thereby constitute Virtue. If our 
 change be in this mortal life, do not 
 fear that we shall be among the gro- 
 velling souls of heroes, aristocrats, and 
 commercialists. — Adieu to this. 
 
 I have scribbled a great deal : all 
 my feeling, all my ideas as they arise, 
 are thus yours. My dear friend, be- 
 lieve that thou art the cheering beam 
 which gilds this wintry day of life,— 
 
112 LETTERS TO 
 
 perhaps ere long to be the exhaustless 
 sun which shall gild my millenniums 
 of immortality. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest friend. 
 
 Ever, ever yours, 
 
 Percy S. 
 
ELIZABETH HlTCHENER.Ui 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 [Tuesday, 26 November, 1811.] 
 
 Your letters are like angels sent 
 from heaven on missions of peace. 
 They assure me that existence is not 
 valueless; they point out the path 
 which it is paradise to tread. And 
 yet, my dearest friend, I am not satis- 
 fied that we should be so far asunder. 
 Methinks letters are but imperfect pic- 
 tures of the mind. They give the 
 permanent and energic outline, but a 
 thousand minutiae of varied expres- 
 sions are omitted in the portraiture. 
 I am therefore sorry that you cannot 
 come now. Cannot the sweet little 
 nurslings of liberty come ? But I will 
 not press you. 
 
 Strange prejudices have these coun- 
 try people ! I must relate one very 
 
 I 
 
114 LETTERS TO 
 
 singular one. The other night I was 
 explaining to Harriet and Eliza the 
 nature of the atmosphere j and, to 
 illustrate my theory, I made some ex- 
 periments on hydrogen gas, one of its 
 constituent parts. This was in the 
 garden, and the vivid flame was seen 
 at some distance. A few days after, 
 Mr. Dare entered our cottage, and 
 said he had something to say to me. 
 "Why, sir," said he, "I am not satis- 
 fied with you. I wish you to leave my 
 house." "Why, sir?" " Because the 
 country talks very strangely of your 
 proceedings. Odd things have been 
 seen at night near your dwelling. I 
 am very ill satisfied with this. Sir, I 
 don't like to talk of it : I wish you to 
 provide yourself elsewhere." — I have, 
 with much difficulty, quieted Mr. D.'s 
 fears. He does not, however, much 
 like us ; and I am by no means cer- 
 tain that he will permit us to remain. 
 Have you found a house? I have 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 115 
 
 your promise : next Midsummer will 
 be my holidays. Heaven ! were I the 
 charioteer of Time, his burning wheels 
 would rapidly attain the goal of my 
 aspirations. 
 
 You believe, firmly believe me. 
 How invaluably dear ought now to be 
 that credit, when an example so ter- 
 rible has warned you to be sceptical ! 
 That I believe in you cannot be won- 
 derful, for the first words you spoke to 
 me, the manner, are eternal earnests of 
 your taintlessness and sincerity. But 
 wherefore do I talk thus, when we 
 know, feel, each other ; when every sen- 
 timent is reciprocal ; when congeniality, 
 so often laughed at, both have found 
 proof strong as internal evidence can 
 afford? 
 
 I do not love him now : bear wit- 
 ness for me, thou reciprocity of thought, 
 that I do not ! It is, it is true — too 
 true : what you say is conclusive. It 
 tallies too well with what I have yet to 
 
 I 2 
 
Ii6 LETTERS TO 
 
 tell you. Oh I have been fearfully de- 
 ceived ! It is not the degradation of 
 imposition that I lament ; but that a 
 character moulded, as I imagined, in 
 all the symmetry of virtue, should ex- 
 hibit the loathsome deformity of vice — 
 that a saviour should change to a de- 
 stroyer. — But adieu to that now. 
 
 I shall not accuse my friend of en- 
 deavouring to insinuate the tenets of a 
 religion in one sentence, the founda- 
 tion, the corner-stone, of which she 
 defies all the powers that exist to make 
 her believe, in the next. 
 
 Miss Weeke's marriage induces you 
 to think marriage an evil. / think it 
 an evil — an evil of immense and ex- 
 tensive magnitude : but I think a pre- 
 vious reformation in myself — and that 
 a general and a great one — is requisite 
 before it may be remedied. Man is 
 the creature of circumstances ; and 
 these, casual circumstances, custom 
 hath made unto him a second nature. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 117 
 
 That which hath no more to do with 
 virtue than the most indifferent actions 
 of our lives hath been exalted into its 
 criterion ; and, from being considered 
 so, hath become one of its criterions. 
 Marriage is monopolizing, exclusive, 
 jealous. The tie which binds it bears 
 the same relation to " friendship in 
 which excess is lovely " that the body 
 doth to the soul. Everything which 
 relates simply to this clay-formed dun- 
 geon is comparatively despicable ; and, 
 in a state of perfectible society, could 
 not be made the subject of either 
 virtue or vice. The most delicious 
 strains of music, viands the most titil- 
 lating to the palate, wines of the most 
 exquisite flavour, if it be innocent to 
 derive delight from them (supposing 
 such a case), it surely must be as inno- 
 cent in whosesoever company it were 
 derived. A law to compel you to 
 hear this music, in the company of 
 such a particular person, appears to me 
 
Ii8 LETTERS TO 
 
 parallel to that of marriage. Were there 
 even now such a law as this, were this 
 exclusiveness reckoned the criterion of 
 virtue, it certainly would not be worth 
 the while of rational people to " offend 
 their weak brothers " (as St. Paul says) 
 "by eating meats placed before the 
 idols." It ill would become them to 
 risk the peace of others, however pre- 
 judiced, by gaining to themselves what 
 from their souls they hold in contempt. 
 
 Am I right ? It delights me to dis- 
 cuss and to be sceptical : thus we must 
 arrive at truth — that introducer of 
 virtue and usefulness. 
 
 Have you read Godwin's Enquirer 
 (i) — his St. Leon (2) — his Political 
 Justice {3) — his Caleb W/lliams (4) ? — 
 I is very good ; 2 is good, very good ; 
 3 is long, sceptical, good ; 4 is good. 
 I put them in the order that I would 
 advise you to read them. 
 
 I understand you when you say we 
 are free. Liberty is the very soul of 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 119 
 
 friendship, and from the very soul of 
 liberty art thou my friend ; aye, and 
 such a sense as this can never fade. 
 
 " Earthly those passions of the earth 
 Which perish where they had their birth, 
 But Love is indestructible." 
 
 I almost wish that Southey had not 
 made the Glendoveer a male : these 
 detestable distinctions will surely be 
 abolished in a future state of being. 
 
 "The holy flame for ever burneth : 
 From heaven it came, to heaven returneth." 
 
 Might there not have been a prior 
 state of existence ? might we not have 
 been friends then? The creation of 
 soul at birth is a thing I do not like. 
 Where we have no premisses, we can 
 therefore draw no conclusions. It may 
 be all vanity : but I cannot think so. 
 
 I may be in Sussex soon. I do not 
 know where I shall be : but, wherever 
 I am, I shall be with you in spirit and 
 in truth. Do not think I am going to 
 insinuate Christianity, though I think 
 
120 LETTERS TO 
 
 it is as likely a thing as that you should. 
 I annihilate God; you destroy the 
 Devil : and then we make a heaven 
 entirely to our own mind. It must be 
 owned that we are tolerably indepen- 
 dent. As to your ghostly director, 
 who told you to put out your sun of 
 common sense in order that he might 
 set up his rushlight, I can scarcely 
 believe that he ever even imagined a 
 " call." 
 
 When shall you change your abode ? 
 Are you fixed at Hurst for some years ? 
 I wish to know, as this will enable me 
 to determine on some place of resi- 
 dence near to yours. 
 
 This country is heavenly : I will 
 describe it when I have seen more of 
 it. I wish to stay, too, to see Southey. 
 You may imagine, then, that I was 
 very humble to Mr. Dare : I should 
 think he was tolerably afraid of the 
 devil. 
 
 I have heard from Hogg since, often : 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 121 
 
 his letters give me little hope. He 
 still earnestly desires to live with us. 
 You have brought me into a dilemma, 
 concerning his conduct, from which it 
 is impossible to escape. I do not 
 love him. I have examined his con- 
 duct, I hope with cool impartiality ; 
 and I grieve to find the conclusion 
 thus unfavourable. 
 
 I hope you are indebted (as you call 
 it) to the coolness of my judgment for 
 my opinion of you. I have repeatedly 
 told you what I think of you. I con- 
 sider you one of those beings who 
 carry happiness, reform, liberty, wher- 
 ever they go. To me you are as my 
 better genius— the judge of my reason- 
 ings, the guide of my actions, the 
 influencer of my usefulness. Great 
 responsibility is the consequence of 
 high powers. 
 
 /am, as you must be, a despiser of 
 the mock-modesty of the world, which 
 is accustomed to conceal more defects 
 
122 LETTERS TO 
 
 than excellencies. I know I am su- 
 perior to the mob of mankind : but 1 
 am inferior to you in everything but 
 the equality of friendship. 
 
 But my paper ends. Adieu. I bid 
 adieu to-day to what is to me inex- 
 pressibly dear, your society. 
 
 Ever yours unalterably, 
 
 Percy S. 
 
 Tuesday morning. On what day 
 does this letter reach you ? 
 
 Harriet desires me to send her love, 
 and hopes you will answer her letter 
 very soon. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 123 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 [Keswick. 
 Monday, 9 December, iSll?] 
 
 My dearest Friend, 
 
 I have just found your letters. 
 Three of them were here on our return 
 from Greystoke. What will you think 
 of not hearing from me so long ? Not 
 that I have forgotten you. Your 
 letters were indeed a most valuable 
 treasure. I have just finished reading 
 them. I shall answer them to-morrow. 
 
 We met several people at the Duke's. 
 One in particular struck me. He was 
 an elderly man, who seemed to know 
 all my concerns; and the expression 
 of his face, whenever I held the argu- 
 ments, which I do everywhere^ was such 
 as I shall not readily forget. I shall 
 
124 LETTERS TO 
 
 have more to tell of him, for we have 
 met him before in these mountains, and 
 his particular look then struck Harriet. 
 Adieu, my dearest friend. I am 
 compelled to break off in the middle 
 of my letter by the conviction that this 
 may be too late. You will hear from 
 me to-morrow. 
 
 Yours, ever yours, 
 
 Percy Shelley. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 125 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 \Tuesday, \o December, l8ll.] 
 
 You received a fleeting letter from 
 me yesterday. An immediate acknow- 
 ledgement of your letters I judged 
 equal in value to the postage of a blank 
 sheet of paper. 
 
 Your letters, my dearest friend, are 
 to me an exhaustless mine of pleasure. 
 Fatigued with aristocratical insipidity, 
 left alone scarce one moment by those 
 senseless monopolizers of time that 
 form the court of a Duke, who would 
 be very well as a man, how delightful to 
 commune with the soul which is undis- 
 guised — -whose importance no arts are 
 necessary nor adequate to exalt 1 
 
 I admire your father, but I do not 
 think him capable of sympathizing 
 with you. I, you know, consider mind 
 
126 LETTERS TO 
 
 to be the creature of education : that, 
 in proportion to the characters thereon 
 impressed by circumstance or inten- 
 tion, so does it assume the appearances 
 which vary with these varying events. 
 Divest every event of its improper ten- 
 dency, and evil becomes annihilate. 
 Thus, then, I am led to love a being, 
 not because it stands in the physical 
 relation of blood to me, but because 
 I discern an intellectual relationship. 
 It is because chance hath placed us in 
 a situation most fit for rendering hap- 
 piness to our relations that, if higher 
 considerations intervene not, makes it 
 our duty to devote ourselves to this 
 object. This is your duty, and nobly 
 do you fulfil it. Your father, I plainly 
 see, has some mistakes. Cannot you 
 reason him out of that rough exterior ? 
 It has the semblance of sincerity : in 
 reality is it not deceit ? Your attention 
 to his happiness is at once so noble, so 
 delicate, so desirous of accomplishing 
 
ELIZABETH HITCH EN ER. izj 
 
 its design, that how could he fail, if he 
 knew it, to give you that esteem and 
 respect, besides the love which he 
 does ? Methinks he is not your equal 
 — that I have not found you equalled. 
 Were he so, would he not discern your 
 attentions ? No : he must be like you, 
 before I can ever institute a comparison 
 between your characters. 
 
 Of your mother I have not much 
 opinion. She appears to me one of 
 those every-day characters by whom 
 the stock of prejudice is augmented 
 rather than decreased. 
 
 Obedience (were society as I could 
 wish it) is a word which ought to be 
 without meaning. If virtue depended 
 on duty, then would prudence be 
 virtue, and imprudence vice ; and the 
 only difference between the Marquis 
 Wellesley and William Godwin would 
 be that the latter had more cunningly 
 devised the means of his own benefit. 
 This cannot be. Prudence is only an 
 
128 LETTERS TO 
 
 auxiliary of virtue, by which it may be- 
 come useful. Virtue consists in the 
 motive. Paley's Moral Fhilosophy be- 
 gins : " Why am I obliged to keep my 
 word ? Because I desire heaven, and 
 hate hell." Obligation and duty, there- 
 fore, are words of no value as the 
 criterion of excellence. — So much for 
 obedience — parents and children. Do 
 you agree to my definition of Virtue 
 — "Disinterestedness?" — Why do I 
 enquire ? 
 
 I am as little inclined as you are to 
 quarrel with Taffy : I am as much 
 obliged to him for the complex idea, 
 Tyranny. You do understand Locke. 
 This is one of his "complex ideas." 
 The ideas of power, evil, pain, together 
 with a very clear perception of the two 
 latter which may almost define the idea 
 " hatred," together with other minor 
 ideas, enter into its composition. 
 
 What you say about residing near 
 you is true. We cannot either get a 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 129 
 
 house there immediately. At mid- 
 summer, perhaps before, we see you 
 here : that is certain. Oh how you 
 will delight in this scenery ! These 
 mountains are now capped with snow. 
 The lake, as I see it hence, is glassy 
 and calm. Snow-vapours, tinted by 
 the loveliest colours of refraction, pass 
 far below the summits of these giant 
 rocks. The scene, even in a winter 
 sunset, is inexpressibly lovely. The 
 clouds assume shapes which seem pe- 
 culiar to these regions. What will it 
 be in summer? What when j'ow are 
 here ? Oh give me a little cottage in 
 that scene ! Let all live in peaceful 
 little houses — let temples and palaces 
 rot with their perishing masters! Be 
 society civilized ; be you with us ; 
 grant eternal life to all ; and I will ask 
 not the paradise of religionists ! I 
 think the Christian heaven (with its 
 hell) would be to us no paradise : but 
 such a scene as this 1 
 
I30 LETTERS TO 
 
 How my pen runs away with me ! — 
 We design, after your visit (which 
 Heaven knows, I wish would never 
 end), to visit Ireland. We are very 
 near Port-Patrick. If you could ex- 
 tend your time, could you not accom- 
 pany us ? But am I not building on a 
 foundation more flimsy than air ? Can 
 I look back to the last year, and decide 
 with certainty on anything but the 
 eternity of my regard for you ? 
 
 Every day augments the strength of 
 my friendship for you, dearest friend. 
 Every day makes me feel more keenly 
 that our being is eternal. Every day 
 brings the conviction how futile, how 
 inadequate, are all reasonings to de- 
 monstrate it ? Yet are we — are these 
 souls which measure in their circum- 
 scribed domain the distance of yon 
 orbs — are we but bubbles which arise 
 from the filth of a stagnant pool, merely 
 to be again re-absorbed into the mass 
 of its corruption ? I think not : I feel 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 131 
 
 not. Can you prove it? Yet the 
 eternity of man has ever been believed. 
 It is not merely one of the dogmas of 
 an inconsistent religion, though all reli- 
 gions have taken it for their foundation. 
 The wild American, who never heard 
 of Christ, or dreamed of original sin, 
 whose " Great Spirit " was nothing but 
 the Soul of Nature, could not reconcile 
 his feelings to annihilation. He too 
 has his paradise. And in truth is not 
 the Iroquois's " human life perfected " 
 better than to " circle with harps the 
 golden throne '' of one who dooms half 
 of his creatures to eternal destruction ? 
 — Thus much for the Soul. 
 
 I have now, my dear friend, in con- 
 templation a poem. I intend it to be 
 by anticipation a picture of the manners, 
 simplicity, and delights of a perfect state 
 of society, though still earthly. Will 
 you assist me ? I only thought of it 
 last night I design to accompUsh it, 
 and publish. After, I shall draw a 
 
 K 2 
 
132 LETTERS TO 
 
 picture of Heaven. I can do neither 
 without some hints from you. The 
 latter I think you ought to make. 
 
 I told you of a strange man I met 
 the other day : I am going to see him. 
 I shall also see Southey, Wordsworth, 
 and Coleridge, there. I shall then give 
 you a picture of them. 
 
 I owe you several letters, nor shall I 
 be slack to pay you. I even now have 
 much — oh, much ! — to say. But never 
 can I express the abundance of pleasure 
 which your three letters have given me. 
 Surely, my dearest friend, you must 
 have known by intuition all my thoughts 
 to write me as you have done. 
 
 Give my love to Anne : what does 
 she think of me ? You delight me by 
 what you tell me of her. Every preju- 
 dice conquered, every error rooted out, 
 every virtue given, is so much gained 
 in the cause of reform. I am never 
 unmindful of this: I see that you are 
 not. Tell Anne that if she would 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 133 
 
 write to me, I would answer her 
 letters. 
 
 Now, my dearest friend, adieu. This 
 paper is at an end, but what I have to 
 say is not. I owe you several letters, 
 and shall not fail in the payment. 
 
 What think you of my undertaking ? 
 Shall I not get into prison ? Harriet 
 is sadly afraid that his Majesty will pro- 
 vide me with a lodging, in consideration 
 of the zeal which I evince for the 
 bettering of his subjects. 
 
 I think I shall also make a selection 
 of my younger poems for publication. 
 You will give me credit for their 
 morality. 
 
 Well, adieu, my dearest friend — thou 
 to whom every thought, every shade of 
 thought, is owing, since last I wrote. 
 Adieu. 
 
 Your sincerest, 
 
 Percy S. 
 
 Harriet sends her love to you : the 
 dear girl will write to you. 
 
134 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 Keswick, [Cumberland.] 
 
 Sunday, December IS [1811]. 
 
 My dearest Friend, 
 
 You will before now have my last 
 letter. I have felt the distrustful recur- 
 rences of the post-office, which you felt 
 when no answer to all your letters 
 came. I have regretted that visit to 
 Greystoke, because this delay must 
 have given you uneasiness. 
 
 I have since heard from Captain P. 
 His letter contains the account of a 
 meditated proposal, on the part of my 
 father and grandfather, to make my 
 income immediately larger than the 
 former's, in case I will consent to entail 
 the estate on my eldest son, and, in 
 default of issue, on my brother. Silly 
 dotards ! do they think I can be thus 
 bribed and ground into an act of such 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 135 
 
 contemptible injustice and inutility? 
 that I will forswear my principles in 
 consideration of ;^2ooo a year ? that the 
 good-will I could thus purchase, or the 
 ill-will I could thus overbear, would 
 recompense me for the loss of self- 
 esteem, of conscious rectitude? And 
 with what face can they make to me a 
 proposal so insultingly hateful ? Dare 
 one of them propose such a condition 
 to my face — to the face of any virtuous 
 man — and not sink into nothing at 
 his disdain? That I should entail 
 ;£'i 20,000 of command over labour, of 
 power to remit this, to employ it for 
 beneficent purposes, on one whom I 
 know not — who might, instead of being 
 the benefactor of mankind, be its bane, 
 or use this for the worst purposes, 
 which the real delegates of my chance- 
 given property might convert into a 
 most useful instrument of benevolence ! 
 — No ! this you will not suspect 
 me of. 
 
136 LETTERS TO 
 
 What I have told you will serve to 
 put in its genuine light the grandeur of 
 aristocratical distinctions ; and to show 
 that contemptible vanity will gratify its 
 unnatural passion at the expense of 
 every just, humane, and philanthropic 
 consideration, — 
 
 "Though to a radiant angel linked 
 Will sate itself in a celestial bed, 
 And prey on garbage." 
 
 I have written this to you just as I 
 have received the Captain's letter. My 
 indignant contempt has probably con- 
 fused my language, and rendered my 
 writing rather illegible. But it is my 
 custom to communicate to you, my 
 dearest friend, — to that brafti of sym- 
 pathetic sensibility — every idea as it 
 comes, as I do to my own. 
 
 Hogg at length has declared himself 
 to be one of those mad votaries of 
 selfishness who are cool to destroy the 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 137 
 
 peace of others, and revengeful, when 
 their schemes are foiled, even to idiot- 
 ism. In answer to a letter in which 
 I strongly insisted on the criminality of 
 exposing himself to the inroads of a 
 passion which he had proved himself 
 unequal to control, and endangering 
 Harriet's happiness, he has talked of 
 my " consistency in despising religion, 
 despising duelling, and despising sin- 
 cere friendship" — with some hints as 
 to duelling, to induce me to meet him 
 in that manner. I have answered his 
 letter ; in which I have said I shall not 
 fight a duel with him, whatever he may 
 say or do ; that I have no right either 
 to expose my own life, or take his — in 
 addition to the wish I have, from 
 various motives, to prolong my exist- 
 tence. Nor do I think that his life is 
 a fair exchange for mine ; since I have 
 acted up to my principles, and he has 
 denied his, and acted inconsistently 
 with any morality whatsoever. That, 
 
138 LETTERS TO 
 
 if he would show how I had wronged 
 him, I would repair it to the utter- 
 most mite; but I would not fight a 
 duel. 
 
 Now, dearest partner of that friend- 
 ship which once he shared, now I am 
 at peace. He is incapable of being 
 other but the every-day villain who 
 parades St. James's Street ; though even 
 as a villain will he be eminent and im- 
 posing. The chances are now much 
 against my ever influencing him to 
 adopt habits of benevolence and phi- 
 lanthropy. This passion of animal 
 love which has seized him, this which 
 the false refinements of society have 
 exalted into an idol to which its mis- 
 guided members burn incense, has 
 intoxicated him, and rendered him 
 incapable of being influenced by any 
 but the consideration of self-love. How 
 much worthier of a rational being is 
 friendship ! which, though it wants 
 none of the " impassionateness " which 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 139 
 
 some have characterized as the inse- 
 parable of the other, yet retains judg- 
 ment, which is not blind though it 
 may chance to see something like 
 perfection in its object, which retains 
 its sensibility, but whose sensibility 
 is celestial and intellectual, unallied 
 to the grovelling passions of the 
 earth. 
 
 Southey has changed. I shall see 
 him soon, and I shall reproach him 
 for his tergiversation. He, to whom 
 bigotry, tyranny, law were hateful, has 
 become the votary of these idols in a 
 form the most disgusting. The Church 
 of England — its Hell and all — has be- 
 come the subject of his panegyric. The 
 war in Spain, that prodigal waste of 
 human blood to aggrandize the fame of 
 statesmen, is his delight. The constitu- 
 tion of England — with its Wellesley, its 
 Paget, and its Prince — is inflated with 
 the prostituted exertions of his pen. I 
 feel a sickening distrust when I see all 
 
140 LETTERS TO 
 
 that I had considered good, great, or 
 imitable, fall around me into the gulf of 
 error. But we will struggle on its brink 
 to the last ; and, if compelled we fall, 
 we shall have at all events the consola- 
 tion of knowing that we have struggled 
 with a nature that is bad, and that this 
 nature — not the imbecility of our proper 
 cowardice — has involved us in the 
 ignominy of defeat. 
 
 Wordsworth, a quondam associate of 
 Southey, yet retains the integrity of his 
 independence ; but his poverty is such 
 that he is frequently obliged to beg for 
 a shirt to his back. 
 
 Well, dearest friend, adieu. Changes 
 happen, friends fall around us : what 
 once was great sinks into the imbe- 
 cility of human grandeur. Empires 
 shall fade, kings shall be peasants, 
 and peasants shall be kings : but 
 never will we cease to regard each 
 other, because we never will cease to 
 deserve it. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCH ENER. 141 
 
 My Harriet desires her love to you. 
 
 Yours most imperishaUy, and eter- 
 nally, 
 
 P. B. Shellet. 
 
 I shall write again. Do these letters 
 come as a single sheet ? 
 
142 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXIII. 
 
 Keswick, [Cumberland, 
 
 Thursday,'\ December 26, 181 1. 
 
 My dearest Friend, 
 
 I have delayed writing for two days, 
 that my letters might not succeed each 
 other so closely as one day. I have 
 also been engaged in talking with 
 Southey. You may conjecture that a 
 man must possess high and estimable 
 qualities if, with the prejudices of such 
 total difference from my sentiments, I 
 can regard him great and worthy. In 
 fact, Southey is an advocate of liberty 
 and equality. He looks forward to a 
 state when all shall be perfected, and 
 matter become subjected to the omni- 
 potence of mind. But he is now an 
 advocate for existing establishments. 
 He says he designs his three statues in 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 143 
 
 Kehama to be contemplated with re- 
 publican feelings, but not in this age. 
 Southey hates the Irish : he speaks 
 against Catholic Emancipation, and 
 Parliamentary Reform. In these things 
 we diifer, and our differences were the 
 subject of a long conversation. Southey 
 calls himself a Christian ; but he does 
 not believe that the Evangelists were 
 in^ired ; he rejects the Trinity, and 
 thinks that Jesus Christ stood precisely 
 in the same relation to God as himself. 
 Yet he calls himself a Christian. Now, 
 if ever there were a definition of a 
 Deist, I think it could never be clearer 
 than this confession of faith. But 
 Southey, though far from being a man 
 of great reasoning powers, is a great 
 man. He has all that characterizes the 
 poet, — great eloquence, though obsti- 
 nacy in opinion, which arguments are 
 the last thing that can shake. He is a 
 man of virtue. He will never belie 
 what he thinks ; his professions are in 
 
144 LETTERS TO 
 
 strict compatibility with his practice. — 
 More of him another time. 
 
 With Calvert, the man whom I men- 
 tioned to you in that pygmy letter, we 
 have now become acquainted. He 
 knows everything that relates to my 
 family and myself : my expulsion from 
 Oxford, the opinions that caused it, are 
 no secrets to him. We first met Southey 
 at his house. He has been very kind 
 to us. The rent of our cottage was 
 two guineas and a half a week, with 
 linen provided : he has made the pro- 
 prietor lower it to one guinea, and has 
 lent us linen himself We are likely 
 therefore to continue where we are, as 
 we have engaged, on these terms, for 
 three months. After that, we will 
 augment his rent. 
 
 Beheve me, my most valued friend, 
 that I am, no less than yourself, an ad- 
 mirer of sincerity and openness. Mys- 
 tery is hatefiil and foreign to all my 
 habits : 1 wish to have no reserves. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 145 
 
 Were the world composed of such 
 individuals as that which shares my 
 soul, it should be the keeper of my 
 conscience. But I do not know whe- 
 ther, in the first place, the circumstance 
 of Hogg's apostacy is such as would 
 in any wise contribute to benefit by its 
 publication ; and, not knowing this, 
 should I not be highly criminal to risk 
 anything by its disclosure ? Though I 
 have much respect and love for my 
 uncle and aunt, and indeed can never 
 be sufficiently thankful for their un- 
 limited kindness, yet I know that no 
 good end, save explicitness, is to be 
 answered by this explanation ; and my 
 uncle's indignation would be so great 
 that I have frequently pictured to 
 myself the possibility of [its] out- 
 stepping the limits of justice. My 
 aunt, too, would be voluble in resent- 
 ment; and I am conscious that she 
 suspected, long before its event, the oc- 
 currence of this terrible disappointment. 
 
 L 
 
146 LETTERS TO 
 
 To you I tell everything that passes 
 in my soul, even the secret thoughts 
 sacred alone to sympathy. But you 
 are my dearest friend ; and, so long as 
 the present system of things continues 
 (which I fear is not yet verging to its 
 demolition), so long must some dis- 
 tinction be established between those 
 for whom you have a great esteem, a 
 high regard, and those who are to you 
 what Eliza Kitchener is to me. 
 
 Since I have answered Hogg's letter, 
 I have received another. It was not 
 written until after the receipt of my 
 answer. Its strain is humble and 
 compliant : he talks of his quick pas- 
 sions, his high sense of honour. I 
 have not answered it, nor shall I. He 
 has too deeply plunged into hypocrisy 
 for my arguments to effect any change. 
 I leave him to his fate. Would that I 
 could have reached him ! It ia an 
 unavailing wish — the last one that I 
 shall breathe over departed excellence. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 147 
 
 How I have loved him you can feel. 
 But he is no longer the being whom 
 perhaps 'twas the warmth of my ima- 
 gination that pictured. I love no 
 longer what is not that which I loved. 
 
 Do not praise me so much : my 
 counsellor will overturn the fabric she 
 is erecting. You strengthen me in 
 virtue : but weaken not the energy of 
 your example by proposing your so 
 high esteem as a reward for acting well. 
 I know none, of my principles, who 
 would do otherwise. 
 
 This proposal will be (if made) a 
 proof of the imbecility of aristocracy. 
 I have been led into reasonings which 
 make me hate more and more the 
 existing establishment, of every kind. 
 I gasp when I think of plate and balls 
 and titles and kings. I have beheld 
 scenes of misery. The manufacturers 
 are reduced to starvation. My friends 
 the military are gone to Nottingham. 
 Curses light on them for their motives, 
 
148 LETTERS TO 
 
 if they destroy one of its famine-wasted 
 inhabitants ! But, if I were a friend to 
 the destroyed, myself about to perish, 
 I fancy that I could bless them for 
 saving my friend the bitter mockery of 
 a trial. Southey thinks that a revolution 
 is inevitable : this is one of his reasons 
 for supporting things as they are. But 
 let us not belie our principles. They 
 may feed and may riot and may sin to 
 the last moment. The groans of the 
 wretched may pass unheeded till the 
 latest moment of this infamous revelry, 
 —till the storm burst upon them, and 
 the oppressed take ruinous vengeance 
 on the oppressors. 
 
 I do not proceed with my poem: 
 the subject is not now to my mind. I 
 am composing some essays which I 
 design to publish in the summer. The 
 minor poems I mentioned you will see 
 soon : they are about to be sent to the 
 printers. I think it wrong to publish 
 anything anonymously, and shall annex 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 149 
 
 my name, and a preface in which I 
 shall lay open my intentions, as the 
 poems are not wholly useless. 
 
 " I sing, and Liberty may love the song." 
 Can you assist my graver labours ? 
 
 Harriet complains that I hurt my 
 health, and fancies that I shall get into 
 prison. The dear girl sends her love 
 to you : she is quite what is called " in 
 love " with you. 
 
 What do you advise me about Hogg 
 and my uncle ? If you think best, I 
 will tell him. Do you be my mentor, 
 my guide, my counsellor, the half of 
 my soul : I demand it. 
 
 I never heard of Parkinson. I have 
 not room to say anything of Xeno- 
 phanes. I shall send for the Organic 
 Remains, &c. You will like the Poli- 
 tical Justice: for its politics you are 
 prepared. I hope you have got the 
 7?w/ edition. The chapters on Truth 
 and sincerity are impressively true. — 
 But I anticipate your opinions. 
 
ISO LETTERS TO 
 
 I have neglected ten thousand things 
 — in my next. 
 
 I will live beyond this life. 
 Yours, yours most imperishably, 
 Percy S. 
 
 If they charge you a double sheet 
 show this,* or open it before them, and 
 they will retract. 
 
 * Marked outside ; " This is only a large 
 single sheet." 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 151 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 Keswick, [Cumberland, 
 Thursday, '\ Jan. 2, 18 1 2. 
 
 My dearest Friend, 
 
 Your immense sheet, and the vol- 
 uminousness of your writing, and my 
 pleasure, demand an equivalent. I 
 can give it at length : but do not flatter 
 me so much as to suppose that I can 
 equal you in interest. Your style may 
 not be so polished ; sometimes I think it 
 is not so legal as mine : but words are 
 only signs of ideas, and their arrange- 
 ment only valuable as it is adapted 
 adequately to express them. Your elo- 
 quence comes from the soul : it has 
 the impassionateness of nature. I 
 sometimes doubt the source of mine, 
 and suspect the genuineness of my 
 sincerity. But I do not think I have 
 any reason : no, I am firm, secure, un- 
 
152 LETTERS TO 
 
 changeable. — Pardon this scepticism ; 
 but I will incorporate, for the inspec- 
 tion of my second conscience, each 
 shadow, however fleeting, each idea 
 which worth or chance imprints on my 
 recollection. 
 
 You have loved God, but not the 
 God of Christianity. A God of par- 
 dons and revenge, a God whose will 
 could change the order of the universe, 
 seems never to have been the object of 
 your affections. I have lately had 
 some conversation with Southey which 
 has elicited my true opinions of God. 
 He says I ought not to call myself an 
 atheist, since in reality I believe that 
 the Universe is God. I tell him I 
 believe that " God " is another signifi- 
 cation for "the Universe." I then 
 explain : — I think reason and analogy 
 seem to countenance the opinion that 
 life is infinite ; that, as the soul which 
 now animates this frame was once the 
 vivifying principle of the infinitely 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 153 
 
 lowest link in the chain of existence, so 
 is it ultimately destined to attain the 
 highest; that everything is animation 
 (as explained in my last letter) ; and in 
 consequence, being infinite, we can 
 never arrive at its termination. How, 
 on this hypothesis, are we to arrive at 
 a First Cause? — Southey admits and 
 believes this. Can he be a Christian ? 
 Can God be three ? Southey agrees in 
 my idea of Deity, — the mass of infinite 
 intelligence. I, you, and he, are con- 
 stituent parts of this immeasurable 
 whole. What is now to be thought of 
 Jesus Christ's divinity? To me it 
 appears clear as day that it is the false- 
 hood of human-kind. 
 
 You seem much to doubt Christi- 
 anity. I do not : I cannot conceive in 
 my mind even the possibility of its gen- 
 uineness. I am far from thinking you 
 weak and imbecile: you must know 
 this. I look up to you as a mighty 
 mind. I anticipate the era of reform 
 
154 LETTERS TO 
 
 with the more eagerness as I picture to 
 myself j'^'w the barrier between violence 
 and renovation. Assert your true char- 
 acter, and believe one who loves you 
 for what you are to be sincere. Know- 
 ing you to be thus great, I should grieve 
 that you countenanced imposture. 
 Love God, if thou wilt (I do not think 
 you ever feared Him), but recollect 
 what God is. 
 
 If what I have urged against Christ- 
 ianity is insufficient, read its very books, 
 that a nearer inspection may contribute 
 to the rectif3nng any false judgment. 
 Physical considerations must not be 
 disregarded, when physical improbabili- 
 ties are asserted by the witnesses of a 
 contested question. Bearing in mind 
 that disinterestedness is the essence of 
 virtuous motive, any dogmas militating 
 with this principle are to be rejected. 
 Considering that belief is not a volun- 
 tary operation of the mind, any system 
 which makes it a subject of reward or 
 
ELIZABETH HITCH ENER. 155 
 
 punishment cannot be supposed to 
 emanate from one who has a master- 
 knowledge of the human mind. All 
 investigations of the era of the world's 
 existence are incongruous with that of 
 Moses. Whether is it probable that 
 Moses or Sir Isaac Newton, knew as- 
 tronomy best ? Besides, Moses writes 
 the history of his own death; which 
 is almost as extraordinary a thing to do 
 as to describe the creation of the world. 
 Thus much for Christianity. This only 
 relates to the truth of it : do not forget 
 the weightier consideration of its direct 
 effects. 
 
 Southey is no believer in original sin : 
 he thinks that which appears to be a 
 taint of our nature is in effect the result 
 of unnatural political institutions. 
 There we agree. He thinks the pre- 
 judices of education, and sinister influ- 
 ences of political institutions, adequate 
 to account for all the specimens of vice 
 which have fallen within his observation. 
 
156 LETTERS TO 
 
 You talk of Montgomery. We all 
 sympathise with him, and often think 
 and converse of him. I am going to 
 write to him to-day. His story is a 
 terrible one : it is briefly this. — His 
 father and mother were Moravian 
 missionaries. They left their country 
 to convert the Indians : they were 
 young, enthusiastic, and excellent. 
 The Indians savagely murdered them. 
 Montgomery was then quite a child j 
 but the impression of this event never 
 wore away. When he grew up, he 
 became a disbeliever of Christianity, 
 having very much such principles as a 
 virtuous enquirer for truth. In the 
 mean time he loved an apparently ami- 
 able female : he was about to marry her. 
 Having some affairs in the West Indies, 
 he went to settle them before his mar- 
 riage. On his return to Sheffield, he 
 actually met the marriage-procession of 
 this woman, who had in the mean time 
 chosen another love. He became 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 157 
 
 melancholy-mad : the horrible events 
 of his life preyed on his mind. He 
 was shocked at having forsaken a faith 
 for which a father and mother whom 
 he loved had suffered martyrdom. 
 The contest between his reason and 
 his faith was destroying. He is now a 
 Methodist. Will not this tale account 
 for the melancholy and religious cast 
 of his poetry ? — This is what Southey 
 told me, word for word. 
 
 "POET'S EPITAPH. 
 
 "Art thou a Statesman, in the van 
 Of public business born and bred ? 
 First learn to love one living man ; 
 Then mayest thou think upon the 
 dead. 
 
 " Art thou a lawyer ? Come not nigh : 
 Go, carry to some other place 
 The hardness of thy coward eye, 
 The falsehood of thy sallow face. 
 
IS8 LETTERS TO 
 
 "Art thou a man of rosy cheer, 
 A purple man right plump to see ? 
 Approach : but, Doctor, not too near 1 
 This grave no cushion is for thee. 
 
 " Physician art thou — one all eyes — 
 Philosopher — a fingering slave — 
 One who would peep and botanize 
 Upon his mother's grave? 
 
 " Wrapped closely in thy sensual fleece.. 
 Pass quickly on : and take, I pray. 
 That he below may rest in peace, 
 Thy pin-point of a soul away. 
 
 "But who is he, with modest looks, 
 
 And clad in homely russet — brown. 
 
 Who murmurs near the running brooks 
 
 A music sweeter than their own? 
 
 " And you must love him, ere to you 
 He will seem worthy of your love. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 159 
 
 " All outward shows of sky and earth, 
 Of sea and valley, he hath viewed ; 
 And impulses of deeper birth 
 Have come to him in solitude." 
 
 I have transcribed a piece of 
 Wordsworth's poetry. It may give 
 you some idea of the man. How 
 expressively keen are the first stanzas ! 
 I shall see this man soon. 
 
 I wish I knew your mother : I do 
 not mean your natural, but your moral, 
 mother. I have many thanks to give 
 to her. I owe her much : more than 
 I can hope to repay, yet not without 
 the reach of an attempt at remunera- 
 tion. 
 
 I look forward to the time when you 
 will live with us : I think you ought at 
 some time. If then principle still 
 directs you to take scholars, this will 
 be no impediment : but I think you 
 might be far more usefully employed. 
 Your pen — so overflowing, so demon- 
 
i6o LETTERS TO 
 
 strative, so impassioned — ought to 
 trace characters for a nation's perusal, 
 and not make grammar-books for chil- 
 dren. This latter is undoubtedly a 
 most useful employment: but who 
 would consent that such powers should 
 always be so employed ? This is, how- 
 ever, a subject for afterwards. 
 
 My Poems will make their appear- 
 ance as soon as I can find a printer. 
 As to the poem, I have for the present 
 postponed its execution ; thinking that, 
 if I can finish my Essays, and a Tale in 
 which I design to exhibit the cause of 
 the failure of the French Revolution, 
 and the state of morals and opinions 
 in France during the latter years of its 
 monarchy.* Some of the leading pas- 
 sions of the human mind will of course 
 have a place in its fabric. I design to 
 exclude the sexual passion ; and think 
 the keenest satire on its intemperance 
 will be complete silence on the subject. 
 
 • Shelley has left this senteDce UDCompleted. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. i6i 
 
 I have already done about 200 pages 
 of this work, and about 150 of the 
 Essays. 
 
 Now, you can assist me, and you do 
 assist me. I must censure my friend's 
 inadequate opinion of herself ; for truly 
 inadequate must it be if it inequalizes 
 our intellectual powers. Have confi- 
 dence in yourself : dare to believe " I 
 am great." 
 
 I fear you cannot read my crossed 
 writing : indeed, I very much doubt 
 whether the whole of my scribbling be 
 not nearly illegible. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest friend. Harriet 
 sends her love. 
 
 Eliza, her sister, is a very amiable 
 girl. Her opinions are gradually rectify- 
 ing ; and, although I have never spoken 
 of her to you before, it is injustice to 
 her to conceal [her] from you so long. 
 
 I have said nothing of Godwin — 
 nothing of a thousand topics I had to 
 write on. But I admire Godwin as 
 
1 62 LETTERS, ETC. 
 
 much as you can. I shall write to him 
 too tio-day or to-morrow. I do not sup- 
 pose that he will answer my address. I 
 shall, however, call on him whenever I 
 go to London. 
 
 I am not sure that Southey is quite 
 uninfluenced by venality. He is dis- 
 interested, so far as respects his family ; 
 but I question if he is so, as far as re- 
 spects the world. His writings solely 
 support a numerous family. His sweet 
 children are such amiable creatures that 
 I almost forgive what I suspect. His 
 wife is very stupid: Mrs. Coleridge is 
 worse. Mrs. Lovel, who was once an 
 actress, is the best of them. 
 
 Adieu, my friend and fellow-labourer; 
 and never think that I can be otherwise 
 than devoted to you till annihilation. 
 Yours for ever, 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
 Southey says I am not an Atheist, 
 but a Pantheist. 
 
LETTER XXV. 
 
 Keswick, Cumberland. 
 
 [Tuesday], Jan. 7, 1812. 
 
 I HAVE delayed writing to you for 
 two days : I wronged myself more than 
 you. I have been partly unwilling to 
 break in on some writings I am engaged 
 in; partly in depression. Believe me 
 with what pleasure I return to you. 
 
 My dearest friend. I have thought 
 of you, and this moment am resolved 
 no longer to think with you. Do not 
 fear: I shall not be prisoned. I am 
 yet but a viper in the egg, they say : I 
 have all the venom, but I cannot sting. 
 
 M 2 
 
1 64 LETTERS TO 
 
 Besides, they shall not get at me : they 
 cannot. I shall refer to Blackstone: 
 he will tell me what points are criminal, 
 and what innocent, in the eye of the 
 law. I do not therefore anticipate a 
 prison: I need not tell you I do not 
 fear it. — But yes, I do. It would cur- 
 tail much of our Harriet's happiness ; 
 it would excite too vividly your sym- 
 pathy, and might obviate my performance 
 of many acts of usefulness which, if I 
 have liberty, I can effect. Godwin yet 
 lives : if Government, at one time, could 
 have destroyed any man, Godwin would 
 have ceased to be. Thomas Paine died 
 a natural death : his writings were far 
 more violently in opposition to Govern- 
 ment than mine perhaps ever will 
 be. I desire to establish on a lasting 
 basis the happiness of human-kind. 
 Popular insurrections and revolutions I 
 look upon with discountenance. If 
 such things must be, I will take the side 
 of the people ; but my reasonings shall 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 165 
 
 endeavour to ward it from the hearts of 
 the rulers of the earth, deeply as I 
 detest them. How does Sir Thomas 
 Burdett continue to live ? Certainly, if 
 Mr. Percival could have killed him, I 
 do believe he indubitably would have 
 done so. No, my dearest friend, fear 
 not that I shall be destroyed. They 
 cannot, they dare not : I do not dispute 
 that they would if they could. 
 
 Miss Adams — I cannot pardon her 
 for racking you with these fears : friend 
 of my soul, cast them off. A beam of 
 the house may destroy you : but I live 
 in hopes that it will not. I feel assured 
 that you are at Hurst in safety. If I 
 did not think so, I could defy the 
 Bishops themselves to paint a hell so 
 red where I would not go to meet you. 
 
 Harriet has written to you to-day. She 
 has informed you of our plans. In a 
 month I shall have completed a tale 
 illustrative of the causes of the failure 
 of the French Revolution to benefit 
 
r66 LETTERS TO 
 
 mankind. At the conclusion of that 
 month we think of going to Dubhn, 
 where I shall print it; in May, to 
 receive your visit in Wales — fifty miles 
 nearer than Cumberland. 
 
 In fact, my friend, at this Keswick, 
 though the face of the country is lovely, 
 the people are detestable. The manu- 
 facturers, with their contamination, have 
 crept into the peaceful vale, and 
 deformed the loveliness of Nature 
 with human taint. The debauched 
 servants of the great families who 
 resort contribute to the total extinction 
 of morality. Keswick seems more like 
 a suburb of London than a village of 
 Cumberland. Children are frequently 
 found in the river, which the unfortunate 
 women employed in the manufactory 
 destroy. Wales is very different, and 
 there you shall visit us. The distance 
 is somewhat shorter, the scenery quite 
 as beautiful. 
 
 Southey says Expediency ought to 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 167 
 
 [be] made the ground of politics, but 
 
 not of morals. I urged that the most 
 
 fatal error that ever happened in the 
 
 world was the separation of political 
 
 and ethical science; that the former 
 
 ought to be entirely regulated by the 
 
 latter, as whatever was a right criterion 
 
 of action for an individual must be 
 
 so for a society, which was but an 
 
 assemblage of individuals; "that politics 
 
 were morals comprehensively enforced." 
 
 Southey did not think the reasoning 
 
 conclusive. He has a very happy 
 
 knack, when truth goes against him, 
 
 of saying : " Oh ! when you are as old 
 
 as I am, you will think with me." This 
 
 talent he employed in the above instance. 
 
 If a thing exists, there can always be 
 
 shown reasons for its existence. If 
 
 there cannot, it still may exist, but can 
 
 never be the subject of mortal faith. 
 
 You will see in my Hubert Cauvin 
 (the name of the tale) that I have 
 spoken of expediency, insincerity, 
 
1 68 LETTERS TO 
 
 mystery; adherence to which I do 
 not consider the remotest occasion of 
 violence and blood in the French 
 Revolution. Indeed, their fatal effects 
 are to be traced in every one instance 
 of human life where vice and misery 
 enter into the features of the por- 
 traiture. 
 
 I do not think so highly of Southey 
 as I did. It is to be confessed that, to 
 see him in his family, to behold him in 
 his domestic circle, he appears in a most 
 amiable light. I do not mean that he 
 is or can be the great character which 
 once I linked him to : his mind is 
 terribly narrow, compared to it. Once 
 he was this character, — everything you 
 can conceive of practised virtue. Now 
 he is corrupted by the world, contami- 
 nated by Custom: it rends my heart 
 when I think what he might have been ! 
 Wordsworth and Coleridge I have yet 
 to see. 
 
 I now send you some poetry : the 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 169 
 
 subject is not fictitious. It is the over- 
 flowings of the mind this morning. 
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 I. 
 
 She was an aged woman ; and the years 
 Which she had numbered on her 
 
 toilsome way 
 Had bowed her natural powers to 
 
 decay. 
 She was an aged woman ; yet the ray 
 Which faintly glimmered through her 
 
 starting tears, 
 Pressed into light by silent misery, 
 Hath soul's imperishable energy. 
 
 She was a cripple, and incapable 
 To add one mite to gold-fed luxury : 
 And therefore did her spirit dimly 
 feel 
 That poverty, the crime of tainting 
 stain. 
 Would merge her in its depths, never to 
 rise again. 
 
I70 LETTERS TO 
 
 II. 
 
 One only son's love had supported her. 
 She long had struggled with infirmity, 
 Lingering to human life-scenes ; for 
 
 to die, 
 When fate has spared to rend some 
 mental tie, 
 Would many wish, and surely fewer dare. 
 But, when the tyrant's bloodhounds 
 
 forced the child 
 For his curst power unhallowed arms to 
 wield — 
 Bend to another's will — become a 
 thing 
 More senseless than the sword of 
 battlefield- 
 Then did she feel keen sorrow's 
 keenest sting ; 
 And many years had passed ere comfort 
 they would bring. 
 
 III. 
 For seven years did this poor woman 
 live 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 171 
 
 In unparticipated solitude. 
 
 Thou mightst have seen her in the 
 
 forest rude 
 Picking the scattered remnants of its 
 
 wood. 
 If human, thou mightst then have 
 
 learned to feel. 
 The gleanings of precarious charity 
 Her scantiness of food did scarce supply. 
 The proofs of an unspeaking sorrow 
 
 dwelt 
 Within her ghastly hollowness of eye : 
 Each arrow of the season's change 
 
 she felt. 
 Yet still she groans, ere yet her race 
 
 were run, 
 One only hope : it was — once more to 
 
 see her son. 
 
 IV. 
 
 It was an eve of June, when every star 
 Spoke peace from heaven. — 
 
 She rested on the moor. 'Twas such 
 an eve 
 
172 LETTERS TO 
 
 When first her soul began indeed to 
 grieve : 
 Then he was there ; now he is very far. 
 The sweetness of the balmy evening 
 A sorrow o'er her aged soul did fling, 
 Yet not devoid of rapture's mingled 
 tear : 
 A balm was in the poison of the sting. 
 
 The aged sufferer for many a year 
 Had never felt such comfort. She 
 suppressed 
 A sigh — and, turning round, clasped 
 William to her breast ! 
 
 V. 
 
 And, though his form was wasted by 
 the woe 
 Which t)T:ants on their victims love 
 
 to wreak, 
 Though his sunk eyeballs and his 
 
 faded cheek 
 Of slavery's violence and scorn 
 did speak, 
 Yet did the aged woman's bosom glow. 
 The vital fire seemed reillumed within 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 173 
 
 By this sweet unexpected welcoming. 
 Oh consummation of the fondest 
 hope 
 That ever soared on fancy's wildest 
 wing ! 
 O tenderness that found'st so sweet a 
 scope ! 
 Prince who dost pride thee on thy 
 mighty sway, 
 When thou canst feel such love, thou 
 shalt be great as they ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Her son, compelled, the country's foes 
 had fought. 
 Had bled in battle ; and the stem 
 
 control 
 Which ruled his sinews and coerced 
 
 his soul 
 Utterly poisoned life's unmingled 
 bowl, 
 And unsubduable evils on him brought. 
 He was the shadow of the lusty child 
 Who, when the time of summer season 
 smiled, 
 
174 LETTERS TO 
 
 Did earn for her a meal of honesty, 
 And with affectionate discourse beguiled 
 The keen attacks of pain and 
 poverty ; 
 Till Power, as envjdng her this only joy. 
 From her maternal bosom tore the 
 unhappy boy. 
 
 VII. 
 And now cold charity's unwelcome dole 
 Was insufficient to support the pair ; 
 And they would perish rather than 
 
 would bear 
 The law's stern slavery, and the 
 insolent stare 
 With which law loves to rend the poor 
 
 man's soul — 
 The bitter scorn, the spirit-sinking noise 
 Of heartless mirth which women, men, 
 
 and boys. 
 Wake in this scene of legal misery. 
 
 The facts are real : that recorded in 
 the last fragment of a stanza is literally 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 175 
 
 true. The poor man said : " None of 
 my family ever came to parish, and I 
 would starve first. I am a poor man ; 
 but I could never hold my head up after 
 that." 
 
 Adieu, my dearest friend. Think of 
 the poetry which I have inserted as a 
 picture of my feelings, not a specimen 
 of my art I shall write to you soon 
 again. Your letters give me perpetual 
 food for thought and discussion. Southey 
 has got off more hardly than he other- 
 wise would have done, in consequence 
 of them. Not that I ever will abet 
 expediency, either in morals or politics. 
 I never will do ill that good may come, 
 — at least, so far. 
 
 Adieu. Harriet desires her love. 
 My dearest friend, adieu. 
 
 Your eternal 
 
 Percy B. S. 
 
 I find you begin to doubt the eternity 
 of the soul: I do not. — More of that 
 hereafter. 
 
176 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 [Keswick, Cumberland, 
 
 Monday, 2a January, 1812.] 
 
 It is now a whole week since I have 
 addressed my friend, my dearest friend, 
 the partner of my thoughts. But the 
 thought of you has enlivened and ani- 
 mated my intermediate employments; 
 has added pleasure to the pleasure 
 which I have received ; and has con- 
 tributed, with my dear Harriet's love, 
 to disarm a terrible headache which 1 
 have had. I have been obliged, by an 
 accession of nervous attack, to take a 
 quantity of laudanum, which I did very 
 unwillingly and reluctantly, and which 
 I should not have done, had I been 
 alone. I am now quite recovered. 
 When the mind is at ease, illness does 
 not continue long. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 177 
 
 I have something to tell you. God- 
 win has answered my letters, and he 
 is now ray friend. He shall be yours : 
 share with me this acquisition, more 
 valuable than the gifts of princes. His 
 letters are like his writings, the mirror 
 of a firm and elevated mind. They are 
 the result of the experience of ages, 
 which he condenses for my instruc- 
 tion. It is with awe and veneration 
 that I read the letters of this veteran in 
 persecution and independence. He 
 remains unchanged. I have no soul- 
 chilling alteration to record of his 
 character: the unmoderated enthu- 
 siasm of humanity still characterizes 
 him. He preserves those principles of 
 extensive and independent action which 
 alone can give energy and vigour. Like 
 Southey he does not change. The age 
 of the body has [not] induced the age 
 of the soul : though his shell is mould- 
 ering, the spirit within seems in no 
 wise to participate in the decay. I 
 
178 LETTERS TO 
 
 have unfolded to him the leading traits 
 of my character, and the leading events 
 of my life. I have certainly won his 
 good opinion. He says: "At present 
 I feel for you all those motives of 
 interest that can be crowded into the 
 case of a young man I never saw. 
 First, you appear to be in some degree 
 the pupil of my writings ; and I feel so 
 far as if I were in a measure responsible 
 for your conduct. Secondly, from your 
 account of what you have done (though 
 nothing you have written has fallen in 
 my way), I cannot but conclude that you 
 possess extraordinary powers. Thirdly, 
 as a man of family born to a consider- 
 able fortune, it is of the more import- 
 ance how you conduct yourself; for 
 money is one of the means a man may 
 possess of being extremely useful to 
 his species." 
 
 But you shall see his letters \ perhaps 
 shall see himself. Oh if he would come 
 to Wales, and meet you ! I think he 
 
ELIZABETH HI TCHENER. 179 
 
 is old : but age, with Godwin, must be 
 but the perfecting of his abilities ; but 
 the fruit of that blossom that unfolded 
 itself so beautifully in adolescence. — 
 Adieu to Godwin. 
 
 Now to Southey. He has lost my 
 good opinion. No private virtues can 
 compensate for public language like this. 
 The following passage is Southey's 
 writing : the £d\inburgf{\ An\nuar\ 
 Register. "We are not displeased at 
 the patriotic expedient to which the 
 worthy Sir Francis " (italics in original) 
 " has thus recourse ; as it seems to show 
 how contemptible are the Burdettite 
 and Wardleite members, whose nature 
 is debased by the vile views of faction, 
 and whose unmanly feelings and un- 
 generous hearts forbid their sympathy 
 in a case which — to the everlasting 
 honour of the country be it related — so 
 deeply interests " (speaking of Spain) 
 " with keen solicitude the fond bosoms 
 of a people " — (now mark this dis- 
 
 N 2 
 
i8o LETTERS TO 
 
 gusting abominable flattery, and hor- 
 rible lie — I can't contain myself) — 
 "who, in duly appreciating his tran- 
 scendent virtues, prove themselves de- 
 serving the best monarch that ever 
 adorned a throne." — Now what think 
 you of this ? I can only exclaim with 
 Bolingbroke, " Poor human nature ! " 
 
 We have now serious thoughts of im- 
 mediately going to Ireland. Southey's 
 conversation has lost its charm ; ex- 
 cept it be the charm of horror at so 
 hateful a prostitution of talents. I 
 hasten to go to Ireland. I am now 
 writing an Address to the poor Irish 
 Catholics. Part of it will be in the 
 following strain. — " Think of your 
 children, and your children's children ; 
 and take great care (for it all rests 
 with you) that, whilst one tyranny is 
 destroyed, another, more fierce and 
 terrible, does not spring up. Take 
 care of smooth-faced men who talk 
 indeed of freedom, but who will cheat 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. i8i 
 
 you into slavery. Can there be worse 
 slavery than depending for the safety 
 of your souls on another man? Is 
 one man more favoured than another 
 by God ? No : if God makes any 
 distinction, they are favoured accord- 
 ing to the good they do, not according 
 to the rank or profession they hold. 
 God loves a poor man as well as a 
 priest (Jesus Christ has said as much), 
 he has given him a soul as much to 
 himself. The worship that a good 
 being must love is that of a simple 
 affectionate heart that shows its purity 
 in good doings, and not in ceremonies, 
 confessions, masses, burials, wonders, 
 and processions. Take care that you 
 are not led away by these things. 
 Doubt everything that leads you not 
 to love and charity with all men ; and 
 think of the word ' Heretic ' as of a 
 word invented by some selfish knave 
 for the ruin and misery of the world, 
 to answer his own paltry and narrow 
 
1 83 LETTERS TO 
 
 ambition." — You shall see the pam- 
 phlet when it comes out : it will be 
 cheaply printed, and printed in large 
 sheets to be stuck about the walls of 
 Dublin. I am eager and earnest to be 
 there, and that you were with me. 
 
 My true and dear friend, why should 
 we be separated ? When may we 
 unite? What might we not do, if 
 together ! If two hearts, panting for 
 the happiness and liberty of man- 
 kind, were joined by union and 
 proximity, as they are by friendship 
 and sympathy. How Harriet and 
 her sister long to see you ! and how 
 / long to see you, never to part with 
 you again ! How I could tell to 
 you a thousand feelings and thoughts 
 to which letters are inadequate ! how 
 plans, that now die away unformed, 
 might then be elicited and modified ! 
 We might write, and talk, and hypo- 
 thesize, theorize, and reason ! Oh let 
 the time come I It may and will 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 183 
 
 neither be to-day nor to-morrow, nor 
 this month nor next : but write of it 
 in your next, I entreat you. The ties 
 that bind you to Hurst are not eternal ; 
 and it will be worth while to consider, 
 since you are destined to move in an 
 eccentric and comprehensive orbit, how 
 far your duties at H. are compatible 
 with these, or how far they are to be 
 neglected if a wider field is exhibited. 
 
 Have you any idea of marrying 1 I 
 do not think, from several things you 
 have said on that subject, that you 
 have. It does not appear to me that 
 there is any friend sufficiently dear to 
 you. — I might have omitted this ques- 
 tion. I will do as much : I will 
 answer it. You have not. — Then you 
 shall live with us, — at least, some time 
 hence. This time shall be indefinite 
 now. Harriet is above the littleness 
 of jealousy, of which you at first sus- 
 pected her. She will see this letter; 
 and already feels for you the same 
 
i84 LETTERS TO 
 
 kind of affection that I do, though not 
 with the same intensity. 
 
 Certainly, any one who got hold of 
 this letter would think I was a Bed- 
 lamite. Well, you do not; and my 
 reputation for madness is too well- 
 established to gain any firmness or 
 addition from this letter. 
 
 I have received your note from 
 Brighton (I make more differences 
 between acquaintances, and friends or 
 dear friends, than between notes, 
 letters, and volumes). What bears 
 and monkeys should I suppose were 
 your associates, if you did not add to 
 their happiness I or rather would they 
 not be stones, petrifactions ? You 
 certainly tell me truism when you 
 egotize at all. This is owing to your 
 want of vanity, or rather want of self- 
 sufficiency, — a little more of which I 
 wish to make you have. I love you 
 to talk of yourself: it is more to me 
 than all you can say on any other 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 185 
 
 subject. Not but what everything that 
 you say gives me the greatest pleasure. 
 
 I have heard from my uncle, who is 
 going to send me £^0. — Despairing 
 of his power to do so, I had previously 
 written to request the D[uke] of Nor- 
 folk to lend me ;£ioo : so, if the Duke 
 complies, we shall be very rich. I 
 shall likewise make money in Ireland, 
 All the money I get shall be squeezed 
 out of the rich. The poor cannot 
 understand, and would not buy, my 
 poems : therefore I shall print them 
 expensively. My metaphysics will be 
 also printed expensively, — the first edi- 
 tion, that is (I am vain enough to hope 
 for a second). The Address to the 
 Irish shall be printed very cheap, and 
 I shall wilfully lose money by it. I 
 shall distribute [it] throughout Ireland, 
 either personally or by means of book- 
 sellers. The novel will be printed 
 cheaply. 
 
 How do you get on about money? 
 
1 86 LETTERS TO 
 
 This is a vile question to mention 
 in our correspondence ; but tell me. 
 Pecuniary obligations are things too 
 silly to be named among us : I never 
 feel these things. I have reasons for 
 my insensibility. It all depends on 
 love of fame, and fear of infamy; 
 which, but for the opportunities which 
 the one gives and the other takes away 
 of being beneficent, are entitled to our 
 completest contempt. Answer this. 
 
 Here follow a few stanzas which 
 may amuse you. I was once rather 
 fond of the Devil. 
 
 1. 
 
 The Devil went out a-walking one day, 
 
 Being tired of staying in Hell. 
 He dressed himself in his Sunday array; 
 And the reason that he was dressed so 
 
 gay 
 
 Was to cunningly pry 
 Whether under the sky 
 The affairs of Earth went well. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 187 
 
 II. 
 
 He poked his hot nose into corners so 
 small 
 One would think that the innocents 
 there, 
 Poor creatures ! were just doing nothing 
 
 at all, 
 But settling some dress, or arranging 
 some ball : 
 The Devil eaw deeper there. 
 
 III. 
 
 He peeped in each hole, to each 
 chamber stole, 
 His promising live-stock to view. 
 Grinning applause 
 He just shows his claws : 
 And Satan laughed in the mirth of his soul 
 That they started with fright 
 From his ugly sight 
 Whose works they delighted to do. 
 
1 88 LETTERS TO 
 
 IV. 
 A Parson with whom, in the house of 
 prayer, 
 The Devil sate side by side, 
 Bawled out that, if the Devil were 
 [there], 
 His presence he couldn't abide. 
 " Ha ha ! " thought Old Nick, 
 " That's a very stale trick : 
 For, without the Devil, 
 O favourite of evil. 
 In thy carriage thou wouldst not 
 ride ! " 
 
 V. 
 He saw the Devil [ ? a Lawyer] a viper 
 slay 
 Under his brief- covered table : 
 It reminded the Devil marvellously 
 Of the story of Cain and Abel. 
 
 VI. 
 Satan next saw a brainless king ; 
 Many imps he saw near there on the 
 wing : 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 189 
 
 In a house as hot as his own. 
 They flapped the black pennon, and 
 twisted the sting, 
 Close to the very throne. 
 
 VII. 
 " Ah ah 1 " cried Satan, " the pasture 
 is good ! 
 My cattle will here thrive better than 
 others ! 
 They will have for their food 
 News of human blood : 
 They will drink the groans of the dying 
 
 and dead; 
 And supperless never will go to bed, 
 Which will make 'em as fat as their 
 brothers." 
 
 VIII. 
 The Devil was walking in the Park, 
 Dressed like a Bond Street beau : 
 Nor, although his visage was rather 
 
 dark, 
 And his mouth was wide, his chin 
 came out, 
 
I go LETTERS TO 
 
 And something like Castlereagh was 
 his snout, 
 He might be called so-so. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Why does the Devil grin so wide, 
 And show the horse teeth within? — 
 
 Nine-and-ninety on each side, 
 By the clearest reckoning ! 
 
 Here the poetry ends. The fact is, 
 he saw the Prince reviewing a regiment 
 of hussars. 
 
 Well, is not this trifling? A most 
 teazing thing, if you are not in a laugh- 
 ing mood. But I can laugh or weep 
 with you. 
 
 Well, write soon. We are not going 
 to Ireland this week or next, but soon, 
 I hope. 
 
 I have changed the shape of my 
 paper, because I am afraid they make 
 you pay double ; and you are a very 
 naughty girl if you do this. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 191 
 
 Harriet will write soon : she sends 
 her love to you. By the bye, tell Mrs. 
 Adams that I love her, and will see 
 her whenever I come to Sussex. Do 
 not make your seal so large, for you 
 destroy a great deal of what I value. 
 Yours beyond this being 
 Most imperishably, 
 
 P. B. S. 
 
 You have said no more of the im- 
 mortality of the soul. Do you not 
 believe it? I do; but I cannot tell 
 you why in a letter — at least, not 
 clearly. You will want some feelings 
 which are to me cogent and resistless 
 arguments. Do not consider it a 
 gloomy subject : do not think me pre- 
 judiced. We will reason, and abide 
 by the result. I shall get Godwin's 
 opinion of this when I can. 
 
192 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 Keswick, [Cumberland. 
 
 Sunday], Jan. 26, 1812. 
 
 [ Written by Harriet. ] 
 
 My DEAR Madam, 
 
 Your letter has given me great pain, 
 when I think that one so amiable should 
 be made the sport of an unfeeling and 
 prejudiced woman. I had loved this 
 Anne, for I thought her amiable and 
 sensible : but how often are we deceived 
 in children ! You are unhappy, my dear 
 friend, about her ; and what can we do 
 to restore your felicity? Would that you 
 were here ! How do I every day hate 
 the foolish customs of society that 
 shackle all our projects ! 
 
 You beg me to pardon you for com- 
 mitting a very slight error : it is now 
 your turn to pardon me. I have sent 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 193 
 
 you a letter which I am afraid will add 
 to your melancholy : yet it is true what 
 I have said, and now I am quite angry 
 that I sent it. Yet I was afraid you 
 might hear the circumstance much more 
 dreadful than it really was. But do not, 
 my dear Madam, suffer yourself to be 
 alarmed at it ; for now all is quiet and 
 tranquil, nor do we expect any more 
 alarms, and, if we have (which is not at 
 all likely), we are well guarded. I hope 
 you will not let it prey upon you, but 
 endeavour to forget it as soon as read : 
 and indeed, if you have not read it 
 before you. receive this, let me beg of 
 you to burn it unopened. 
 
 Percy is writing to Captain Pilfold : 
 he means to put him right in respect to 
 what my aunt has told him. He has 
 therefore made me fill up this large sheet. 
 I wish he had done it himself, as to a 
 certainty it would be much more enter- 
 taining than this. He is much better 
 than he has been for some time ; and I 
 
 o 
 
194 LETTERS TO 
 
 hope as he gets stronger, he will out- 
 grow his nervous complaints. 
 
 Next week we think of going to 
 Ireland : therefore you had better 
 direct your next letter to the Post 
 Office, Dublin. I need not tell [you] 
 I wish we were there ; though I have 
 never been on the sea, therefore I do 
 not know what an effect it may have 
 upon me, — though now I can bear the 
 journey better than if I were you know 
 what ; which I do not expect will be 
 the case for some time, — years perhaps. 
 But now adieu to that subject. 
 
 I am reading a new thing written 
 after the Revolution ; but there are 
 none of the great characters mentioned, 
 therefore I am quite disappointed. 
 Southey has lent them to us. 
 
 I shall write again to-morrow as I 
 have a great deal to say. In the mean- 
 time believe me 
 
 Your most affectionate sincere friend, 
 H. S. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 195 
 [ Written by Shelley. ^ 
 
 My dearest Friend, 
 
 I eagerly answer your letter. It 
 contains very bad news. I grieve at 
 human nature; but am so far from 
 despairing that I can readily trace all 
 that is evil, even in the youngest, to the 
 sophistications of society. It will not 
 appear surprising that some original 
 taint of our nature has been adopted as 
 an opinion by the unthinking, when 
 they perceive how very early depraved 
 dispositions are exhibited. But, when 
 it is considered what exhaustless pains 
 are taken by nurses and parents to make 
 wrong impressions on the infant mind, 
 I cannot be surprised at the earliest 
 traits of evil and mistake. I truly 
 sympathize with your wrongs. These 
 are, however, of such a nature as will so 
 frequently occur that we must strive to 
 consider them with unfeehngness, and let 
 conscious rectitude inspire an honour- 
 able pride which shall infuse elevated 
 
 o 2 
 
196 LETTERS TO 
 
 tranquillity into the soul. I did not 
 expect this return of kindness from 
 Anne. She is a character who will now 
 mingle in the mass of common life : the 
 seeds which you have sown will spring 
 up among tares and brambles. The 
 dreary intercourse of daily life will blast 
 the suckers ere they even attain adoles- 
 cency. Here is an addition to that daily 
 load of disappointment which weighs 
 upon the mind, and checks the passion- 
 ateness of hope. I will, however, cling 
 to those who are deservedly now the 
 landing-places of my expectancy ; and, 
 when they fail, human nature will be to 
 me an unweeded garden, and the face 
 of Earth hold no monster so heartless 
 and unnatural as Man. 
 
 Think not for one moment that I 
 have doubted you. The confidence 
 that I have in the purity and immutable- 
 ness of your principles surpasses even 
 that which I possess in my own. These 
 expressions are blasphemous to love 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 197 
 
 and friendship. Think of them as of 
 the ebullitions of a train of fleeting 
 thought, as of the cloud which moment- 
 arily obscures the moon, then sails into 
 the azure of night. 
 
 Harriet has told you of a circumstance 
 which has alarmed her. I consider it 
 as a complete casual occurrence which, 
 having met with once, we are more 
 likely not to meet with again. The 
 man evidently wanted to rifle my 
 pockets ; my falling within the house 
 defeated his intention. There is 
 nothing in this to alarm you. I was 
 afraid you might see it in the news- 
 paper, and fancy that the blow had 
 injured me. 
 
 Dismiss all fears of assassins and spies 
 and prisons. Let me have your con- 
 fident hopes of safety and success, as 
 well as the earnest good wishes which I 
 fancy I hear you breathing to fill the 
 sails of our packet, and be like ministrant 
 angels to us. All is now prepared for 
 
igS LETTERS TO 
 
 Ireland, except the arrival of our £,\oo, 
 daily expected from Whitton the attor- 
 ney. By the bye, my father has allowed 
 me ;£2oo per annum, attended with 
 the compliment that he did it to prevent 
 my cheating strangers. — All is prepared. 
 I have been busily engaged in an Ad- 
 dress to the Irish, which will be printed 
 as Paine's works were, and pasted on 
 the walls of Dublin. My poems will be 
 printed there, Hubert, and the Essays. 
 We shall then meet in Wales. I 
 shall try to domesticate in some antique 
 feudal castle whose mouldering turrets 
 are fit emblems of decaying inequality 
 and oppression ; whilst the ivy shall 
 wave its green banners above, like liberty, 
 and flourish upon the edifice that essay- 
 ed to crush its root. As to the ghosts, 
 I shall welcome them, although Harriet 
 protests against my invoking them. 
 But they would tell tales of times of 
 old; and it would add to the pic- 
 turesqueness of the scenery to seo their 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 199 
 
 thin forms flitting through the vaulted 
 charnels. Perhaps the Captain will 
 come, and my aunt and the little 
 things : perhaps you will bring the 
 dear little Americans, and my mother 
 Mrs. Adams. Perhaps Godwin will 
 come : I shall try to induce him. — 
 These castles are somewhat aerial at 
 present ; but I hope it is not a crime, 
 in this mortal life, to solace ourselves 
 with hopes. Mine are always rather 
 visionary. In the basis of this scheme, 
 however, — if you and I live — we will not 
 be disappointed. 
 
 I hear from my uncle that Sir B. 
 [ysshe] Shelley is not likely to live long 
 — that he will soon die. He is a 
 complete atheist, and builds all his 
 hopes on annihilation. He has acted 
 very ill to three wives. He is a bad 
 man. I never had respect for him : I 
 always regarded him as a curse on 
 society. I shall not grieve at his death. I 
 will not wear mourning : I will not 
 
zoo LETTERS TO 
 
 attend his funeral. I shall think of 
 his departure as of that of a hard-hearted 
 reprobate. I will never countenance 
 a lying estimation of my own feelings. 
 
 I have the vanity to think that you 
 will be pleased with my Address to the 
 Irish. It is intended to familiarize to 
 uneducated apprehensions ideas of 
 liberty, benevolence, peace, and tolera- 
 tion. It is secretly intended also as a 
 preliminary to other pamphlets to 
 shake Catholicism on its basis, and to 
 induce Quakerish and Socinian prin- 
 ciples of politics, without objecting to 
 the Christian religion, — which would 
 be no good to the vulgar just now, and 
 cast an odium over the other principles 
 which are advanced. 
 
 The volume of poetry will be, I 
 fear, an inferior production : it will be 
 only valuable to philosophical and 
 reflecting minds who love to trace the 
 early state of human feelings and 
 opinions, — who can make allowances 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 201 
 
 for some bad versification. None is 
 more qualified than yourself, my friend, 
 to come to a right judgment on this 
 score ; though a consideration of your 
 partiality for the author will prevent 
 him from thinking you infallible in 
 things that regarded his mental powers : 
 — Hubert I have told you of. 
 
 Southey regrets our going. The 
 Calverts were much against it ; nay, all 
 of them violently, except Mrs. 
 C[alvert], who wishes us success 
 heartily. We shall have success : I 
 am perfectly confident of the impossi- 
 bility of failure. Let your pure spirit 
 animate our proceedings. Oh that 
 you were with us ! You have said you 
 are not handsome : but, though the 
 sleekness of your skin, the symmetry 
 of your form, might not attract the 
 courtiers of Dublin Castle, yet that 
 tongue of energy, and that eye of fire, 
 would awe them into native insignifi- 
 cance, and command the conviction of 
 
202 LETTERS TO 
 
 those whose hearts vibrate in unison 
 with justice and benevolence. 
 
 Dinner surprised me in the midst of 
 my letter. I have since seen yours to 
 Harriet. Oh, my dearest friend, do 
 not suffer the little ingratitude of one 
 of the vipers of the world to sting you 
 too severely ! Do feel. . . Yes, do 
 feel, that I may feel with you ; that 
 every vibration of your nerves may be 
 assimilated to mine, mine to yours. 
 Dare all ! 
 
 You have mistaken Harriet : she is 
 not pregnant. It was a piece of good 
 fortune which I could not expect. I 
 can truly imagine your hopes and 
 feelings concerning the possibility of 
 this circumstance. I hope to have a 
 large family of children : it will bind 
 you and me closer, and Harriet. I, 
 who believe in the omnipotence of 
 education, have no fears for their 
 eventual well-being. 
 
 Harriet has filled up most of this 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 203 
 
 letter, whilst I have been writing to the 
 Captain. Do not consider this as a 
 letter: I owe you one now. You 
 shall have full payment. 
 
 I am now, as Harriet can tell you, 
 quite recovered from the little nervous 
 attack I mentioned. Do not alarm 
 yourself either about murderers, spies, 
 government, prisons, or nerves. I 
 must (as I said) have hopes, and those 
 very confident ones, from you, to fill 
 the sails of our packet to Dublin. 
 
 The post-woman waits ; and there- 
 fore, my dearest friend, I bid you 
 adieu. Happiness and hope attend 
 my dearest friend until we meet at the 
 Post-office, Dublin ! 
 
 Your P. B. S. 
 
 I have made a strong, though vulgar 
 appeal to the feelings of the post- 
 master, as to my veracity about the 
 single sheet.* 
 
 * [The letter is addressed outside to Miss 
 Kitchener, along with the words : " Single 
 sheet, by God ! 'T 
 
204 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXVII 1. 
 
 Keswick, [Cumberland.] 
 Wednesday \^ January 29, 1812.] 
 
 On Monday we depart for Ireland. 
 This is probably the last letter 
 you will receive from Keswick. We 
 are staying at Calvert's, and our 
 ;£ioo has arrived. Prospects appear 
 fair ; but I have learned to doubt of the 
 result of all human enterprises, whilst 
 my language and my countenance 
 express the confidence of enthusiasm, 
 and my heart rebels against the dismal 
 suggestions of possible evil. 
 
 I do not ask you wherefoj-e you are 
 unhappy, my dearest friend, because I 
 sympathize with every feeling which the 
 unkindness of ingratitude excites in 
 you. But I tell you to subdue it, for 
 our sakes, and for the sake of that 
 world to which I will suppose that you 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 205 
 
 are destined to be an ornament and a 
 glory. Your present state is isolated 
 and friendless ; even worse, daily ingra- 
 titude and unexpected duplicity cut you 
 to the heart. You suffer the severities 
 of ill fortune ; and all the dreary inter- 
 course of daily life is unmingled by 
 consolation, save the infrequent post- 
 days. And what can letters do ? They 
 can tell you that you are beloved ; can 
 prove to you that I am yours ; but this 
 only at intervals. With what bitter 
 force will ingratitude and duplicity 
 recur ! This is more than duty 
 demands : for a devotement like yours 
 some recompence is to be expected. 
 I will find one for you — though here a 
 corner of self comes in. Come and 
 live with us. You are not one to start 
 at this. " What will the world say ? " 
 What they please, precisely. Those 
 who know anything of our public and 
 private character will believe any scandal 
 as soon as Sir F. Burdett's friends 
 
2o6 LETTERS TO 
 
 would give credit to the story of his 
 keeping five mistresses in Tottenham 
 Court Road. This is one of the 
 Morning Post stories. Nor will the 
 world's whispers affect our usefulness. 
 In what manner ? Who will credit 
 that, when I made a Scotch marriage 
 with a woman who is handsome, any 
 criminality, of the nature of infidelity, 
 can be attached to me ? Who will 
 believe, when they read our publications, 
 but that our conduct is in some degree 
 regulated by such impressions, and re- 
 peated endeavours to counteract general 
 demoraUzation ? And, supposing after 
 all that they did believe this, are we 
 answerable for their silly notions? 
 Is our usefulness and happiness, 
 which latter must in some degree 
 conduce to the former, to be sacri- 
 ficed to opinion ? Is expediency to 
 be the rule of our conduct? Ought 
 minds unisonous in reason and feel- 
 ing to be separated by the inferences 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 207 
 
 which others may draw from their 
 conduct ? 
 
 Let us attempt to form this Paradise, 
 and defy the destroyers. Calm consistent 
 reasoning will defeat the most terrible. 
 Besides, you may be eminently useful : 
 the union of our minds will be much 
 more efficacious than a state of separate 
 endeavour. I shall excite you to action ; 
 you will excite me to just speculation. 
 We should mutually correct each other's 
 weaknesses, and confirm our powers. 
 Harriet, Eliza, and Percy, all join to 
 entreat that you will attempt to come — 
 to consider the point without having 
 decided against us previously. How 
 extensive might not be your usefulness, 
 how improved and confirmed your 
 speculations of justness ! What admir- 
 able and excellent greatness might you 
 not add to the grandeur and firmness 
 of your present character ! And I — how 
 firm and collected should /not become ! 
 I should possibly gain the advantage in 
 
2o8 LETTERS TO 
 
 the exchange of qualities ; but my 
 powers are such as would augment 
 yours. I perceive in you the embryon 
 of a mighty intellect which may one 
 day enlighten thousands. How desir- 
 ous ought I not to be, if I conceive 
 that the one spark which glimmers 
 through mine should kindle a blaze by 
 which nations may rejoice ! 
 
 Am I not earnest that you should 
 come ? — But consider this point. 
 We have enough money for all of us. 
 There is no doubt but that you could 
 do more good with us than at Hurst. 
 Explain your plan to your father : tell 
 him that your considerations of useful- 
 ness lead you to join yourself with us. 
 I will not insult your confidence by 
 supposing that you can fear [but] that 
 you will be independent amongst us. 
 Whenever you come, you have nothing 
 to do but to throw yourself into the 
 mail, and, at the end of your journey, I 
 shall be waiting for you. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 2og 
 
 In the summer we shall see you. 
 Can you make up your mind never to 
 leave us ? How consummate then 
 might not our publications be ; how 
 directed by the close analysis of reason- 
 ing, how animated by the emanations 
 of your warmer heart ! Have you no 
 money ? Write and say so. If not 
 we can easily spare some : we shall 
 have superfluity in Dublin. 
 
 Will you well consider this? Oh, 
 my dearest friend, when I think of the 
 uncertainty and transitoriness of human 
 life and its occupations, when I consider 
 its fleeting prospects and its fluctuating 
 principles, how desirous am I to crowd 
 into its sphere as much usefulness as 
 possible ! We have but a certain time 
 allotted us in which to do its business : 
 how much does it become us to improve 
 and multiply this time ; and to regard 
 every hour neglected, mis-spent, or un- 
 improved, as so much lost to the cause 
 of virtue, liberty, and happiness 
 
 p 
 
210 LETTERS TO 
 
 I hope to be compelled to [have] 
 recourse to laudanum no more. My 
 health is re-established, and I am now 
 strong in hope and nerve. Your hopes 
 must go with us : I must have no horrible 
 forebodings. Everybody is not killed 
 that goes to DubUn. Perhaps many 
 are now on the road for the very same 
 purpose as that which we propose. 
 
 As to what you say of the Duke of 
 Norfolk, it is quite unfounded. The 
 D[uke] is a deist. The Duke is far 
 from the best of the English noblemen : 
 he is not a moral man, but certainly is 
 not attached to Catholicism. He de- 
 sires and votes for Reform, though he 
 has not virtue enough to begin it in 
 his own person. He is in every respect 
 a character of mediocrity. Depend 
 upon it, I have nothing to fear either 
 from him or his emissaries. The Duke 
 is as [little] my friend as he is yours : 
 he merely desires to gratify his own 
 family, his own borough-interest. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCH ENER. 211 
 
 " Passive virtue is " not " your sphere 
 of action : " most active you ought to 
 be. Come, come to Ireland. Arrange 
 your affairs, give up school. It is a 
 noble field. Energies like yours ought 
 to be unconfined. Write for what 
 money you want. You do not fear the 
 journey ; the hatred of the world is 
 despicable to you. Come, come, — and 
 share with us the noblest success, or the 
 most glorious martyrdom. — Here is 
 an appeal to the feelings of a noble 
 mind ! I ought to be ashamed of my- 
 self. Consider merely the considera- 
 tions of usefulness, and put out of the 
 question all foolish rant of persuasion. 
 Yet come : it is right that you should 
 come. Assert your freedom — the free- 
 dom of Truth and Nature. 
 
 You will hear from me again. Adieu, 
 my dearest friend. I shall write, before 
 we leave K[eswick], again. 
 
 Yours 
 
 p 2 
 
213 LETTERS TO 
 
 [Written by Harriet. '\ 
 Why is my dear friend unhappy, and 
 why are you not with us ? Why will 
 you suffer the opinion of the world to 
 keep you from us ? Would it not be 
 better to leave the world to itself, and 
 come and be happy whilst it is in your 
 power? Remember, life is short. 
 What shall I say to bring you to us ? 
 Is there nothing we can urge to shake 
 you ? Why are we separated ? Should 
 we not be more useful all together? 
 You would, by your arguments, 
 countenance ours : as you are older 
 than I am, therefore people would not 
 think what I say so foolish. Then 
 why will you not join us ? I am well 
 convinced that, if you were in Ireland, 
 you might do as much good as Percy. 
 Indeed I am hurt at the idea of your 
 being unhappy : and why would you 
 be the slave of a world that has per- 
 secuted you, and which continues to 
 wound you in every way it can ? 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 21t, 
 
 my friend, what I say may have 
 no weight. I know I am much 
 younger than yourself, and that your 
 judgment is much superior to mine. 
 You have seen more of the world than 
 myself. Yet, if you knew how ardent 
 we are to have you near us, I am sure 
 you would comply. I cannot wait till 
 the summer : you must come to us in 
 Ireland. 
 
 1 am Irish : I claim kinship with 
 them. I have done with the English : 
 I have witnessed too much of John 
 Bull, and I am ashamed of him. Till 
 I am disappointed in the brothers and 
 sisters of my affection, I will claim 
 kindred with those brave sons of the 
 ocean ; and, when I am deceived in 
 them, it will be enough. 
 
 I have never told you of my sister. 
 'Tis well : words can never sufficiently 
 express her kindness and goodness to 
 me. She is my more than mother. 
 What do I not owe to her gentle care ? 
 
214 LETTERS TO 
 
 Everything. When you see her, you 
 will form your judgment of her. I 
 did think, before I was acquainted 
 with you, that she was the best and 
 most superior woman in the world. I 
 do not say I have changed my 
 opinion : that remains fixed. I have 
 only so far changed it as to think there 
 are some like her ; but, as to being 
 better, that I cannot think. She begs 
 me to tell you that she is no lover of 
 forms and ceremonies. She has long 
 loved and admired you, my dear 
 friend : so do not call her " Miss 
 Westbrook." She is your sister, and 
 mine. How oft have I blessed that 
 Providence who has given me such a 
 treasure ! Did you but know her as I 
 do, you would not wonder at my love 
 for her. Her amiable qualities gain her 
 friends in all who have the happiness 
 of knowing her. But I will say no 
 more, as I am unable to do her 
 justice. 
 
ELI Z ABE TH HITCH ENER. 2 1 5 
 
 I know not if you have bad weather 
 in Sussex. Here it is so uncertain you 
 never know if the morrow will be 
 fine. All this week has been very stormy, 
 and last night and to-day it has never 
 ceased. 
 
 We are spending the last week with 
 our amiable friends [the] Calverts. 
 We are so much indebted to them ! 
 They have been extremely kind and 
 attentive. She is a most amiable 
 woman, and I wish you were here to 
 see her. She saw us reading your last 
 letter, at which she was very much sur- 
 prised, the length was so uncommon. 
 
 You will think of us next Monday 
 night : then we set sail. 'Twill be 
 either pleasure or not : I suspect we 
 shall be very sick. We will write from 
 the Isle of Man, if you do not hear 
 from us before. 
 
 There seems to be sad work in 
 Ireland ; but I hope Percy will escape 
 all prosecutions. 
 
2i6 LETTERS TO 
 
 I hope we shall hear from you again 
 soon. When we do not hear from you 
 it is quite a blank. 
 
 I must now say adieu. I hope you will 
 put the most favourable constructions 
 on what we have said. Keep up your 
 spirits, and believe me ever 
 
 Your sincere, affectionate friend, 
 
 H. S. 
 
ELI Z ABE TH HI TCHENER. 2 1 7 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 [Whitehaven, 
 Monday, February yd, 18 12.] 
 
 My Dearest Friend, 
 
 We are now at Whitehaven — 
 which is a miserable manufacturing 
 sea-port town. I write to you a short 
 letter to inform you of our safety, and 
 that the wind which will fill the sails of 
 our packet to-night is favourable and 
 fresh. Certainly it is laden with some 
 of your benedictions, or with the 
 breath of the disembodied virtuous 
 who smile upon our attempt. We set 
 off to-night at twelve o'clock, and 
 arrive at the Isle of Man, whence you 
 will hear from us to-morrow morning ; 
 thence we proceed, when the wind 
 
2i8 LETTERS TO 
 
 serves, to Dublin. We may be 
 detained some days in the Island; if 
 the weather is fine, we shall not regret 
 it J at all events, we shall escape this 
 filthy town and horrible inn. 
 
 Now do you not think of us with 
 other feelings than those of hope and 
 confidence. I know that belief is not 
 a voluntary action of the mind, but I 
 think your confidence would not be 
 groundless. To give you an idea of 
 the perfect fearlessness with which 
 Harriet and Eliza accompany my 
 attempt, — they think of no incon- 
 veniences but those of a wet night and 
 sea-sickness, which, in fact, we find to 
 be the only real ones. Assassination, 
 either by private or public menace, 
 appears to me to be the phantom of a 
 mind whose affectionate friendship has 
 outran the real state of the case. 
 Assure yourself that such things are 
 now superannuated and unfeasible. 
 Give me, as I have before said, the 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 219 
 
 confidence of your hope, the sanguine- 
 ness of your certainty, joined to that 
 concern for welfare which we mutually 
 felt. For, my friend, wrong me not by 
 thinking that, in this bustle of present 
 events, and enthusiastic anticipation of 
 future, you are forgotten or unheeded, 
 or lightly remembered. No : your 
 cooperation and presence is wanting to 
 perfect the present ; and with the 
 certainty of hope do I conceive of 
 you in the future as a friend, and dear 
 friend, who will form the foreground of 
 the future which my fancy designs. 
 
 We felt regret at leaving Keswick. 
 I passed Southey's house without one 
 sting. He is a man who may be 
 amiable in his private character, 
 stained and false as is his public one. 
 He may be amiable ; but, if he is, 
 my feelings are liars, and I have 
 been so long accustomed to trust to 
 them in these cases, that the opin- 
 ion of the world is not the likeliest 
 
220 LETTERS TO 
 
 eliminator to impeach their credi- 
 bility. 
 
 But we left the Calverts. I hope 
 some day to show you Mrs. Calvert ; 
 I shall not forget her, but will preserve 
 her memory as another flower to 
 compose a garland which I intend to 
 present to you. Assure yourself that it 
 is a fragrant one ; that, if it breathes 
 not of heaven, I am an imposter, and 
 a silly gardener that picks weeds where 
 roses grow. 
 
 I confess that I cannot expect you 
 will come to us now. If you do, it 
 will be a piece of good fortune for 
 which my mind will be unprepared, 
 but which it will hail with more delight 
 than the magi did "the day-spring 
 from on high." But in the summer, 
 when you come to us, — if you depart 
 I shall say you are "the deaf adder 
 that stoppeth her ears, and harkeneth 
 not to the voice of the charmer." I stop 
 the wheels of the former sentence for a 
 
ELIZABE TH HITCHENER. 221 
 
 minute, just to say that I do not even 
 allegorize myself by thy " charmer." 
 
 I entreat you, do not allow the ingra- 
 titude of that little viper Anne to dis- 
 turb you : nor think it anjrthing like an 
 appearance of "original sin." I do 
 not tell you, by the former, to staunch 
 the beating arteries of your heart of 
 sensibility : turn the channel to some 
 better and some greater object — " the 
 welfare of general man," even sympa- 
 thize with me in Dublin. Of the latter, 
 I will give you a reason hereafter : in- 
 deed, I believe that I have given you 
 many already. 
 
 Well, adieu. Harriet and Eliza, in 
 excellent spirits, bid you an affectionate 
 adieu. 
 
 Pray, what are you to be called when 
 
 you come to us? for Eliza's name is 
 
 " Eliza,'' and " Miss Hitchener " is too 
 
 long, too broad, and too deep. — Adieu. 
 
 Your 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 Dublin, 
 \Thursday\ February \2fh, 1812. 
 
 My Dearest Friend, 
 
 Last night we arrived safe in 
 this city. It was useless to have 
 written to you before. Now I have 
 only time for a line to tell you of our 
 safety. We were driven by a storm 
 quite to the north of Ireland, and 
 yesterday was the end of our journey 
 thence. Expect to hear more j all is 
 well. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 223 
 
 [ Written by Harriet. "l 
 I have no time : — the day after to- 
 morrow. Direct to us — 
 Mr. Dunn's, 
 
 No. 7 Sackville Street, 
 Dublin. 
 Write soon. 
 
224 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 Dublin, 
 
 7 Sackville Street, 
 [Friday] February 14, 1812. 
 
 Mr. Dunn's, Woollen Draper. 
 
 At length I can write to you. I have 
 been anxiously desirous to put matters 
 in train for my enterprise : this has en- 
 gaged me. How eagerly do I fly to 
 you! 
 
 My dearest friend, think not that 
 you were forgotten yesterday : you were 
 the boldest foreground in the picture of 
 my fancy. I have read all your letters. 
 They came at breakfast yesterday, after 
 I had sent my hasty guarantee of our 
 safety. Now I have read them. What 
 feelings have they excited ! The words 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER.22% 
 
 gratitude, sympathy, and hope, are surely 
 too unimpassioned to express them. 
 At length, however, you are free from 
 anxiety for our safety, as here we have 
 nothing to apprehend but Government, 
 which will not, assure yourself, dare to 
 be so barefacedly offensive as to attack 
 my Address : it will breathe the spirit of 
 peace, toleration, and patience. In 
 short, in a few posts it will be sent to 
 you. 
 
 I shall continue to write to you as 
 freely as from Keswick : whether our 
 letters be inspected or not I cannot tell. 
 If they are, this I know — that their 
 hatred to me will not thereby becomfe 
 stronger, or their conviction of my dt's- 
 conientedness clearex ; as my name, which 
 will be prefixed to the Address, will 
 show that my deeds are not deeds of 
 darkness, nor my counsels those of mys- 
 tery and fear. Dread nothing for me. 
 The course of my conduct in Ireland 
 (as shall the entire course of my life) 
 
226 LETTERS TO 
 
 shall be marked by openness and sin- 
 cerity. The peace and toleration which 
 I recommend can make no good men 
 my enemies : I should blush to call a 
 bad man my friend. 
 
 Your letter, my friend, has added 
 energy to my hopes, — ^tenfold activity 
 to my exertions here. We will meet 
 you in Wales, and never part again. 
 You shall not cross the Channel alone : 
 it will not do. In compliance with 
 Harriet's earnest solicitations, I en 
 treated you instantly to come and join 
 our circle ; to resign your school, — all, 
 everything, — for us and the Irish cause. 
 This could not be done, I now see 
 plainly. Consistently with the duties 
 which you have imposed upon yourself 
 — duties which I ought to have re- 
 spected — it could not be done. But 
 the warmth of our hearts ran away with 
 the coolness of our heads : forgive the 
 fault of friendship. — But summer will 
 come. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 227 
 
 The ocean rolls between us. O 
 thou ocean, whose multitudinous billows 
 ever lash Erin's green isle, on whose 
 shores this venturous arm would plant 
 the flag of hberty, roll on ! And, with 
 each wave whose echoings die, amid 
 thy melancholy silentness shall die a 
 moment too — one of those moments 
 which part my friend and me ! I could 
 stand upon thy shores, O Erin, and 
 could count the billows that, in their 
 unceasing swell, dash on thy beach, 
 and every wave might seem an instru- 
 ment in Time the giant's grasp to burst 
 the barriers of Eternity. Proceed, thou 
 giant, conquering and to conquer ! 
 March on thy lonely way ! The na- 
 tions fall beneath thy noiseless foot- 
 step : pyramids that for millenniums 
 have defied the blast, and laughed at 
 lightnings, thou dost crush to nought. 
 Yon monarch in his solitary pomp is 
 but the fungus of a winter day that thy 
 light footstep presses into dust. Thou 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 LETTERS TO 
 
 art a conqueror, Time ! All things 
 give way before thee, but " the fixed 
 and virtuous will," the sacred sympathy 
 of soul which was when thou wert not, 
 which shall be when thou perishest. 
 
 Summer will come, and with it thou, 
 more welcome than its genial breeze, 
 more welcome than the long lightsome 
 day when the sophistication of candle- 
 light is almost dispensed with, when we 
 quit the woe and pride that mars the 
 city's peace, and seek the rarer in- 
 stances of human misery and vice 
 which relieve the contemplation in the 
 country. Dearest friend, come to us 
 all at midsummer, never to part again. 
 Lose in our little circle the taunts of 
 the unthinking, the pride of the world- 
 ling, the lowliness of grandeur. Come : 
 for the severe virtue that has guided 
 thee thus far points out now a path 
 whereon friendship has scattered flowers. 
 Nothing shall prevent our eternal union 
 in the summer. I ought to count my- 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 229 
 
 self a favoured mortal, with such a wife 
 and friend (these human names and 
 distinctions perhaps are necessary in 
 the present state of society). You see 
 I look forward to the period in which 
 pain and evil, the consequences or 
 concomitants of selfish passion, shall 
 cease. 
 
 Now as to the means. Your dear 
 little Americans may come and live 
 with us. {Suppose there was a little 
 stranger to play with them : this is, 
 however, a hope which I do not anti- 
 cipate but at some distance.) It appears 
 to me that a plain representation of 
 your views and motives to your father, 
 told in all their energetic simplicity of 
 singleness, would best reconcile him to 
 your Welsh plan. Would he call it 
 visionary, — all very well in theory, but 
 impracticable, and useless were it prac- 
 ticable ? Is he one who makes a 
 distinction between the profession of 
 certain principles, and acting up to 
 
230 LETTERS TO 
 
 that profession ? If he is, then is he 
 a man unworthy of my high-souled 
 friend. He would then deserve not 
 the unexampled sacrifice of her devo- 
 tion — a sacrifice of what might thrill 
 millions with feelings of virtue, and 
 breathe a soul into the corpse of a 
 nation. For much do I expect from 
 you : to whom much is given, from 
 these much is expected. Nature, God, 
 or Chance, has given you talents which 
 have risen above the disadvantages of 
 indigence and low birth, which are to 
 you topics of glory incommunicable to 
 me — and (a paraphrase on the narrow- 
 ness that marked Nelson's dying hour) 
 " The world expects every being to do 
 its duty." — But your father is not this 
 man; he is not hardened to the per- 
 ception of truth; his eyelids are not 
 sealed to its emanations. He will ap- 
 prove of your coming. Shortly perhaps 
 he will behold the glorious fruits of a 
 tree the natural scion of his own, and, 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 231 
 
 so far as depends on himself, I hope a 
 moral one. As to money, after that 
 period you need demand none from 
 him. jQ^oo per an. will be quite 
 enough for us all: our publications 
 would supply the deficiency. Well do 
 I know that economy is the greatest 
 generosity ; although we cannot prac- 
 tise it so strictly in Dublin as I could 
 wish. This will, however, be but 
 short. 
 
 Have you heard that a new republic 
 is set up in Mexico? I have just 
 written the following tribute to its 
 success. 
 
 Brothers ! between you and me, 
 Whirlwinds sweep and billows roar 
 
 Yet in spirit oft I see 
 
 On thy wild and winding shore 
 
232 LETTERS TO 
 
 Freedom's bloodless banners wave, — 
 Feel the pulses of the brave 
 Unextinguished in the grave — 
 
 See them drenched in sacred gore, — 
 Catch the warrior's gasping breath 
 Murmuring " Liberty or death ' 
 
 II. 
 
 Shout aloud ! Let every slave, 
 
 Crouching at Corruption's throne, 
 Start into a man, and brave 
 
 Racks and chains without a groan : 
 And the castle's heartless glow. 
 And the hovel's vice and woe, 
 Fade like gaudy flowers that blow — 
 
 Weeds that peep, and then are gone; 
 Whilst, from misery's ashes risen. 
 Love shall burst the captive's prison. 
 
 Cotopaxi ! bid the sound 
 
 Through thy sister-mountains ring. 
 Till each valley smile around 
 
 At the blissful welcoming ! 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 233 
 
 And O thou stern Ocean deep, 
 Thou whose foamy billows sweep 
 Shores where thousands wake to weep 
 
 Whilst they curse a villain king, 
 On the winds that fan thy breast 
 Bear thou news of Freedom's rest ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ere the day-star dawn of love, 
 
 Where the flag of war unfurled 
 Floats with crimson stain above 
 
 The fabric of a ruined world — 
 Never but to vengeance driven 
 When the patriot's spirit shriven 
 Seeks in death its native heaven ! 
 
 There, to desolation hurled, 
 Widowed love may watch thy bier, 
 Balm thee with its dying tear. 
 
 Bear witness, Erin, when thine injured 
 
 isle 
 Sees summer on its verdant pastures 
 
 smile, 
 
234 LETTERS TO 
 
 Its cornfields waving in the winds that 
 
 sweep 
 The billowy surface of thy circling 
 
 deep, — 
 Thou tree whose shadow o'er the 
 
 Atlantic gave 
 Peace, wealth, and beauty, to its 
 
 friendly wave. 
 ***** its blossoms fade. 
 And blighted are the leaves that cast 
 
 its shade, 
 Whilst the cold hand gathers its scanty 
 
 fruit, 
 Whose chillness struck a canker to its 
 
 root. 
 
 These are merely sent as lineaments 
 in the picture of my mind. On these 
 topics I find that I sometimes can write 
 poetry when I feel — such as it is. 
 
 Do I not know, my fnend, what you 
 feel for the sacred cause of truth and 
 liberty? Am I not assured of your 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 235 
 
 devotedness to virtue ? Do I doubt the 
 pleasure with which you would offer 
 yourself a sacrifice ? No, never ! Do 
 not encourage within yourself such a 
 supposition, even whilst you form in 
 your mind a disavowal of its reality. I 
 believe in you ; and, when I say that I 
 believe in you, I mean, with all my 
 heart, with all my soul, and with all 
 my strength. 
 
 Well — my Address will soon come 
 out. It will be instantly followed by 
 another, with downright proposals for 
 instituting associations for bettering the 
 condition of human-kind. I — even I, 
 weak, young, poor, as I am — will at- 
 tempt to organize them, the society of 
 peace and love. Oh that I may be a 
 successful apostle of this true religion, 
 the religion of Philanthropy ! At all 
 events, I will have a Debating Society, 
 and see what will grow out of that. This 
 is the crisis for the attempt. 
 
 Have you heard of the Mexico affair ? 
 
236 LETTERS TO 
 
 You cannot be vain. Attempt it foi 
 my sake : attempt it, and you will come 
 to have a right idea of your own powers. 
 The most useful death that I can con- 
 ceive of, as happening to you, must be 
 far less beneficial to mankind than an 
 existence of but a year, such as yours 
 will be. Do not think I have set up 
 the trade of prophesying, but I can 
 deduce moral effects from moral causes. 
 
 In a few days I shall have more — 
 much more — to tell you. Godwin has 
 introduced me to Mr. Curran. I took 
 the letter this morning : he was not at 
 home. I shall see him soon. 
 
 I have not seen Flower's book : I 
 have that on the Organic Remains to 
 read with you. You have not seen 
 Tom Paine's works. Eliza is going to 
 employ herself in collecting the useful 
 passages, which we shall publish. She 
 is now making a red cloak, which will 
 be finished before dinner. 
 
 Now, my dearest friend, you will xe- 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 237 
 
 member me, as I remember [you]. The 
 thought of ycur approbation is to me 
 more exhilarating than the applause of 
 thousands. You animate me. 
 
 I wish this letter now had reached 
 you. Do not fear postmasters. Harriet 
 sends her love : Eliza longs to see you. 
 Believe me 
 
 Your 
 
 Percy Shelley. 
 
238 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 
 [7 Lower Sackville St., 
 Dublin, 
 
 Thursday, ia February, 1812?] 
 
 I SEND you the first sheet of my first 
 Address as it comes out. The style of 
 this, as you will perceive, is adapted to 
 the lowest comprehension that can read. 
 It will be followed by another in my 
 own natural style though in the same 
 strain. This one will make about 
 thirty such pages as the enclosed : the 
 other as much. Expect to hear soon. 
 Happiness be with you. 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 Yours. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 239 
 
 LETTER XXXIII. 
 
 [Dublin, 
 Monday, February 24, 1S12? ] 
 
 My Dearest Friend, 
 
 Your letter dated 19 [February] 
 reached me this morning. — It is with 
 pain that I find that 10 days must 
 intervene between our question and 
 answer. 
 
 Things go on in Ireland as you shall 
 hear. I have much food for interest 
 and occupation of mind in the events 
 of each day : — yet I earnestly desire 
 your society, and will not be satisfied 
 until I am convinced that it is to be ours 
 irretrievably ; that no considerations 
 will deprive us of it. Impelled as I 
 am by a conviction, powerful and re- 
 sistless, that the general good would be 
 best promoted by our united efforts, it 
 is not without pain that I should see this 
 
240 LETTERS TO 
 
 important benefit sacrificed to a vague 
 feeling, undescribable, and indefinite 
 even in the mind wherein alone it lives. 
 Those feelings ought to be checked, in 
 a noble and virtuous mind, which have 
 not for their basis the immutable rela- 
 tions of the universe. — I can plainly 
 see that " your desire to procure your 
 own subsistence " is a mixture of a 
 strong perception of the necessity of 
 usefulness ; and some portion of this 
 undefined feeling, which is the result of 
 certain prejudices respecting money, 
 lodging, clothes, &c., which, combined 
 in an infinite variety of modifications, 
 have entered your mind so artfully as 
 to gain reception, where, had their un- 
 worthiness been known, they would not 
 have been admitted. Usefulness is 
 your end and aim. It is the cement of 
 our attachment, it is the spirit of our 
 life. We have a certain object to 
 attain, and a given time in which to 
 attain it. It is fit that all our actions 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 241 
 
 tend to this ultimate. — What is use- 
 fulness ? How is it best attained ? 
 True independence is necessary, but 
 because the chance and circumstance 
 of birth has placed in another the 
 power of having a house, a table, a set 
 of chairs, are you dependent on that 
 person by accepting them ? — You have 
 a right to them. Eliza keeps our com- 
 mon stock of money, for safety, in some 
 hole or corner of her dress ; but we are 
 not all dependent on her, although she 
 gives it out as we want it. — You will 
 not be dependent on any one by coming 
 to us. If dependence would exist any- 
 where, we should depend on you, 
 during your continuance amongst us, 
 for happiness and associated intellect. 
 Let us leave to the grovelling sons of 
 commerce and aristocracy that selfish 
 gratitude (if this name is not polluted 
 by the application) which calls partici- 
 pation of power (for money is power) 
 a favour. By living with us, although 
 
242 LETTERS TO 
 
 you gained none of this power, you 
 would earn by your usefulness more 
 wages than I, were I the treasurer of 
 an empire, could discharge. As self- 
 constituted steward of universal happi- 
 ness, I could never repay you. — My 
 dearest friend, these are vain distinc- 
 tions ; believe me that they are. Let 
 us, in the great pursuit in which we are 
 engaged, consider ourselves as little as 
 possible in the light of individuals who 
 have separate interests to gratify, and 
 separate ends to answer. Do not 
 think it necessary to the great ends of 
 our being that persons whose pursuits 
 are disinterested, and who love each 
 other, must, to preserve the genuine 
 condition of their nature, live three 
 hundred miles apart, and make money ; 
 although, if they were together, they 
 might occupy a house in which there 
 would be chairs, tables, and food, 
 enough for them all. For what are all 
 these obligations ? Now it comes home. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 243 
 
 You cannot resist the ludicrousness and 
 unworthiness of physical obligations 
 between you and I. The moral obli- 
 gations that are between us I admit and 
 own. The gratitude, or the high men- 
 tal yearning, that I feel annexed with 
 the idea of your identity, I own : with 
 pride and pleasure I own it. You 
 think too meanly of yourself, too 
 highly of me. At all events, our spirits 
 unite in one object. Why will you 
 thus separate us by a distinction trifling 
 as it is worldly, and whose very incon- 
 sequence is proved by the value which 
 the children of fashion and folly set 
 upon it ? You may not, when among 
 us, procure your own subsistence : — 
 how much nobler a task to procure the 
 happiness of those who love you, even 
 if this were all ! Besides your writings, 
 which, if they do not bring money, will 
 at all events be useful. 
 
 I am too, now, incapable of writing, 
 compared to what I shall be when I 
 
244 LETTERS TO 
 
 personally am enlightened with the 
 emanations of your genius, and invigo- 
 rated by the deductions of your reason. 
 — " Desire never fails to generate capa- 
 city." Oh throw aside this prejudice ! 
 You do not doubt my friendship, I do 
 not doubt yours. Let us mingle our 
 identities inseparably, and burst upon 
 tyrants with the accumulated impetuo- 
 sity of our acquirements and resolutions. 
 I am eager, firm, convinced. What I 
 have met with here you will find in my 
 other letter. 
 
 Friend of my soul, adieu. It is 
 with the united force of all our opinions 
 that I attack this subsisting scheme of 
 yours. 
 
 I proceed in the next sheet after I 
 have been to the printer's. 
 
 \This intention, it appears, remained 
 unfulfilled^ 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 245 
 
 LETTER XXXIV. 
 
 7 Lower Sackville Strekt. 
 [Dublin.] 
 
 \Thursday\ February 27 [1812]. 
 
 Do not think that I neglect you. I 
 am actively employed in what should 
 prove to you my attachment : I am 
 strengthening those indissoluble bonds 
 that bind our friendship. For two 
 days I have omitted writing to you : 
 but each day has been filled up with 
 the employment of disseminating the 
 doctrines of Philanthropy and Free- 
 dom. I have already sent 400 of my 
 little pamphlets into the world, and 
 they have excited a sensation of wonder 
 in Dublin: 1,100 yet remain for dis- 
 tribution. Copies have been sent 
 to 60 public-houses. No prosecution 
 is yet attempted : I do not see how it 
 can be. Congratulate me, my friend, 
 for everything proceeds well : I could 
 
Z46 LETTERS TO 
 
 not expect more rapid success. The 
 persons with whom I have got ac- 
 quainted approve of my principles; 
 and think the truths of the equality of 
 man, the necessity of a reform, and the 
 probability of a revolution, undeniable. 
 But they differ from the mode of my 
 enforcing these principles, and hold 
 expediency to be necessary in politics, 
 inasmuch as it is employed in its utmost 
 latitude by the enemies of innovation. 
 I hope to convince them of the contrary 
 of this. To expect that evil will pro- 
 duce good, or falsehood generate truth, 
 is almost as rational as to conceive of 
 a patriot king, or a sincere Lord of the 
 Bedchamber. 
 
 My friend, my dearest friend, do you 
 not pant to be with us? If there is 
 any truth in the sympathy of virtuous 
 souls, you do ; for I feel that I desire 
 your presence, and that not merely for 
 the inexpressible gratification of imme- 
 diate communion, but because you 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 247 
 
 would share with me the high delight 
 of awakening a noble nation from the 
 lethargy of its bondage, and because the 
 resources of your powerful intellect 
 would mature schemes, and organize 
 those of mine which yet are immature, 
 — for expectation is on the tiptoe. I 
 send a man out every day to distribute 
 copies, with instructions how and where 
 to give them. His accounts correspond 
 with the multitudes of people who 
 possess them. I stand at the balcony 
 of our window, and watch till I see a 
 man who looks likely : I throw a book 
 to him. 
 
 On Monday my next book makes its 
 appearance. This is addressed to a 
 different class, recommending and pro- 
 posing associations. I have in my 
 mind a plan for proselytizing the young 
 men at Dublin College. Those who 
 are not entirely given up to the gross- 
 ness of dissipation are perhaps reclaim- 
 able. 
 
248 LETTERS TO 
 
 I know how much of good there is 
 in human nature, spite of the over- 
 whelming torrent of depravity which 
 education unlooses. I see little in- 
 stances of kindness and goodwill almost 
 everywhere. Surely education, or im- 
 pressions intentionally induced upon 
 the mind, might foster and encourage 
 the good, as it might eradicate the evil. 
 This " Philanthropic Association " of 
 ours is intended to unite both of these. 
 Whilst you are with us in Wales, I shall 
 attempt to organize one there, which 
 shall correspond with the Dublin one. 
 Might I not extend them all over Eng- 
 land, and quietly revolutionize the 
 country ? How is Sussex disposed ? 
 Is there much intellect there? We 
 must have the cause before the effect. 
 
 I cannot bear to hear people talk of 
 "the Glorious Revolution of 1688." 
 Was that period glorious when, with a 
 presumption only equalled by their 
 stupidity, and a short-sightedness in- 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 249 
 
 commensurable but with the blindest 
 egotism, Parliament affected to pass an 
 Act delivering over themselves, and 
 their posterity to the remotest period 
 of time, to Mary and William, and 
 their posterity ? I saw this Act yester- 
 day for the first time ; and my blood 
 boils to think that Sidney's and Hamp- 
 den's blood was wasted thus,— that 
 even the " Defenders of Liberty,'' as 
 they were called, were sunk thus low, 
 and [should] thus attempt to arrest the 
 perfectibility of human nature. 
 
 I have riot read B. Flower, but I will. 
 I have heard of him. If he was a 
 Calvinist, he is not now. I speak thus 
 positively, merely from a small adver- 
 tisement of his that I have seen. I 
 will get his book, and write to him, and 
 you may thus become acquainted with 
 him. 
 
 Did you ever read the Abbd Baruel's 
 Memoirs of Jacobitism ? Although it 
 is half filled with the vilest and most un- 
 
250 LETTERS TO 
 
 supported falsehoods, it is a book 
 worth reading. To you, who know 
 how to distinguish truth, I recom- 
 mend it. 
 
 My youth is much against me here. 
 Strange that truth should not be judged 
 by its inherent excellence, independent 
 of any reference to the utterer ! To 
 improve on this advantage, the servant 
 gave out that I was only fifteen years 
 of age. The person who was told 
 this, of course, did not believe it. 
 
 I have not yet seen Curran. I do 
 not like him for accepting the office 
 of Master of the Rolls. — O'Connor, 
 brother to the rebel Arthur, is here : [I 
 have] written to him. 
 
 Do not fear what you say in your 
 letters. I am resolved. Good prin- 
 ciples are scarce here. The public 
 papers are either oppositionist or minis- 
 terial : one is as contemptible and 
 narrow as the other. I wish I could 
 change this. / of course am hated by 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 251 
 
 both these parties. The remnant of 
 united Irishmen, whose wrongs make 
 them hate England, I have more hopes 
 of. I have met with no determined 
 RepubHcans, but I have found some 
 who are democratifiable. I have met 
 with some waverers between Chris- 
 tianity and Deism. I shall attempt to 
 make them reject all the bad, and lake 
 all the good, of the Jewish books. I 
 have often thought that the moral 
 sayings of Jesus Christ might be very 
 useful, if selected from the mystery and 
 immorality which surrounds them : it 
 is a little work I have in contempla- 
 tion. 
 
 We shall leave this place at the end 
 of April. I need not be idle in Wales : 
 there you will come to us. Bring the 
 dear little Americans, resign your school, 
 and live with us for ever. I have a 
 firm persuasion in my own mind that 
 duty and usefulness, as well as happi- 
 ness and friendship, approve, sanction, 
 
252 LETTERS TO 
 
 and demand this plan. We have in 
 this world some work to do, and only 
 a certain time allotted us to do it in. 
 How persuasive an argument for 
 the combined exertion of intellectual 
 power ! 
 
 [ Written by Harriet. ^ 
 
 Percy has given me his letter to fill 
 up, but what I'm to say I really do not 
 know. Oh ! yesterday I received a 
 most affectionate letter from dear Mrs. 
 C[alvert]. Now don't you be jealous 
 when I mention her name. She is 
 afraid we shall effect no good here, and 
 that our opinion will change of the 
 Irish. We have seen very little of them 
 as yet, but, when Percy is more known, 
 I suppose we shall know more at the 
 same time. My pen is very bad, ac 
 cording to custom. I'm sure you 
 would laugh were you to see us give 
 the pamphlets. We throw them out of 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 253 
 
 window, and give them to men that 
 we pass in the streets. For myself I 
 am ready to die of laughter when it is 
 done, and Percy looks so grave. Yes- 
 terday he put one into a woman's hood 
 of a cloak. She knew nothing of it, 
 and we passed her. I could hardly 
 get on, my muscles were so irritated. 
 
 [ Written by Shelley,] 
 
 I have been necessarily called away 
 whilst Harriet has been scribbling. 
 You may guess how much my time is 
 taken up, by ray dereliction of you. 
 
 Adieu. The post will go. You will 
 soon hear again from 
 
 Your affectionate and unalterable 
 
 Percy. 
 
254 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXXV. 
 
 17 Grafton Street, 
 [Dublin. 
 
 Tuesday] March 10, 1812. 
 
 My Beloved Friend, 
 
 Your letters have arrived. I snatch 
 time from circumstances of overwhelm- 
 ing interest to converse with you. My 
 brain has scarcely time to consult my 
 heart, or my heart to consult my brain ; 
 yet with the remaining nature, with 
 thee who constituted the Trinity of my 
 Essence, I will converse. 
 
 I cannot recount all the horrible 
 instances of unrestricted and unlimited 
 tyranny that have met my ears, — 
 scarcely those which have personally 
 occurred to me. An Irishman has 
 been torn from his wife and family in 
 Lisbon, because he was expatriate, and 
 compelled to serve as a common soldier 
 in the Portuguese army, by that mon- 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 255 
 
 ster of anti-patriotic inhumanity Beres- 
 ford, the idol of the belligerents. You 
 will soon see a copy of his letter, and 
 soon hear of my or Sir F. Burdett's 
 exertions in his favour. He shall be 
 free. This nation shall awaken. It is 
 attended with circumstances singularly 
 characteristic of cowardice and tyranny : 
 my blood boils to madness to think of 
 it. A poor boy, whom I found starv- 
 ing with his mother in a hiding-place 
 of unutterable filth and misery, — whom 
 I rescued, and was about to teach to 
 read, — has been snatched, on a charge 
 of false and villainous effrontry, to a 
 Magistrate of Hell, who gave him the 
 alternative of the tender or of military 
 servitude. He preferred neither, yet 
 was compelled to be a soldier. This 
 has come to my knowledge this morn- 
 ing. I am resolved to prosecute this 
 business to the very jaws of Govern- 
 ment, snatching (if possible) the poison 
 from its fangs. — A widow-woman with 
 
2S6 LETTERS TO 
 
 three infants were taken up by two 
 constables. I remonstrated, I pleaded : 
 I was everything that my powers could 
 make me. The landlady was over- 
 come. The constable relented : and, 
 when I asked him if he had a heart, he 
 said — To be sure he had, as well as 
 another man, but that he was called 
 out to business of this nature some- 
 times twenty times in a night. The 
 woman's crime was stealing a penny 
 loaf. She is, however, drunken, and 
 nothing that I or any one can do can 
 save her from ultimate ruin and starva- 
 tion. 
 
 I am sick of this city, and long to be 
 with you and peace. The rich grind 
 the poor into abjectness, and then 
 complain that they are abject. They 
 goad them to famine, and hang them 
 if they steal a loaf. — Well, adieu to this ! 
 
 My own dearest friend, in the midst 
 of these horrors thou art our star of 
 peace. We look to thee for happiness ; 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 257 
 
 and, partial though the state of earth 
 may render it, still will it be incom- 
 parable, and prophetic of that era when 
 pain and vice shall vanish altogether. 
 Your new suggestion of our joining you 
 at Hurst is divine : it shall be so. I 
 have not shown Harriet or E[liza] your 
 letter as yet : they are walking with a 
 Mr. Lawless (a valuable man) whilst I 
 write this. But I venture to read de- 
 lightful assent in the look of their 
 hearts, and that without turning over a 
 page. We will quit Wales with you : 
 but more of that. Besides, I would 
 not live far from my uncle : I value, 
 love, and respect him. He was against 
 this expedition ; besides [ ? but] con- 
 science is a tribunal from which I dare 
 not to appeal. 
 
 In a day or two I shall make up a 
 parcel to you, which will come per 
 coach. It is a terrible mistake, that of 
 the last. The blundering honest Irish- 
 man we have committed it. 
 
 s 
 
2S8 LETTERS TO 
 
 Send me the Sussex papers. Insert, 
 or make them insert, the account of 
 me. It may have a good effect on the 
 minds of the people, as a preparation. 
 I send you two to-night. 
 
 The Association proceeds slowly, and 
 I fear will not be established. Preju- 
 dices are so violent, in contradiction to 
 my principles, that more hate me as a 
 freethinker than love me as a votary of 
 freedom. 
 
 You will see my letter, next week, to 
 the Editor of the panegyrizing paper. 
 Some will call it violent. I have at 
 least made a stir here, and set some 
 men's minds afloat. I may succeed ; 
 but I fear I shall not, in the main 
 object of the Association. Dublin is 
 the most difficult of all. In Wales, I 
 fear not : in Lewes, fear is ridiculous, I 
 am certain. 
 
 Your book — that is a beautiful idea : 
 cherish the spirit, and keep it alive. 
 The Republic of Mexico proceeds and 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 259 
 
 extends. I have seen American papers, 
 but have not had time to read them. I 
 only know that the spirit of Repub- 
 licanism extends in South America, and 
 that the prevailing opinion is that there 
 will soon be no province which will 
 recognize the ancient dynasty of Spain. 
 I am in hopes of getting a share in 
 the management of a paper here. I 
 have daily had numbers of people 
 calling on me : none will do. The 
 spirit of Bigotry is high. 
 
 P. B. S. 
 
 [ Written by Harriet^ 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 A FEW days since, I received your 
 letter, but which I do not attempt to 
 answer at present. As you may sup- 
 pose, we are full of business. 
 
 Has Percy mentioned to you a very 
 amiable man of the name of Lawless ? 
 He is very much attached to the cause, 
 
 s 2 
 
2 6o LETTERS TO 
 
 yet dare not act. Percy has spoken to 
 him of you, and he wishes very much 
 to know all about you. We have this 
 morning been introduced to his wife, 
 who is very near her confinement : she 
 is a very nice woman, though not equal 
 to him. 
 
 Your last letter has delighted me. 
 The plan of keeping on your house is 
 truly admirable : but what is to be done 
 with your scholars — those you spoke of 
 in your letter ? Perhaps you might 
 still continue to keep them. But of 
 that more when we meet. 
 
 What has the Duke of Norfolk been 
 saying of us ? Now tell me, as I think I 
 can confute his lordship. Write to us 
 soon. 
 
 When will all this be at an end ? 
 When you are among us. How I long 
 for the time ! Do, dear, dear (what 
 am I to call you?), hasten your departure 
 for us. To Midsummer ! That will be 
 such an immense time before it arrives. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 261 
 
 Do you know, I am so sick of this 
 world that I long to be in another. 
 "Strange thing!" I am [sure] you 
 will say : yet, if you were here, you 
 would do the same. But why do I 
 say "here " ? Do we not find tyranny 
 and oppression everywhere ? have you 
 not plenty of it, even in your peaceful 
 village ? 'Tis everywhere. — Yes ! there 
 is one spot where it is not — America. 
 We know an American : he says he 
 has not seen a beggar there for this 
 eight years. 
 
 How good you are thus to busy 
 yourself about us, in this way ! — Ami- 
 able woman ! if I had known thee 
 before, it would have been delight- 
 ful : but I must be content I know 
 you now, and this blessing I should not 
 have had if I had never been to Clap- 
 hara. So I must be content, and think 
 myself very happy that I did go, though 
 then I was not aware of the happiness 
 that would result. 
 
262 LETTERS TO 
 
 Send us the paper in which you have 
 inserted the Address ! I have sent you 
 this, and hope you will receive it safe 
 — though, to tell the truth, I have my 
 doubts upon that head. 
 
 You know we have heard from 
 Godwin. Such letters ! You must 
 long to read them, I am sure. 
 
 I shall now finish my sad scrawl. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 263 
 
 LETTER XXXVI. 
 
 17 Gkafton Street, 
 
 Dublin. 
 \Saturday\ March 14, l8i2. 
 
 [ Written by Harriet. 'X 
 
 Why does my dear friend continually 
 mislead herself, and thus apply to my 
 judgment, which is so inferior to her 
 own ? 'Tis true you have mixed more 
 in the world than myself My know- 
 ledge has been very confined on ac- 
 count of my youth, and the situation in 
 which I was placed. My intercourse 
 with mankind has therefore been much 
 less than you may imagine. When I 
 lived with my father, I was not likely to 
 gain much knowledge, as our circle of 
 acquaintance was very limited, he not 
 thinking it proper that we should mix 
 much with society. In short, we very 
 
264 LETTERS TO 
 
 seldom visited those places of fashion- 
 able resort and amusement which, from 
 our age, might have been expected. 
 'Twas but seldom I visited my home, 
 school having witnessed the greater part 
 of my life. But do not think from this 
 that I was ignorant of what was passing 
 in the great world : books and a news- 
 paper were sufficient to inform me of 
 these. Though then a silent spectator, 
 yet did I know that all was not as it 
 ought to be. I looked with a fearful 
 eye upon the vices of the great ; and 
 thought to myself 'twas better even to 
 be a beggar, or to be obliged to gain 
 my bread with my needle, than to be an 
 inhabitant of those great houses, when 
 misery and famine howl around. 
 
 I will tell you my faults, knowing 
 what I have to expect from your friend- 
 ship. Remember my youth : and, if 
 any excuse can be made, let that suffice. 
 In London, you know, there are mili- 
 tary, as well as anywhere else. When 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 265 
 
 quite a child, I admired these red-coats. 
 This grew up with me ; and I thought 
 the miHtary the best as well as the most 
 fascinating men in the world, — though 
 at the same time I used to declare 
 never to marry one. This was not so 
 much on account of their vices as from 
 the idea of their being killed. I 
 thought, if I married any one, it should 
 be a clergyman. Strange idea this, was 
 it not ? But being brought up in the 
 Christian religion, 'twas this first gave 
 rise to it. You may conceive with 
 what horror I first heard that Percy was 
 an atheist ; at least, so it was given out 
 at Clapham. At first I did not com- 
 prehend the meaning of the word : 
 therefore, when it was explained, I was 
 truly petrified. I wondered how he 
 could live a moment, professing such 
 principles, and solemnly declared that 
 he should never change mine. I little 
 thought of the rectitude of these prin- 
 ciples ; and, when I wrote to him, I 
 
266 LETTERS TO 
 
 used to try to shake them, — making 
 sure he was in the wrong, and that 
 myself was right. Yet I would listen 
 to none of his arguments, so afraid I 
 was that he should shake my belief. 
 At the same time I believed in eternal 
 punishment, and was dreadfully afraid 
 of his supreme Majesty the Devil : I 
 thought I should see him if I listened 
 to his arguments. I often dreamed of 
 him, and felt such terror when I heard 
 his name mentioned ! This was the 
 effect of a bad education, and living with 
 Methodists. Now, however, this is en- 
 tirely done away with, and my soul is no 
 longer shackled with such idle fears. 
 
 You cannot suppose, my dear friend, 
 that I suspect you of jealousy : 'twould 
 be entertaining an idea wholly un- 
 worthy of you. Jealousy is a passion 
 known only to the illiberal and selfish 
 part of mankind, who have been cor- 
 rupted and spoilt by the world : but 
 this forms no part of you, — 'tis utterly 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 267 
 
 impossible. As to that feeling which 
 prompted you to write about gaining 
 your own subsistence, I do not know 
 by what name to define it. It could 
 not be pride : at least, if it were, I 
 must call it a virtuous pride that you 
 would not be dependent upon another 
 for subsistence when you had the means 
 of being independent. This would be 
 all very well, to persons that you did 
 not love : but to us, who (I may say 
 with truth) possess so much of your 
 love, it is entirely ill-founded. You 
 have given up this wild scheme, I make 
 no doubt : indeed, your letter avows as 
 much. To continue to think so now 
 would be unworthy of the warmth of 
 that friendship you have solemnly 
 sworn to keep inviolate. Such a valu- 
 able friendship as ours ought not to be 
 intruded on by such worldly cares : it 
 is too sublime and too sure. Therefore I 
 pray thee take no thought what ye shall 
 eat, and what ye shall wear. Our 
 
268 LETTERS TO 
 
 living is different to those worldlings, 
 and you may or not adopt it as you 
 think fit. You do not know that we 
 have forsworn meat, and adopted the 
 Pythagorean system. About a fort- 
 night has elapsed since the change, and 
 we do not find ourselves any the worse 
 for it. What do you think of it ? Many 
 say it is a very bad plan : but, as facts 
 go before arguments, we shall see 
 whether the general opinion is true or 
 false. We are delighted with it, and 
 think it the best thing in the world. As 
 yet there is but little change of veget- 
 ables ; but the time of year is coming 
 on when there will be no deficiency. 
 
 Your wishes coincide with mine. I 
 see you are as eager to meet us as we 
 are you. In one of my letters I am so 
 eager that I have begged you to leave 
 Hurst and join us in Wales before 
 Mid[summer] ; but you have explained 
 some of your reasons, and I retract my 
 words, though not my wishes. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 269 
 
 Have you heard anything of this 
 Habeas Corpus Act being suspended ? 
 I have been very much alarmed at the 
 intelHgence, though I hope it is ill- 
 founded. If it is not, where we shall 
 be is not known ; as, from Percy's 
 having made himself so busy in the 
 cause of the poor country, he has raised 
 himself many enemies who would take 
 advantage of such a time, and instantly 
 execute their vengeance upon him. 
 That this may not be the case I hardly 
 dare to hope. What can be their 
 reason for so doing is best known to 
 themselves. That many innocent vic- 
 tims will suffer is a foreboding that my 
 heart trembles at ; yet so it will be, I'm 
 most fearful, and how is this to be 
 remedied ? God knows, and not me : 
 but more of this when I hear how it is 
 decided. 
 
 I do not like the name you have 
 taken : but mind, only the name. You 
 are fully worthy of it; but, being a 
 
270 LETTERS TO 
 
 name so much out of the common way, 
 it excites so much curiosity in the mind 
 of the hearer. This is my only reason 
 for not Uking it. I had thought it 
 would have been one more common, 
 and more pleasing to the ear. 
 
 I must now bid my beloved sister 
 adieu. 
 
 Do not write under the seal. 
 
 \WriUen by Shelley. '\ 
 
 You will hear from me soon : part of 
 me has written to you. 
 
 I do not like Lord Fingal, or any of 
 the Catholic aristocracy. Their intoler- 
 ance can be equalled by nothing but 
 the hardy wickedness and falsehood of 
 the Prince. 
 
 My speech was misinterpreted. I 
 spoke for more than an hour. The 
 hisses with which they greeted me when 
 I spoke of religion, though in terms of 
 
ELIZA BE TH HITCHENER. 2 7 1 
 
 respect, were m',xed with applause when 
 I avowed my mission. The newspapers 
 have only noted that which did not ex- 
 cite disapprobation. As to an Associa- 
 tion, my hopes daily grow fainter on 
 that subject, as my perceptions of its 
 necessity gain strength. I shall soon, 
 however, have the command of a news- 
 paper with Mr. Lawless, of whom I 
 shall tell you more. This will be a 
 powerful engine of amelioration. Mr. 
 L., though he regards my ultimate 
 hopes as visionary, is willing to ac- 
 quiesce in my means. He is a re- 
 publican. 
 
 Adieu. Believe that we are yours. 
 We will live with you at Hurst. What 
 think you of a journey to Italy in the 
 autumn ? 
 
 I hope, my beloved friend, that you 
 have conquered that nervous headache 
 which you mention. Do not think too 
 much ; do not feel too keenly. Blunt 
 neither sensation nor reflection by any- 
 
2 72 LETTERS TO 
 
 thing but occupation. For you, this 
 occupation ought sometimes to be 
 trivial. 
 
 My dear friend, adieu. 
 
EUZABETH HITCHENER. 273 
 
 LETTER XXXVII. 
 
 Nantgwillt, Rhayader, 
 Radnorshire. 
 [Saturday, 18 April, 1812.] 
 
 My Dearest Friend, 
 
 How surprised you must be at my 
 long silence ! To what may you not 
 attribute it? What fears, suspicions, 
 misgivings, may not have come over 
 you ! Believe me, I have felt them all ; 
 but I was unwilling to write to you 
 when I could tell you of nothing but 
 our little distresses. Every day for this 
 fortnight have I anticipated that the 
 next would be the last of our wander- 
 ings, and that then I might welcome 
 you to something like a home. 
 
 We left Dublin, and arrived at Holy- 
 head after a passage of wearisome 
 length. We have traversed the whole 
 
2 74 LETTERS TO 
 
 of Wales and heard no tidings of a 
 house. Every inn we stopped at was 
 the subject of new hopes, and new dis- 
 appointments. We came from Bar- 
 mouth to Aberystwith, thirty miles, in 
 an open boat ; and at length have ar- 
 rived at Rhayader, the very spot where 
 I spent last summer, — and are about to 
 take a house which its tenant is forced 
 to quit, from bankruptcy. It is within 
 a mile of Mr. Grove's. The house is 
 a good one. What I mean by " good " 
 is that there is plenty of room for all 
 of us. There are 200 acres of arable 
 land, including some woodland ; and 
 the whole subject to the moderate rent 
 of ^^98 a year, which I hope to make 
 the farming more than pay. The 
 house is not yet our own, although we 
 reside here ; but will be so in the course 
 of a month. Oh my friend, what shall 
 I say of the scenery? But you will 
 enjoy it with us — which is all that is 
 wanting to render it a perfect heaven. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 275 
 
 I know the misgivings that come over 
 us when we have not heard from a 
 friend for a long time ; and when we 
 think that he might have written — that 
 he is cooled in the ardency of his 
 attachment — and that other occupa- 
 tions have more charms for him than 
 friendship. But it is not so with me. 
 I will not here re-assert all my asser- 
 tions of friendship ; but a hint that my 
 perception of your excellences are 
 unbounded, is enough between such 
 as us. 
 
 The end of June is the time fixed for 
 
 our meeting. Oh that the hours which 
 
 divide that time from the present may 
 
 roll fast ! But it will come. Time's 
 
 pace never varies : the hopes of those 
 
 who sigh for a reunion, and the fears of 
 
 those who anticipate a separation, 
 
 hasten not its inevitable arrival. I 
 
 have a plan in embryo. In June we 
 
 will part no more. This house is large ; 
 
 it will contain seven bedrooms. Could 
 
 T 2 
 
276 LETTERS TO 
 
 not your father accompany you ? He 
 understands a farm, and its manage- 
 ment would be an amusement to him. 
 He might then always enjoy your 
 society — which he cannot now ; and it 
 might be a comfort to his decHning 
 years to see you independently settled 
 — ior it wo-uld be independent. Now 
 consider this. 
 
 You have ere this received our box 
 and its contents. I paid the carriage 
 as far as I could, that is, across the 
 Channel ; and I am positive that it did 
 not come by the post. The Declara- 
 tion of Rights would be useful in farm- 
 houses : it was by a similar expedient 
 that Franklin promulgated his commer- 
 cial opinions among the Americans. 
 
 Your letter enjoined us to leave 
 Dublin. We received it a short time 
 before we had settled to depart. The 
 Habeas Corpus Act has not been sus- 
 pended, nor probably will they do it. 
 We left Dubhn because I had done all 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 277 
 
 that I could do. If its effects were 
 beneficial, they were not greatly so. I 
 am dissatisfied with my success, but 
 not with the attempt ; although the ex- 
 pense of our journey was considerable, 
 and I ever bear in my mind that " eco- 
 nomy is the truest generosity." 
 
 Manchester, Carlisle, Bristol, and 
 other great towns, are in a state of dis- 
 turbance. That infernal wretch the 
 P[rince] of Wales demands more money, 
 the Princesses must have more ; Mr. 
 McMahon must have more. And for 
 what? For supplying the Augean 
 stable of the Prince with filth which no 
 second Hercules can cleanse. The 
 question becomes one in the rule of 
 three. If the murderer of Marr's 
 family, containing six persons, de- 
 serves a gibbet, how much more does 
 a Prince whose conduct destroys 
 millions deserve it ? 
 
 In Wales they are all very apa- 
 thetical on the subject of politics. 
 
2 78 LETTERS TO 
 
 We will converse on what can be 
 done here when you come. 
 
 How will the Groves admire our 
 conduct? What will they think of 
 youi 
 
 If you think it will have any good 
 effect, I will write a letter to the Chair- 
 man (pr whatever you call him) of your 
 Book-club, recommending some further 
 organization of the society. What 
 think you of this ? 
 
 1 have written some verses on Robert 
 Emmett, which you shall see, and 
 which I will insert in my book of Poems. 
 
 We are now embosomed in the soli- 
 tude of mountains, woods, and rivers — 
 silent, solitary, and old, far away from 
 any town ; six miles from Rhayader, 
 which is nearest. A ghost haunts this 
 house, which has frequently been seen 
 by the servants. We have several 
 witches in our neighbourhood, and are 
 quite stocked with fairies and hob- 
 goblins of every description. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 279 
 
 Well, my dear friend, I have no 
 larger paper, and therefore must say 
 adieu. Recollect that I am still 
 your friend completely and unalterably. 
 Harriet and Eliza send their love. 
 Harriet is now writing to Mrs. Nugent, 
 an excellent woman whom we dis- 
 covered in Dublin, and of whom she 
 will tell you. — Adieu. 
 
 Yours eternally, 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
28a LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Nantgwillt, [Rhayader, 
 Radnorshire. 
 
 Wednesday, '\ April 2<)tfi, l8iz. 
 
 Harriet has not been able to write 
 to you. She is now recovering from a 
 bilious attack which so overpowered 
 her with languor that she could not 
 hold a pen. I wonder not that the 
 Confidence which my friend ought to 
 have in such a self as hers, is shaken 
 by the number of her enemies, until I 
 think of their despicable qualities ; and 
 then I recur to the friendlessness of 
 her present situation to account for 
 the self-desertion by which you are 
 overwhelmed. 
 
 Arouse yourself! Yet a little, bear 
 the sternness of your thorny solitude, 
 bear desertion, contumely, and hatred, 
 for it is the contumely and hatred of 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 281 
 
 those who know you not : and friend- 
 ship and duty will soon strew on a 
 path too flinty yet the flowers of hope 
 and peace. Oh my dearest friend, 
 do not think of not living with us. 
 What ! because a few paltry village- 
 gossips repeat some silliness of their 
 own invention till they believe it, shall 
 those resolves be shaken which ought 
 to survive the shock of elements and 
 crash of worlds ? What is there in 
 the Captain's disapproval ? he has been 
 an uncle to me, I owe him gratitude 
 for his kindness ; but am I prescribed 
 to take his word? I have examined 
 this affair on every side, and I with- 
 draw not an iota of my former con- 
 victions. — It raises a smile of bitter- 
 ness at the world when I think on the 
 only possible report which Mrs. Pilfold 
 can have treated you with. What will 
 she have recourse to next ? / unfaithful 
 to my Harriet ! You a female Hogg ! 
 Common sense should laugh such an 
 
282 LETTERS TO 
 
 idea to scorn, if indignation would wait 
 till it could be looked upon ! — But, my 
 friend, I do not believe there are any 
 reports abroad in the country con- 
 cerning us; Mrs. Pilfold of Cuckfield 
 is the origin of them all. You may 
 have another enemy. Mrs. P. 
 wants you in the country to educate 
 her child. She has made these reports, 
 and then reported them to detain you. 
 I see how it is. She has imposed on 
 her husband. His nature is as open 
 and unsuspecting as hers is artful and 
 intriguing. 
 
 Last night, when your letter came, 
 I did reconsider the plan. It looked 
 almost like a blasphemy on truth when I 
 had done. I blushed in my soul that 
 I had doubted immutable and eternal 
 rectitude. I will do so no more. You 
 have probably considered it. I doubt 
 not the result of your deliberations 
 being favourable. 
 
 Whatever it may now be, I have such 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 283 
 
 confidence in the omnipotence of truth 
 that it must be so ultimately. Harriet 
 has just said, " She shall not stay 
 away : " and never was there a pro- 
 phecy that is so creditable to truth and 
 friendship. Adieu. Keep up your 
 spirits : it will soon be over. It is 
 the probationary state before we all enter 
 the heaven of virtue and friendship. 
 
 My dearest of friends, sustain your- 
 self for your unalterable friend. 
 
 Harriet and Eliza send their love : 
 they will not hear of any alteration. 
 In haste. 
 Yours ever faithfully, 
 Percy. 
 
284 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XXXIX. 
 
 [Nanxgwii.lt, Rhayader, 
 
 Radnorshire. 
 WednesJay, April 2% 1812.] 
 
 1 WRITE this scrap (I have time for no 
 more) because I have just received 
 your last. I will write on Thursday, 
 our next post-day. Harriet is still so 
 unwell as to be unable to write. She 
 desires her kindest love, however, and 
 joins with Eliza and myself in deter- 
 mining never to submit to a repeal of 
 our plans. 
 
 Pray write me an account of the 
 reports ; I find that I have mistaken 
 their nature. At all events, my beloved 
 friend, keep up your spirits, keep up 
 your resolves. May you not be mistaken 
 in attributing excellences to your father 
 which he does not possess ! Both he 
 and the Captain seem at least to share 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 285 
 
 some of their qualities with the mule. 
 I think Mrs. Pilfold has made these 
 reports. But, whatever caused them, 
 of what consequence are they to you ? 
 
 I have written to the Captain : the 
 letter is calculated to make his soul 
 start back to see it. 
 
 Never doubt what the heart and the 
 head are unanimous in approving. 
 Never doubt your own purity. Be- 
 lieve that I am firmly yours, and that 
 Harriet and Eliza determine that you 
 shall be ours. 
 
 Adieu. Depend on it that no one 
 can have read our letters. 
 
 Mrs. P. has been pumping you, and 
 then drenching you with the water. 
 You are not their equal in cunning. 
 Well, adieu; time howls. 
 
 Your most sincere and true. 
 [P. B. Shelley.] 
 
286 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XL. 
 
 Nantgwillt, [Rhayader, 
 Radnorshire]. 
 Friday Even, [l May, 1812]. 
 
 Harriet still continues ill. I have 
 sent for the nearest physician (forty 
 miles from this place) ; and, as he is 
 not yet arrived, shall send again to- 
 morrow. Her indisposition has begun 
 to wear so serious an appearance that, 
 though not alarmed, I am anxious ; as, 
 without any visible cause, any violent 
 fever or relaxations, her weakness has 
 increased so much that she cannot walk 
 across the room without assistance. 
 
 A week ago I said : " Give me 
 Nantgwillt ; fix me in this spot so re- 
 tired, so lovely, so fit for the seclusion 
 of those who think and feel. Fate, 1 
 ask no more ! " Little then did I 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 1287 
 
 expect my Harriet's illness, or that 
 flaming opposition which the mis- 
 chievous and credulous around you are 
 preparing against the most cherished 
 wishes of my heart. Now I say : 
 "Fate, give my Harriet health, give 
 my Portia peace, and I will excuse the 
 remainder of my requisition." Oh my 
 beloved friend, let not the sweet cup be 
 dashed from the lips of those who alone 
 can appreciate its luxury, at the instant 
 that Fate has yielded it to their power ! 
 I have longer arguments than this ex- 
 postulation in store. Yet surely this 
 comprehends them. Does not joy 
 include the good which we would do ? 
 Well, my dear friend, Harriet will 
 recover : oh, certainly she will ! Her 
 illness is of a nature comparatively 
 slight, and I am weak to think so 
 gloomily of it as I do sometimes. Yet 
 she has been ill a week. Then I try 
 to console myself : — How many weeks 
 has not this frame tossed on a bed of 
 
288 LETTERS TO 
 
 bodily pain, with a mind scarcely less 
 diseased than the body ! 
 
 Amongst all my thoughts, you are 
 not forgotten : friend of my soul, you 
 are not forgotten. You are to my fancy 
 as a thunder-riven pinnacle of rock, 
 firm amid the rushing tempest and the 
 boiUng surge ; and, when our ship 
 anchors close to thee, the crew will 
 cover thee with flowers ! 
 
 Well, to the point. — I have written 
 to my uncle, and written to your father : 
 ask them to show the letters. Harriet 
 is so languid that she can scarcely 
 speak ; yet she did bid me to say that 
 she hoped nothing would induce you to 
 desert us, and to declare that she was 
 irrevocably convinced that we ought all 
 to live together. What ! Are there 
 beings on this world who think and 
 feel as we do, and should the bigots 
 to world-religion (for I can call by no 
 better name the God that inspired the 
 Captain's arguments, and your father's 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 289 
 
 claims), should they enchain the " souls 
 whose valour made them free " ? I can 
 think with no patience, my toleration to 
 the hateful race of vipers that crawl 
 upon this earth is exhausted, when I 
 find that they have stung thee. There 
 is a charm against their venom which 
 thou, my friend, hast borne about thee 
 — which thou bearest about thee still — 
 which thou wilt ever bear. Repose thy 
 perfect confidence in me : / cannot 
 confide in a being more than I do in 
 thee. I never admit it to be possible 
 that you are other than I have seen and 
 known thee. I esteem, revere, and 
 love, every part of your character. My 
 Harriet's attachment to you will even 
 exceed mine. She is warmer and more 
 affectionate than my heart, which, in its 
 time, has had so much rubbing that it 
 ought to be hard by this time. Your 
 father and the Captain are near you, — 
 we are far : and yet, my friend, when 
 you hear their arguments, persuasions, 
 
 u 
 
290 LETTERS TO 
 
 and threats, I think you sometimes turn 
 your mind towards us, and ask, " What 
 would Percy's little circle think of this ? 
 What would they say ? " 
 
 Adieu. You will hear from me at 
 greater length, as I have much to say, 
 and much to answer. 
 
 Yours indissolubly 
 
 P. B. S. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 291 
 
 LETTER XLI. 
 
 Nantgwillt, [Rhayader, 
 Radnorshire. 
 Thursday, ^ May 7, 18 12. 
 
 Harriet is much recovered. Her 
 fever has left her, and she will, to- 
 morrow or next day, inform you herself 
 of her convalescence. Do you keep 
 up your spirits, new-string your reso- 
 lutions, and all will go well. 
 
 "But screw your courage to the sticking-place, 
 And we'll not fail." 
 
 Your letter from Cuckfield to 
 Harriet in Dublin has this day arrived. 
 And so our dear friends are determined 
 to destroy our jieace of mind if we live 
 together ; determined, all for our good, 
 to make us all the most miserable 
 wretches on earth. Now this, it must 
 
 u 2 
 
292 LETTERS TO 
 
 be confessed, is truly humane and 
 condescending. But how is it to be 
 managed? Where will they begin? 
 In what manner will they destroy our 
 peace of mind, without eradicating that 
 conscious integrity whence it springs? 
 Thinking the pickaxe of vulgar cunning, 
 however sharp, not equal to the 
 demolition of the noblest tree in the 
 forest of the soul, we may, I assume, 
 pass over the consideration of damage 
 that cannot be effected. And what 
 new thing have they advanced to shake 
 this cherished plan ? That you are to 
 be my mistress I that you refused it 
 whilst I was single, but that my 
 marriage takes away all objections that 
 before stood in the way of this singular 
 passion ! They certainly seem to have 
 acquired a taste of fabricating the 
 most whimsical and impossible crimes. 
 Whence, for instance, could they have 
 taken, but from the annals of centaurs 
 and chimeras, the idea of a passion 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 293 
 
 whose delicacy shrank from the idea 
 of union with its unengaged object, 
 but whose timid scruples were com- 
 pletely overcome when that object was 
 the husband of another? Trust me, 
 my friend, they are the extemporaneous 
 effusions of Mrs. Pilfold's brain, 
 fertile in instant expedients, prepared 
 to tell a thousand falsehoods to 
 support an untruth at first perhaps 
 unthinkingly advanced. These shape- 
 less and undigested charges bear all the 
 marks of her ever-ready calumny, 
 which would hold out the right hand in 
 affection, and with the left tear your 
 very heartstrings. She is the woman ! 
 
 Now, my friend, are we or are we not 
 to sacrifice an attachment in which far 
 more than you and I are immediately 
 implicated,^ — in which far more than 
 these dear beings are remotely con- 
 cerned ? And to sacrifice to what ? 
 To the world I to the swinish multitude, 
 to the indiscriminating milhon, to such 
 
294 LETTERS TO 
 
 as burnt the house of Priestley, such 
 as murdered Fitzgerald, such as erect 
 barracks in Marylebone, such as began 
 and such as continue this liberticide 
 war, such wretches as dragged to 
 slavery, or (equal in unprincipled 
 cowardice) the slaves who permit such 
 things : for of these two classes is 
 composed what may be called the 
 world. But, my beloved friend, the 
 good will not rail at us : They will 
 not say that we are the slaves of con- 
 temptible passions — we who aspire to 
 the eminence which they have gained 
 — Godwin will not say so : in fine, that 
 Conscience which [ is ] seated on a 
 throne above the restless turbulence of 
 interested feelings, will acquit at its 
 tribunal actions and thoughts incapable 
 of sullying its purity. Are we, or are 
 we not to sacrifice the immediate 
 energizing of those reforms which the 
 thoughtless and the every-day beings 
 cannot conceive of as practicable or 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 295 
 
 useful? — to sacrifice these plans, ideas 
 communicated, ameliorated, and passed 
 through the fire of unbiassed discussion 
 — those plans which your soul cannot 
 help bursting now to realize ! And 
 sacrificed to what ? Eternal Truth, 
 wherefore do I libel thy immutable 
 name by holding this argument any 
 longer with the most impassioned and 
 unbending of thy votaries ? 
 
 My friend, my dearest friend, you 
 must — you shall- — be with us ! All our 
 schemes, even of walks or rides, will be 
 unfinished without you. Every day 
 every hour, that I discuss your coming, 
 the good that will result appears more 
 certain, and its opportunities more 
 frequent, — the evil vanishes. For tell 
 me one evil that will result : think of 
 one good which your residence with us 
 will not have a tendency to accomplish. 
 Now you say that you will first visit us. 
 Do so, and let this morning's visit 
 [usher] in the day of endless being; 
 
296 LETTERS TO 
 
 at least, last as long as this life. Con- 
 sider how little it is, in comparison to 
 the eternal changes which await to 
 commence at our dissolution. Consider 
 how foolish it would be, were you to 
 pay a morning visit to Miss Weekes, or 
 any other country gossip, and ran twenty 
 times out of the room because it was 
 proper. Now determine on nothing 
 until this §ummer visit. But how can 
 your resolves be unbiassed, if you pro- 
 pose to take your scholars again ? 
 Dismiss them, then, at Midsummer, 
 and come to us, undetermined and 
 open to conviction. 
 
 We are not yet settled in this place. 
 The size of the residence, with respect 
 to the number of bedrooms, is very 
 desirable. How many amiable beings 
 may not be destined to occupy them ! 
 We have already determined on your 
 apartment : I think you will come. 
 
 I wrote to your father and to the 
 Captain. The Captain told me that 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 297 
 
 the reports were as you have stated 
 them to be. He professed to dis- 
 believe the "mistress" business, but 
 asserted that I certainly was very much 
 attached to you. I certainly should 
 feel quite as much inclined to deny 
 my own existence as to deny this 
 latter charge; although I took care 
 to assure him that, in the vague sense 
 which he had annexed to the word 
 " love,'' he was utterly mistaken. I 
 have answered this letter of his. When 
 you see him, request to look at the 
 correspondence. 
 
 I have only one copy (and that torn) 
 of Redfern's letter : I enclose it. It 
 is a horrible case. 
 
 Tell me in your next how your 
 political affairs get on. Who are your 
 agents? what have you done? Take 
 care of letting any of the Declarations 
 get into the hands of priests or aris- 
 tocrats. 
 
 Adieu : bear in mind our love — 
 
298 LETTERS TO 
 
 Harriet's, mine, and Eliza's. Steel 
 your heart to the poison-shafts of 
 calumny: let them rebound from the 
 adamantine rock. Ever beloved friend, 
 adieu. 
 
 Yours most truly and unalterably, 
 P. B. S. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 299 
 
 LETTER XLII. 
 
 Nantgwillt, [Rhayader, 
 Radnorshire. 
 Tuesday, ] June 2, 1 8 1 2 . 
 
 I HAVE not written to you now for a 
 fortnight ! What a time ! Soon, how- 
 ever, we shall have a mode of communi- 
 cation more endearing, delightful, and 
 immediate. Nothing shall ever prevent 
 our meeting. The opposition of the 
 narrow-minded and worldly shall only 
 render more speedy and decisive what 
 they are now inefficient to hinder ! 
 One fortnight more, and we meet. 
 Fortnight, fly fast, and leave the last 
 of my wishes completed ! 
 
 I have been ill with an inflammatory 
 fever, from which I am now completely 
 recovered. I feared to write to you 
 with a hand unsteady and a head dis- 
 
3°o 
 
 LETTERS TO 
 
 ordered with illness. Harriet was 
 delegated to the task: she is no un- 
 worthy substitute. 
 
 I rejoice to think that you, my 
 dearest friend, will speedily be our 
 eternal inmate. Rejoice did I say? 
 It is a word frigid and inexpressive of 
 the idea which it is meant to excite. 
 I have much to talk to you of — Innate 
 Passions, God, Christianity, &c. — when 
 we meet. Would not " co-existent with 
 our organization " be a more correct 
 phrase for passions than " innate ? " I 
 think I can prove to you that our God 
 is the same. 
 
 [P. B. Shelley.] 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 301 
 
 LETTER XLIII. 
 
 CwM Elan, 
 
 \Saturday\ June 6, l8i2. 
 
 You see where we are. Nantgwillt is 
 not ours, nor will it be. Mrs. Hooper 
 the possessor, has chosen to quarrel 
 with us because we cannot give satis- 
 factory security ; and for a time (a very 
 short one) we are resident at Mr 
 Grove's. 
 
 But you shall meet us, dear friend : 
 all the varyings and fluctuations of 
 every-day affairs shall leave our meet- 
 ing unchangeable. What ! may I not 
 say that one is a moral, the other a 
 physical, event — that one depends upon 
 " the virtuous will," the other upon the 
 changeable impressions of sensuality ? — 
 But to the point. Do not fear that my 
 father will withdraw the allowance. I 
 know the hidden springs of his char- 
 acter ; and pride would not suffer him 
 
302 LETTERS TO 
 
 to withdraw what pride only actuated 
 him to give. 
 
 I have sent a draft to town by to-day's 
 post for the quarterly £,^0, which shall 
 take us to London, — where we will meet 
 with you or at Hurst, as you think fit ; 
 when we shall become inseparable, and 
 will talk over all the plans which float 
 in all our brains as to our future manner 
 of life. 
 
 As to your house being on the terms 
 you describe, I do not see anything 
 peremptory in that. If we think it 
 most conducive to unselfishness to fix 
 on it as a residence, undoubtedly we 
 will fix there without hesitation. But 
 might not both your and my con- 
 nexions considerably curtail our exer- 
 tions ? Might not our central situation 
 with relation to all our well-meaning 
 enemies expose us and our views 
 continually to their aggressions, which, 
 contemptible as they might be with 
 respect to our own peace of mind 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 303 
 
 would assume an entirely different 
 aspect with regard to our use- 
 fulness ? Might not my father, 
 offended at our residence in Sussex, 
 withdraw the allowance? Might not 
 the Captain think a well-directed 
 hostility effectual toward disuniting us? 
 Might not your father, lastly, led on 
 by the unculture of his mind, form 
 conclusions of the utmost asperity and 
 injustice? These are considerations 
 which, though not presenting insur- 
 mountable obstacles, are yet subjects 
 for consideration at our meeting. 
 
 Adieu. I write in haste, and shall 
 answer your letter the day after to- 
 morrow. Dearest friend, this is a 
 letter of business. Adieu. We all 
 unite in love to her whom we all 
 love inexpressibly. 
 
 Your 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
304 LETTERS TO 
 
 LETTER XLIV. 
 
 CwM Elan. 
 \Thursday,'\June II, 1812. 
 
 My dearest Friend, 
 
 The news of your postscript does 
 not much surprise me. It was to have 
 been expected that no means would 
 have [been] left unattempted by the 
 Genius of Intrigue and MaUce. You 
 must know that I regard charges of 
 resembhng Lovelace with contemp- 
 tuous indifference. They affect me 
 but on one account : I fear they have 
 an ill effect on you. But I should 
 expect that they would excite in you 
 only a smile of bitterness and unbelief. 
 
 We cannot have Nantgwillt, and are 
 now remaining at Mr. Grove's until 
 remittances enable us to move. The 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 30$ 
 
 expenses with which our board, lodg- 
 ing,- &c., have been attended, will leave 
 us possessed of a sum not sufficient to 
 undertake a journey into Sussex, 
 compatibly with independence when 
 we arrive. You know, my friend, how 
 much each of us regrets the necessity 
 that detains us from instantly flying to 
 you : but you likewise know that no- 
 thing but an unconquerable necessity 
 interposes between friendship and its 
 duties. We therefore determine to 
 proceed to Ilfracombe, a town in the 
 north of Devonshire, sixty miles from 
 Rhayader. We shall at all events get 
 lodgings there for the present; and 
 there is a coach from London to 
 Barnstaple, which is close to Ilfra- 
 combe, by which you may be quickly 
 conveyed to those whose bosoms throb 
 for your arrival. Our journey to Ilfra- 
 combe cannot exceed ;^8 : our journey 
 to Sussex must at least be £,j)0. With 
 the difference of these two sums a 
 
3o6 LETTERS TO 
 
 house is procurable at Ilfracombe, or 
 near it, which shall be the sanctuary of 
 happiness. 
 
 As soon as you can arrange your 
 affairs, take a place in the coach for 
 London, Mr. Westbrook will give you 
 a bed, and the next morning he will 
 see you safe in the Barnstaple coach. 
 Have you enough money for the 
 journey? If not, write to us, and 
 we will send [some] as soon as the 
 ^ip arrives. If possible, however, do 
 not wait for the intervention of another 
 letter and its answer. Our well-meaning 
 enemies are determined to oppose your 
 departure with every kind of method. 
 Take your method of defeating them : 
 let it be plain and simple. There is no 
 necessity either to conceal or make 
 public your departure : I recommend 
 not secresy, but calm firmness. 
 [P. B. Shelley.] 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 307 
 
 LETTER XLV. 
 
 \Thursday,'\Jttne\l%, 1812.] 
 
 We shall come at any rate. Some- 
 thing on which we cannot calculate has 
 happened : means utterly unknown to 
 us have been practised upon you. 
 Friendship and justice command that 
 we should do all that can be done : I 
 hope the time will never come when 
 we shall be deaf to their appeals. 
 
 I calculate that, on our arrival at 
 Chepstow, £,\T, will remain. This 
 may suffice for our journey by coaches 
 across the country to you. Then we 
 shall be penniless, and for our return 
 to Chepstow, where Eliza will remain, 
 depend upon your exertions with Mr. 
 H[owel]. You had better mention my 
 responsibility, which, if I can see Mr. 
 
 X 2 
 
3o8 LETTERS TO 
 
 Howel when I come, I will personally 
 give. 
 
 Affairs have now arrived at a crisis. 
 I perceive by your letter the necessity 
 of our journey. It is playing a mo- 
 mentous game. It demands coolness 
 and resolution — such coolness as con- 
 tempt for our adversaries has given 
 Harriet and me. Calm yourself, collect 
 yourself, my dearest friend ! How little 
 ought your mighty soul to be shaken 
 by the whisper of a worldling ! Let 
 us show that truth can conquer false- 
 hood. Let us show that prejudice is 
 impotent when the resolution of 
 friendship and virtue is awakened. 
 It is a glorious cause : martyrdom in 
 such a cause were superior than victory 
 in any other. If what Mr. and Mrs. 
 Pplfold] and Co. had said of me had 
 been, as it will be, unconnected with 
 your peace, it would amuse me ex- 
 cessively. Even now I can sometimes 
 not help smiUng, though the smile is a 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 309 
 
 bitter one, when the train of their con- 
 spiracies comes across me. 
 
 About next Thursday you may ex- 
 pect us. I am not positive as to the 
 day, but next week we shall be with 
 you. Prepare yourself to leave a scene 
 rendered hateful by impotent malice. 
 \iyou can [procure] no money, I should 
 conceive that my attempts would not be 
 quite unsuccessful. I know not, how- 
 ever, how this may be. Money is our 
 slave, not our master : it is a slave 
 whose services we are all equally 
 entitled to command. The best wishes, 
 the sincerest love, of all, await you 
 until we meet. 
 
 Yours unalterably, 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
 Even if we are gone, Eliza will be 
 there. You may direct to the Post- 
 Office at Chepstow. 
 
 I think that you had better com- 
 municate to no one the contents of 
 
31 o LETTERS TO 
 
 this letter. It could answer no good 
 purpose, and might engender in Mrs. 
 P[ilford]'s brain some new scheme of 
 malice. 
 
 I have been writing a defence of 
 Eaton. To-day I have not coolness 
 enough to go on. 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 311 
 
 HARRIET SHELLEY. 
 
 TO 
 
 ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 
 
 Dublin. 
 \Wednesday\, March iZth, [1812] 
 
 My Dear Portia, 
 
 As Percy has sent you such a large 
 Box so full of inflammable matter, I 
 think I may be allowed to send a little, 
 but not [of] such a nature as his. I 
 sent you two letters in a newspaper, 
 which I hope you received safe from 
 the intrusion of Post-masters. I sent 
 one of the Pamphlets to my Father 
 in a newspaper, which was opened and 
 charged, but which was very trifling 
 when compared to what you and 
 Godwin paid. 
 
312 LETTERS TO 
 
 I believe I have mentioned a new 
 acquaintance of ours, a Mrs. Nugent, 
 who is sitting in the room now and 
 talking to Percy about Virtue. You 
 see how little I stand upon ceremony. 
 I have seen her but twice before, and 
 I find her a very agreeable, sensible 
 woman. She has felt most severely the 
 miseries of her country, in which she 
 has been a very active member. She 
 visited all the Prisons in the time of 
 the Rebellion, to exhort the people to 
 have courage and hope. She says it 
 was a most dreadful task ; but it was 
 her duty, and she would not shrink from 
 the performance r'of it. This excellent 
 woman, with all her notions of 
 Philanthropy and Justice, is obliged to 
 work for her subsistence — to work in a 
 shop which is a furrier's ; there she is 
 every day confined to her needle. Is 
 it not a thousand pities that such a 
 woman should be so dependent upon 
 others? She has visited us this 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 313 
 
 evening for about three hours, and is 
 now returned home. The evening is 
 the only time she can get out in the 
 week ; but Sunday is her own, and 
 then we are to see her. She told 
 Percy that her country was her only 
 love, when he asked her if she was 
 married. She called herself Mrs., I 
 suppose on account of her age, as she 
 looks rather old for a Miss. She has 
 never been out of her country, and has 
 no wish to leave it. 
 
 This is St. Patrick's night,* and the 
 Irish always get very tipsy on such a 
 night as this. The Horse Guards are 
 pacing the streets, and will be so all 
 the night, so fearful are they of dis- 
 turbances, the poor people being very 
 much that way inclined, as Provisions 
 
 * This shows that Harriet's letter was written 
 on the 17th of March, and not on the " 18," as 
 she has dated it. Unless, indeed, the usual St. 
 Patrick's Ball at Dublin Castle was for some 
 reason held on the i8th of March, instead of the 
 17th in the year 1812. 
 
314 LETTERS TO 
 
 are very scarce in the southern counties. 
 Poor Irish People, how much I feel for 
 them. Do you know, such is their ignor- 
 ance, that when there is a drawing-room 
 held, they go from some distance to 
 see the people who keep them starving 
 to get their luxuries ; they will crowd 
 round the state carriages in great glee 
 to see those within who have stripped 
 them of their rights, and who wantonly 
 revel in a profusion of ill-gotten luxury, 
 whilst so many of those harmless people 
 are wanting Bread for their wives and 
 children. What a spectacle ! People 
 talk of the fiery spirit of these distressed 
 creatures, but that spirit is very much 
 broken and ground down by the 
 oppressors of this poor country. I may 
 with truth say there are more Beggars 
 in this city than any other in the world. 
 They are so poor they have hardly a rag 
 to cover their naked limbs, and such is 
 their passion for drink, that when you 
 relieve them one day you see them in 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER. 315 
 
 the same deplorable situation the next. 
 Poor creatures, they live more on 
 whiskey than anything, for meat is so 
 dear they cannot afford to purchase any. 
 If they had the means I do not know 
 that they would, whiskey being so much 
 cheaper, and to their palates so much 
 more desirable. Yet how often do we 
 hear people say that poverty is no evil. 
 I think if they had experienced it they 
 would soon alter their tone. To my 
 idea it is the worst of all evils, as the 
 miseries that flow from it are certainly 
 very great ; the many crimes we hear 
 of daily are the consequences of Poverty 
 and that to a very great degree; I 
 think the Laws are extremely unjust — 
 they condemn a Person to Death for 
 stealing 13 shillings and 4 pence. 
 
 Disperse the Declarations. Percy 
 says the farmers are very fond of 
 having something posted upon their 
 walls. 
 
 Percy has sent you all his Pamphlets 
 
3i6 LETTERS TO E. H. 
 
 with the Declaration of Rights, which 
 you will disperse to advantage. He has 
 not many of his first Address, having 
 taken great pains to circulate them 
 through this city. 
 
 All thoughts of an Association are 
 given up as impracticable. We shall 
 leave this noisy town on the 7 th of 
 April, unless the Habeas Corpus Act 
 should be suspended, and then we shall 
 be obliged to leave here as soon as 
 possible. Adieu. 
 
 [Harriet Shelley.] 
 
SUPPLEMENT. 
 
 The following Letter, which should be 
 inserted between Nos. IV. and V., 
 has come to light since the body of 
 this book was printed. It is there- 
 fore inserted here in the form of 
 a Supplement. 
 
LETTERS TO E. H. 319 
 
 LETTER XLVI. 
 
 CwM Elan, Rhayader, 
 Radnorshirk, 
 South Wales. 
 
 [Postmark— lS^A/«^, 181 1.] 
 
 My dear Madam, 
 
 Your letter has just reached me, or 
 rather has been given to me after my 
 recovery from a short but violent ner- 
 vous illness. It was occasioned by 
 several nights of sleeplessness, and 
 days of pressing and urgent business ; 
 nothing else could have prevented my 
 calling on you in town, but my occupa- 
 tion was of such a nature as would 
 neither admit of delay or rest, and 
 Stoic as I profess myself, whilst yet 
 this chain of clay fetters our nobler 
 energies, it will at times subdue them, 
 it will at times remind us, and that 
 forcibly, how mutually dependent on 
 each other are mind and body. 
 
320 LETTERS TO 
 
 Well here I now am, and shall 
 postpone the pleasure of your conver- 
 sation, tho' let me hope not of your 
 correspondence, until the period of my 
 return to Sussex. I hope I am superior 
 to etiquette, indeed if I am not I bely 
 my own professions, and daring to be 
 free court slavery. But this is not 
 my disposition, and when I say the 
 "pleasure of your correspondence" I 
 mean to say that the ideas which those 
 words excite are actually present. — 
 
 Did you observe in the papers an 
 account of the trial of a wretch at 
 Tortola for the murder of his slave : 
 if not, read it, and remark his address 
 to the Jury — " I have a proper sense of 
 religion, and I fear not." This man's 
 cruelties might have made Nero triumph 
 in his comparative humanity, yet " he 
 fears not." Is this criterion then so 
 sure to supercede that of self-evident 
 morality as to make a villain exult in 
 death like Brutus ? Surely this teaches 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER 321 
 
 us two things — that Religion is bad for 
 man ; that the exultation of Brutus 
 will last, that of the tyrant cannot ! 
 
 I met with a fine passage the other 
 day in Helvetius, a French writer. 
 " Modes of worship differ, they are 
 therefore the work of man — Morality 
 is accordant, universal, and uniform, 
 therefore it is the Work of God " — or, 
 as I should say, it is Morality which 
 I cannot but consider as synonymous 
 with the Deist's God. 
 
 This country of Wales is excessively 
 grand; rocks piled on each other to 
 tremendous heights, rivers formed into 
 cataracts by their projections, and 
 valleys clothed with woods, present an 
 appearanceof enchantment. '^vAwhy do 
 they enchant — why is it more affecting 
 than a plain, it cannot be innate, is it 
 acquired ? Thus does knowledge lose 
 all the pleasure which involuntarily 
 arises by attempting to arrest the 
 fleeting phantom as it passes — vain, 
 
 Y 
 
322 LETTERS TO ' 
 
 almost like the chemist's ether it 
 evaporates under our observation : it 
 flies from all but the slaves of passion 
 and sickly sensibility who will not 
 analyse a feeling. 
 
 I will relate you an anecdote, it is a 
 striking one ; the only adventure I have 
 met with here. My window is over the 
 kitchen, in the morning I threw it up, 
 and had hardly finished dressing when 
 "for Charity's dear sake" met my ear. 
 These words were pronounced with 
 such sweetness that on turning round 
 I was surprised to find them uttered by 
 an old beggar, to whom in a moment 
 the servant brought some meat. I ran 
 down and gave him something : — he 
 appeared extremely grateful. I tried 
 to enter into conversation with him — in 
 vain. I followed him a mile asking a 
 thousand questions. At length I quitted 
 him finding by this remarkable obser- 
 vation that perseverance was useless. 
 " I see by your dress that you are a 
 
ELIZABETH HITCHENER 323 
 
 rich man. They have injured me and 
 mine a million times — you appear to 
 be well intentioned, but I have no 
 security of it while you live in such 
 a house as that, or wear such clothes 
 as those. It would be charity to quit 
 me." 
 
 Now adieu. 
 
 Believe me 
 
 Yours most sincerely, 
 
 Percy Shelley. 
 
 {^Addressed tmtside.\ 
 Miss Hitchener, 
 Mr. Pilfold's, 
 
 near the Foundling, 
 London. 
 
 [Re-direcied, not in Sitelley s kand-writing.l 
 Miss Hitchener, 
 
 Hurstpierfoint, 
 
 near Brighton. 
 
 V 2 
 
NOTES. 
 
 p. 3. " The Curse of Kehaiiia, and Ensor's 
 National Education,^'' 
 
 Southey's verse is now so little read 
 that not every reader may be aware 
 that the first-named work is by him. 
 Shelley much admired this and other 
 of Southey's poems in his youth ; and 
 his appreciation of Kehama left many 
 traces on his own work. George 
 Ensor {1769-1841), though now 
 almost forgotten, was a writer of 
 some influence in his own time. It 
 is interesting to learn that he assailed 
 the English government of Ireland in 
 two books, A Defence of the Irish, 
 1825, and Anti-Utiion, 1831 ; but 
 this was after Shelley's death. 
 
 P. 6. " Am I to expect an enemy or an ally in 
 Locke?" 
 
 In this letter Slielley is replying to 
 Miss Hitchener's arguments. She 
 kept drafts of some of her replies to 
 
326 NOTES 
 
 his letters, and these have been pre- 
 served. Here is an extract from her 
 reply to Shelley's first letter : — 
 
 " You say your God is Truth : I 
 should say mine is the God of Truth. 
 I am so truly happy to find Locke 
 saying we possess faculties to discover 
 God." 
 F. 13. " I havejust finished a novel of the day — 
 The Missionary, by Mrs. Owenson. " 
 
 This novel was by Miss (not Mrs. ) 
 Owenson. She afterwards became 
 famous as the wife of Sir Charles 
 Morgan, and the author of a good 
 many works of fiction and travel. 
 Shelley elsewhere expresses (if I am 
 not mistaken) a much higher opinion 
 of The Missionary than he does here. 
 I'. 15. "Reason sanctions an aberration from 
 reason." 
 
 Shelley is here replying to Miss 
 Kitchener's comments upon his second 
 letter :— 
 
 " You tell me that since you have 
 been a decided votary of reason you 
 have never felt happiness ; and you 
 ask me to comment upon it. Your 
 own arguments furnish me with an 
 answer, viz. : 'that reason sanctions 
 an aberration from reason, when that 
 aberration is productive of higher 
 morality. ' — I know we have but one 
 opinion as to the fundamental prin- 
 ciple of Virtue : — that it is the business 
 of life to add all in our power to the 
 happiness of others. Must not then 
 
NOTES 327 
 
 the children of Virtue seek to be 
 happy themselves, lest they give pain 
 to those who in others' happiness find 
 their own? When you tell me the 
 Christian religion militates against 
 
 virtue, you stagger me I find 
 
 so many in the world, and many who 
 have ceased to exist, whose opinions 
 coincide with my own, and who 
 thought themselves Christians, that I 
 still think I must be one. But to-day 
 I met with this sentiment of Lyttle- 
 ton : ' The man who hates another 
 for not being a Christian is himself 
 not one.' .... You reason almost 
 too clearly for me on the subject of 
 Deity : but the feeling has taken deep 
 root." 
 P. 15. " What I mean by this is an habitual 
 analysis of our own thoughts. " 
 
 This passage reminds us strongly of 
 Coleridge's — 
 
 And haply by abstruse research to steal 
 From my own nature all the natural man. 
 
 P. 42. Letter VIII. 
 
 The original of this letter bears the 
 seal of the Shelley arms, and a post- 
 mark of the 19th of some month very 
 indistinctly marked : it might be either 
 August, or July, or June. It is marked 
 as the ninth letter addressed by Shelley 
 to Miss Kitchener, and if so the month 
 must be August. The concluding 
 paragraph seems to show that when 
 
328 NOTES 
 
 it was written Shelley was within a 
 short distance of Hurstpierpoint, Miss 
 Kitchener's place of residence. It 
 appears therefore that he was on or 
 before the 19th of August again at 
 Cuckfield or at Field Place. 
 
 P. 47. " The ceremony of marriage." 
 
 Does Shelley here refer to some 
 ecclesiastical ceremony? The point 
 seems rather doubtful. Prof. Dowden 
 says that the young couple were mar- 
 ried "in regular form, and with such 
 ceremony as the Scottish law re- 
 quired." I believe that all that the 
 Scottish law then required was that 
 the contracting parties should declare 
 themselves in the presence of wit- 
 nesses to be man and wife. This 
 would seem to have been the only 
 ceremony that took place ; or why 
 should it have been afterwards thought 
 necessary to go through a second form 
 of marriage ? 
 
 P. 50. Letter X. 
 
 This letter is in reply to one from 
 Miss Kitchener, dated the nth of 
 October, from which I extract the 
 following passage ; — - 
 
 " Time was, I had not yielded to 
 the world the society of a friend, more 
 to me than all that world : but the 
 good opinion of that world-given, not 
 sought, had begun to deprive me of 
 that freedom which had ever been my 
 
 glory When last I saw you 
 
 I have no doubt but you fully intended 
 
NOTES 329 
 
 the pursuit you named : ' but this 
 must have been secondary. Circum- 
 stances might compel you to yield 
 this, and hasten your marriage. 
 Here then was no equivocation and, 
 as to marrying, that was due to Mrs 
 Shelley. To say how sincerely I 
 wish you both every happiness does 
 not convey half my feeling for it . . . 
 With the greatest and sincerest 
 pleasure should I accept your invita- 
 tion, if in my power : but situated as 
 I am, it is not possible, — though at 
 some future period, I anticipate 
 accepting it, and this pleasvire in 
 anticipation will beguile many a 
 heavy duty of its pain. I long to be 
 introduced to your Harriet : will she 
 ever permit me to call her so ? She 
 shall have a sister's affection, for are 
 you not the brother of my soul ? See, 
 I have profited by your instructions, 
 and levelled you with as much, nay 
 perhaps more facility than you can 
 wish." 
 
 P. 54. " But thou art a sister of my soul, lie 
 is its brother." 
 
 No doubt T. J. Hogg is here 
 referred to, though it is rather curious 
 that Shelley should speak thus, with- 
 out having previously named him. 
 
 P. 57. "The letter at Field Place has been 
 opened " — I suppose this was a letter 
 
 1 This refers to Shelley's expressed intention of 
 studying for the profession of medicine. 
 
330 NOTES 
 
 of Miss Hitchener's which had been 
 delivered at Field Place after Shelley 
 had left it. 
 P. 62. " You are to come to dine here, and 
 bring Emma — " 
 
 Emma was, no doubt, a daughter 
 of Captain Pilfold, and one of Miss 
 Hitchener's pupils. 
 P. 63. Letter XII. 
 
 In this letter Shelley replies to one 
 from Miss Kitchener, in which she 
 had thus responded to his proposal 
 that he should, when he came into 
 his fortune, share it with her : — 
 
 "I .... hasten to answer that 
 part of your letter in which you wish 
 me to share your fortune. This is an 
 unparalleled instance of generosity 
 .... You have given me, in sharing 
 the pleasures of your mind, an inex- 
 haustible store of delight, and left me 
 
 nothing more to wish for 
 
 When you come into possession of all 
 your fortune, I will tax your friend- 
 ship for the mother of my soul, the 
 dear woman who educated me. . . . 
 Me alone, of all her pupils, did she 
 love as her child. ... I was not then 
 ten .... She has kept a school seven- 
 and-thirty years; but, having too much 
 virtue for the age, has ever been an 
 object of persecution. She is still 
 compelled to continue it, and I have 
 long sighed to offer her an asylum. 
 This was my principal motive for 
 engaging in a school ; but, till I am 
 
NOTES 331 
 
 independent of my parents, I durst 
 
 not But as I foresee, Miss 
 
 Adams will not suffer me to do for 
 her what I wish, this gratification 
 (should her life continue, which I 
 tremble frequently for) shall be 
 
 transferred to you She is not 
 
 a stranger to your tract, but exclaimed, 
 ' What ! a Shelley an Atheist ! ' " 
 
 There are few of Shelley's letters 
 which are more important than this, 
 since in it he gives the clearest and 
 best account of the circumstances 
 which led up to his marriage with 
 Harriet Westbrook. It is plain 
 enough from it that it was no over- 
 mastering passion on Shelley's part 
 which caused it ; but rather pity for 
 the lady's real or imaginary distresses 
 which led him, in the spirit of a knight- 
 errant, to rescue her from her 
 persecutors. But Shelley was very 
 young, and Harriett was. younger ; and 
 as the French say. What would you ? 
 At nineteen and sixteen we seldom 
 consider what the future consequences 
 of our actions are likely to be. Had 
 it been an ordinary boy and girl 
 marriage, it might have turned out 
 happily enough ; but Shelley was a 
 genius, and his wife was — not. 
 P. 70. "I observed that you were much 
 shocked at my mother's depravity." 
 
 In what his mother's "depravity" 
 consisted we do not know. In 
 Medwin's Life of Shelley, however. 
 
332 NOTES 
 
 there is a passage which may have 
 some bearing upon this point. 
 Medwin says that Shelley told him 
 that, once when his father was absent 
 upon his parliamentary duties, his 
 mother invited him to Field Place, 
 and while he was there asked him 
 with much show of affection to sign 
 a certain document. This he would 
 have done had he not seen through 
 his mother's pretended tenderness 
 for him. I do not think that too 
 much stress should be laid upon this 
 statement, since we hare no means of 
 knowing what the mother may have 
 had to say in answer to this charge. 
 P. 72. Letter XII. 
 
 This again is a most important letter, 
 since it discloses the treachery of the 
 manwhom Shelley had, up tothattime, 
 trusted with the most complete con- 
 fidence and love. That Hogg in his 
 youth differed much from the Hogg 
 who, late in life, wrote that astonishing 
 piece of self-disclosure which he 
 called The Life of Shelley, can hardly 
 be doubted ; for how else could 
 Shelley, prone as he was to idealise 
 his friends, have failed to discover 
 his utter unworthiness ? But it was 
 at best an ill-assorted friendship, and 
 must, sooner or later, have come to a 
 sudden termination. Something 
 perhaps might be urged in Hogg's 
 behalf in the present case. Possibly 
 or probably he did not attempt 
 
NOTES 333 
 
 deliberately to seduce Harriet ; but 
 only gave way to a sudden impulse of 
 passion. But we must needs deplore 
 the ill-luclt of Shelley, which in Hogg's 
 case, as in so many others, led him 
 to put his love and trust in those 
 who were unworthy of it. 
 P. 91. Letter XVI. 
 
 In this letter Shelley replies to one 
 he had received from Miss Hitchener. 
 I take the following extract from her 
 letter :— 
 
 "There needed not this to make 
 me shudder at human nature. It 
 has too often frozen my heart's blood, 
 and prompted me to forswear my 
 kindred with mankind, and, more 
 than any other cause acted, I think, 
 upon my feelings to accept a religion 
 
 which promised a purer nature 
 
 Oh ! the ecstatic idea of the society 
 of 'just men made perfect,' and a 
 being more holy than the human 
 mind can conceive affords the heart 
 such real bliss that my feeling knows 
 not how to forgo what my reason is 
 
 not ready to adopt Too well 
 
 I see he mistook the love of virtue 
 for the practice of it ... . You do 
 indeed rise above human nature. 
 To pardon and seek to reclaim him is 
 worthy of my idea of you. In you 
 I fear no disappointment. I see you 
 rise with trial, and I feel something 
 like gratitude for the happiness you 
 give me Before I close this, I 
 
334 NOTES 
 
 hint a suspicion that our friends 
 would willingly lessen us in each 
 other's opinion. I give them credit 
 for good motives, I have the highest 
 respect for them. It is all useless : 
 I judge for myself, "j 
 P. 96. Letter XVII. 
 
 This letter is in reply to one from 
 Miss Kitchener, dated Nov. 15. 
 The following passage is extracted 
 from her letter : — 
 
 " Exquisite happiness and acute 
 misery must have their abode in a 
 sense beyond the ordinary five ; and 
 the sense or senses beyond, I think, 
 belong distinctly to the soul ; and, 
 on the side of reason, the only evi- 
 dence of a soul is this imagination. 
 Let not my fancy, I beseech thee, my 
 dearest friend, run away with my 
 
 reason. On your reason I rely 
 
 Oh lovely sympathy ! I owe thee 
 much : and the few months I have 
 drunk of thy re-animating cup atone 
 for the blank of years I had endured. 
 Stoics may call our friendship selfish. 
 I contradict them not : but self, 
 consistently with virtue, must be 
 indulged when it militates not against 
 
 the happiness of others Little 
 
 did I imagine when first I saw you 
 (and now I see the spot, I am in the 
 room endeared to me by this remem- 
 brance) little did I then foresee the 
 
 cheering path before me But 
 
 for the Captain I had never known 
 
NOTES 335 
 
 you. Thus will new views open on 
 your path : not that they can anni- 
 hilate remembrances, but the mind 
 dwells on the future rather than the 
 past. Bear up, then, my friend." 
 
 P. lo6. " — the sottish idiotism of frenzy- 
 nourished fools, as once I was." 
 
 Evidently Shelley is here referring 
 to his unrequited passion for his 
 cousin, Harriet Grove. 
 
 P. 113. "Cannot the sweet little nurslings 
 of liberty come?" 
 
 This apparently refers to some 
 American children whom Miss Kitch- 
 ener was educating. 
 
 P. 123. " He was an elderly man — " 
 
 This was probably Mr. Calvert, of 
 Greta Bank, a Cumberland Squire, 
 who was very popular in his day. 
 The Calverts were neighbours of 
 Southey ; and one of them, it will be 
 recollected, was Wordsworth's great- 
 est friend and benefactor. 
 
 P. 128. " I am as little inclined as you are to 
 quarrel with Taffy — " 
 
 This last word is rather illegible : 
 it might be read as "Jassy" or 
 " Josey " 
 
 P. 130. "We design, after your visit .... to 
 visit Ireland. " 
 
 This is the earliest known reference 
 to Shelley's project of visiting Ire- 
 land. 
 
 P. 132. " I shall also see Southey, Words- 
 worth, and Coleridge, there. " 
 
 It was unfortunate that Shelley 
 
336 NOTES 
 
 never met either Wordsworth or 
 Coleridge. The latter one can easily 
 conceive him as being pleased with, 
 and deriving a good deal of benefit 
 from ; but one feels rather dubious 
 as to the result of a meeting with 
 Wordsworth. Their tempers and 
 aims were so different and so alien 
 that it is hard to imagine them as 
 parting with anything but unfavour- 
 able impressions of each other. Yet 
 a prolonged acquaintance might have 
 been of benefit to both ; since Words- 
 worth might have acquired something 
 of Shelley's warmth and enthusiasm, 
 while the younger poet might have 
 profited by the contemplation of 
 Wordsworth's steadfast devotion to 
 his chosen vocation, and his love for 
 nature and human nature in their 
 most unsophisticated manifestations. 
 But Southey, whom Shelley did meet, 
 was of all men the least fitted to 
 influence him for good. 
 
 r. 132. " Give my love to Anne. " 
 
 Apparently a pupil of Miss Hitch- 
 ener's. For a further reference to her 
 in a different tone, see p. 221. 
 
 P. 134. Letter XXII. 
 
 When one remembers with what 
 difficulties Shelley was then strug- 
 gling, and considers the sacrifices he 
 was prepared to make in order to 
 maintain his principles, it cannot fail 
 to be seen how honourable to him are 
 the contents of this letter. We may 
 
NOTES 337 
 
 indeed consider his conduct imprudent 
 (but it was always that !) or even 
 quixotic ; but adherence to principle, 
 and more especially to such a refine- 
 ment of principle as we have in this 
 case, at the expense of one's pecuniary 
 interests, is so uncommon that Shelley 
 is entitled to receive every possible 
 credit for it. He is offered an im- 
 mediate income of ;if 2,000 per annum 
 — which, in his then impecunious state 
 must have seemed a sum beyond the 
 dreams of avarice — on a condition 
 which to most persons would have 
 seemed not merely easy, but alto- 
 gether acceptable from their own 
 point of view. Yet on a. point of 
 honour, which almost any other 
 person would have at once set aside 
 as a mere refinement of scrupulosity, 
 he refuses this almost princely allow- 
 ance. 
 
 What was the object of this appar- 
 ently generous offer to him, assuming 
 that Captain Pilfold had made no 
 mistake in the matter, and that it 
 was really in contemplation to make 
 it? We have seen already in 
 these letters that Shelley had ideas as 
 to the disposal of the family property, 
 should it ever come into his hands, 
 which must have been extremely dis- 
 tasteful to his father, and to the other 
 persons who were interested in the 
 matter. It was probably with the 
 idea of preventing him from dealing 
 
 Z 
 
338 NOTES 
 
 as he pleased with the property that 
 the offer was to be made to him. 
 This accounts for his indignation at 
 the mention of the terms upon which 
 the allowance was to be made. It 
 was Shelley's opinion that all property 
 should be held in trust for the general 
 benefit, and not merely used for the 
 private advantage of its possessor. 
 P. 137. " — with some hints as to duelling, 
 to induce me to meet him in that 
 manner. " 
 
 It is hard to believe that Hogg can 
 possibly have invited Shelley to fight 
 a duel with him. We must needs have 
 a very low opinion of him ; but that, 
 after attempting to destroy his friend's 
 happiness, he was willing to run the 
 risk of taking his life, is surely 
 incredible. That he threatened to 
 commit suicide seems clear enough ; 
 but it is difficult to believe that he 
 seriously intended to do it. Probably 
 Shelley had mistaken the tenour of 
 some passage in Hogg's letter. The 
 more, however, the matter is con- 
 sidered, the worse does the case look 
 against Hogg, while the poet's con- 
 duct shines all the brighter by com- 
 parison. What is most strange in the 
 whole affair is the fact that Hogg, 
 believing himself safe from detection, 
 printed in his Life of Shelley one of 
 his friend's expostulatory letters to 
 himself, under the pretence that it 
 was a fragment of a novel by Shelley 
 
NOTES 339 
 
 on the subject of Charlotte and 
 Werter ! 
 
 Impudence to no farther length could go, 
 Nor falsehood aping truth more blackly 
 show. 
 
 The reader should see the letter 
 referred to in the recent reprint of 
 Hogg's book, p. S4I- 
 P. 140. " Wordsworth, a ^«»K(&OT associate of 
 Southey " 
 
 I believe there is little or no founda- 
 tion for this account of Wordsworth's 
 poverty. His means at this time were 
 certainly restricted, but he was never 
 so poor as Shelley represents him to 
 have been. 
 P. 142. Leiter XXIII. 
 
 This letter is numbered 25 in the 
 original MS. ; Nos. 23 and 24 having 
 been lost. It appears, from a letter 
 to Harriet Shelley which Miss Kitch- 
 ener addressed to her that the young 
 couple had met with some accident 
 in a recent water-excursion : — 
 
 "You have made me laugh at your 
 water-excursion : but it has made me 
 serious too. I cannot spare you, and 
 am tremblingly alive to danger. Pray, 
 then, be not either of you so hazardous 
 again." 
 
 It may be inferred from this that 
 Shelley had on this occasion run some 
 risk of being drowned : the first of 
 many instances prior to the final 
 catastrophe. 
 
 Z 2 
 
340 NOTES 
 
 In another letter, written in reply 
 to one of the lost epistles, Miss 
 Kitchener says : — 
 
 "The Captain was with me (come 
 to fetch Emma) when your letters 
 were brought me. He had just in- 
 formed me of the proposals made to 
 you. I spoke as I felt upon the 
 subject : that feeling you — and I fear 
 you only — can know. The Captain 
 was silent whilst I spoke of them : 
 but the glow of admiration illumined 
 his fine countenance when I spoke of 
 you. Notwithstanding the world 
 strives hard to make him as wise as 
 its children, I think it never can, 
 for he certainly glories in you. He 
 regrets to me that you treat him with 
 a half-confidence. He has a warm 
 and generous heart ; and must then, 
 my dearest firiend, be excused this 
 regret. Surely I cannot be deceived 
 in him, yet you know best ; and, I 
 am certain, could give me very satis- 
 factory reasons for witholding com- 
 munication from him I am 
 
 glad these proposals were made to 
 you : they prove you to the world. . . 
 I am delighted in showing to the 
 world that a being such as my 
 imagination had often conceived is 
 not ideal. . . . Thou, my dearest 
 friend, art a living example of my 
 idea of a truly virtuous man. " 
 
 Surely this passage shews Miss 
 Kitchener in a very favourable light, 
 
NOTES 341 
 
 and suggests that, after all, she was 
 not wholly unworthy to be the poet's 
 friend and confidante ? One is very 
 glad, too, to read her account of the 
 good Captain Pilfold, who ought 
 henceforth to be ranked among the 
 very few who loved and appreciated 
 Shelley, when almost all his acquaint- 
 ances were arrayed against him. 
 
 P. 142 " I have also been engaged in talking 
 with Southey." 
 
 The opinions which Shelley here 
 attributes to Southey can hardly be 
 accepted as representing quite faith- 
 fully the ideas which the latter then 
 entertained. 
 
 P. 147 "This proposal will be (if made) — " 
 
 This apparently refers to the 
 
 before-mentioned proposal to make 
 
 Shelley an allowance of ;^2,ooo per 
 
 annum. 
 
 P. 149 " What do you advise me about Hogg 
 and my uncle ? " 
 
 Miss Kitchener had apparently ad- 
 vised him to communicate to Captain 
 Pilfold the story of Hogg's treachery. 
 
 P. 156. "You talk of Montgomery." 
 
 There is very little foundation for 
 this account of James Montgomery. 
 
 P. 157. "' Poet's Epitaph.'" 
 
 This poem, as Shelley gives it, 
 differs much from the authentic text. 
 There are many verbal alterations, 
 and Shelley omits nearly one half of 
 the complete poem. 
 
342 NOTES 
 
 P. 163. Letter XXV. 
 
 Though addressed to Ilurst- 
 pierpoint, this letter was sent on 
 thence to Miss Kitchener, "at Mrs. 
 Adams', School Hill, Lewes." This 
 gives us the address of Mrs. (or Miss) 
 Adams, whom Miss Kitchener speaks 
 of as the " Mother of her Soul." 
 
 P. 165. "How does Sir Thomas Burdett 
 continue to live ? " 
 
 Sir Francis (not Sir Thomas) 
 Burdett was a distinguished politician 
 of Radical opinions, though later in 
 life he became a Conservative. Ke 
 was twice imprisoned (in 1810 and 
 1 820) on political charges. 
 
 P. 1 67. ' ' You will see in my Hubert Caiivin. '' 
 Probably Shelley did not make 
 much progress with this story : no 
 part of it is now in existence. 
 
 P. 192. Letter XXVII. 
 
 In this letter, written partly by 
 Harriet, and partly by Shelley, there 
 are a good many points of interest. 
 From Harriet's portion it appears that 
 she had sent a previous letter (which 
 is now lost) to Miss Kitchener, in 
 which she had told the story of an 
 assault with a view to robbery which 
 had been made upon Shelley. This 
 occurred about seven o'clock on the 
 night of Sunday, Jan. 19. Shelley, 
 alarmed by an unusual noise, went at 
 that time to the door of his cottage, 
 opened it, and then received a blow 
 which struck him to the ground. 
 
NOTES 343 
 
 Mr. Dare, his landlord, rushed to his 
 assistance, and the assailant or 
 assailants, seeing that he was armed, 
 then took to flight. Such is the story, 
 which, however, some of the Keswick 
 folk were disposed to regard as a 
 mere dream or hallucination of 
 Shelley's. 
 
 We learn further from Shelley's 
 portion of the letter that his allowance 
 of;^200 per annum from his father 
 had been restored. The references 
 to Shelley's grandfather, Sir Bysshe 
 Shelley, are very curious. How 
 strange it is to find Shelley saying of 
 him " He is a complete atheist, and 
 builds all hishopes upon annihilation." 
 Bad as he may have been, however, 
 be seems to have liked his grandson 
 more, and was more willing to forgive 
 his eccentricities, than his own father. 
 P. 204. " Prospects appear fair ; but I have 
 learned to doubt " 
 
 This is, I think, almost the first 
 note of pessimism that we find in 
 Shelley's writings. Hitherto we have 
 had nothing but the note of confidence 
 in himself and in his mission ; but 
 here we see the beginning of the 
 lesson which the world teaches to all 
 who would rouse it from its lazy 
 acquiescence in things as they are, 
 out of which the devotion of the 
 hero, the patriot, and the martyr 
 seeks in vain to uplift it. Shelley 
 was destined to learn this lesson fully 
 
344 NOTES 
 
 before the end came ; but the know- 
 ledge neither soured his disposition, 
 nor abated his love for humanity. 
 What he said of his Prometheus he 
 might have said of himself : — 
 
 To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite ; 
 
 To forgive wrongs darker than death or 
 night ; 
 
 To defy Power which seems omnipotent ; 
 
 To love and bear ; to hope till Hope creates 
 
 From its own wreck the thing it con- 
 templates : 
 Neither to change, nor faulter, nor 
 repent ; . . . 
 
 This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory ! 
 
 How pathetic, too, and even tragic, 
 is the writer's confidence in his 
 female friend, and in her ability to 
 second his endeavours ! Mistaken as 
 it was, and unhappily as it turned out, 
 it was an error that was possible 
 only to a noble and beautiful spirit. 
 
 Nor is it possible to read Harriet's 
 portion of this letter without a sense 
 of pity and compassion for her as 
 well as for the other actors in this 
 unique drama. It is hardly possible 
 to reflect on the whole pitiful story 
 without feeling that that stern and 
 immutable fate which was the chief 
 agent in the Greek tragic drama was 
 here also hurrying its victims forward 
 to their inescapable doom. 
 P. 213. "I am Irish : I claim kinship with 
 them." 
 
 This seems to be affirmed by way of 
 sympathy, not as a literal fact. 
 
NOTES 345 
 
 P. 217. Letter XXIX. 
 
 It is needless to say that the doubts 
 which Shelley here expresses as to 
 Scuthey's amiability in his private lile 
 were without foundation. Whatever 
 may be thought of him as regards his 
 public conduct, he was certainly all 
 that he should be in his private 
 relations. In the sentence "But 
 we leave the Cal verts," we should, 
 I think, add "with regret." It is 
 pleasant indeed to read Shelley's 
 tribute to Mrs. Calvert— one of the 
 noble and fine-natured women who 
 saw as by intuition the beauty and 
 charm of his character. 
 
 P. 227. "The ocean rolls between us." 
 
 This passage might very easily be 
 arranged and read as blank verse. It 
 resembles a passage which is to be 
 found in the latter half of the third 
 section of " Queen Mab. " 
 
 P. 236. " I have not seen Flower's book. " 
 
 This book is referred to again in 
 the letter of Feb. 27, 1812 ; what it 
 was I do not know. ' ' Mr. Flower " 
 may have been Benjamin Flower, an 
 advanced politician of the time, printer 
 of the Cambridge Intelligencer, and 
 father of Eliza Flower, the musical 
 composer, and Sarah Flower Adams, 
 author of " Vivia Perpetua," a re- 
 markable dramatic poem, and other 
 works. It does not appear, however, 
 that this gentleman published any- 
 thing about this time, except a 
 
346 NOTES 
 
 political review, and a tract on the 
 abolition of Tithes. 
 
 P. 238. Letter XXXII. 
 
 Shelley wrote this short note on a 
 page of a Dublin newspaper, which 
 was used as a wrapper for the first 
 sheet of his pamphlet as it was sent 
 to Miss Hitchener. Another page of 
 a Dublin newspaper is preserved in 
 the Hitchener series. On one side 
 of this Shelley has drawn two slight 
 pen-and-ink sketches ; one of them 
 seems to represent a man (not unlike 
 Shelley in facial type) snatching the 
 dart from the hand of Deatb- 
 
 P. 250. " O'Connor, brother to the rebel 
 Arthur, is here." 
 
 Arthur O'Connor, the rebel here 
 alluded to, had a very chequered 
 career. See the " Dictionary of 
 National Biography " for an account 
 of him. 
 
 P. 261. "Do you know that I am so sick of 
 this world that I long to be in 
 another." 
 
 Hogg tells us that Harriet would 
 frequently talk of committing suicide. 
 His statements are not always to be 
 relied on : but the words quoted above 
 confirm his evidence in the present 
 instance. 
 
 P. 263. Letter XXXVI. 
 
 Harriet's portion of this letter is 
 surely calculated to engage the reader's 
 sympathies in her behalf. If it does 
 not display much maturity of under- 
 
NO TES 347 
 
 standing, that is no matter of wonder, 
 since she was not yet seventeen : but 
 it speaks forcibly as to her goodness 
 of heart. We learn from it at what 
 time Shelley first began to adopt a 
 vegetarian diet. 
 
 Harriet's allusion to Miss Kit- 
 chener's new name (adopted because 
 Harriet's sister was named Eliza, 
 and it would be inconvenient to have 
 two Eliza's, when Miss Kitchener 
 joined the Shelleys) refers to her 
 assumption of tlie name of Portia. 
 P. 270. " My speech was misinterpreted — " 
 
 Mr. Mac-Carthy, in his " Early 
 Life of Shelley " gives full details as 
 to this speech, and its effect on the 
 audience. It was on the whole well 
 received ; but an audience of Roman 
 Catholics could not be expected to 
 listen patiently to sentiments, how- 
 ever carefully worded, in which their 
 religious faith was reflected upon. 
 P. 273. Letter XXXVIL 
 
 More than a month had elapsed 
 between the date of the last letter to 
 Miss Kitchener and of this one. A 
 good deal liad happened in the 
 meantime. Shelley's last letter said 
 nothing of his resolve to leave Ire- 
 land, and indeed its language (and 
 notably that part of it referring to his 
 design of gaining control of a news- 
 paper) seems to imply that he 
 intended to stay there some time 
 longer. It is evident, however, from 
 
348 NOTES 
 
 the same epistle that he was beginning 
 to be discouraged at his ill-success in 
 rousing the spirit of the Irish people. 
 He was rapidly learning in the school 
 of experience the same lesson that 
 Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Southey, 
 had learned not long before ; though it 
 did not produce in his case the same 
 effect that it did in theirs. Once 
 satisfied that he could do no good 
 in Ireland, Shelley quickly made up 
 his mind to leave it ; and then began 
 once more his restless wanderings, 
 only to end with his life, in search of 
 that ideal dwelling place which he 
 was never to find, though he was 
 always finding it. It is curious that 
 Shelley allowed so long a time to 
 pass without writing to his friend. 
 Perhaps he was a little reluctant to 
 confess to her that his expedition 
 had proved a failure. She evidently, 
 as well as his other friends, had dis- 
 suaded him from his project : and 
 even Shelley was not free from that 
 common weakness which makes us 
 all loath to confess that a design, 
 undertaken against the advice of all 
 whom we have consulted, has re- 
 sulted in complete failure. 
 
 The box which Shelley speaks of 
 in this letter contained copies of his 
 Irish pamphlets and of his Declaration 
 of Rights. This box was never re- 
 ceived by Miss Kitchener. It was 
 opened at Holyhead by the Surveyor 
 
NOTES 349 
 
 of Customs, who, deeming the con- 
 tents to be of a treasonable nature, 
 communicated with the secretary to 
 the Post-Oiifice. A letter from Har- 
 riet was also enclosed in this box. 
 See Appendix, p. 311. 
 
 The " murderer of Marr's family,'' 
 whom Shelley refers to in his letter 
 was named Williams. His atrocious 
 crime gave rise to De Quincey's 
 notable essay on ' ' Murder considered 
 as one of the Fine Arts." 
 
 P. 284. Letter XXXIX. 
 
 This letter bears a very obscure post- 
 mark in which " 29 " alone is clearly 
 legible. The original numbering of 
 the Hitchener correspondence would 
 make this letter precede that last 
 given ; but the phrase ' ' Harriet is 
 still so unwell" implies that some 
 previous letter notifying her illness 
 had been sent by Shelley, and the 
 last meets this requirement. It 
 would appear that the previous letter 
 was written in the morning of the 
 29th of April, and the present in the 
 evening, after Shelley had received a 
 further letter from Miss Hitchener. 
 
 P. 288. "I have written to my uncle and 
 written to your father. " 
 
 The original holograph of Shel- 
 ley's letter to Mr. Hitchener is in 
 the British Museum. It opens with 
 a strong expostulation against the 
 false reports which had been circulated 
 as to the relations between himself 
 
350 NOTES 
 
 and Miss Kitchener. The letter then 
 proceeds as follows : — 
 
 " Sir, my moral character is unim- 
 peached and unimpeachable. I hate 
 not calumny so much as I despise it. 
 What the world thinks of my actions 
 ever has, and I trust ever will be, a 
 matter of the completes! indifference 
 [? to me]. Your daughter shares this 
 sentiment with me ; and we both are 
 resolved to refer our actions to one 
 tribunal only, that which nature has 
 implanted wilhin us. I am married, 
 ray wife loves your daughter : she 
 laughs at whatever the scandal of a 
 few gossips out of employment might 
 whisper, nor is she willing to sacrifice 
 the inestimable society of her friend 
 to the good opinion of the good people 
 of Hurst or Horsham at the tea-party 
 or card-table assembled. So far as 
 myself and Mrs. Shelley are concerned 
 we are irrevocably resolved that no 
 expedient shall be left untried on our 
 part to induce our friend to share 
 the prosperity or adversity of her lot 
 with us. Much as the strong affection 
 which she bears you has prejudiced 
 me in your favour, yet I would take 
 my own opinion, particularly when 
 it springs from my reasoning and 
 feelings, before that of any man. 
 And you will forfeit the esteem I 
 have dius acquired for your character 
 if you endeavour by parental 
 
NOTES 351 
 
 command to change the decisions of a 
 free-born soul." 
 
 Whether this letter had any influence 
 in inducing Mr. Kitchener to consent 
 to allow his daughter to take up her 
 residence with the Shelleys ; or 
 whether the lady ultimately resolved 
 to take her own course in the matter, 
 there is no evidence to show. 
 P. 310. "I have been writing a defence of 
 Eaton." 
 
 This was Daniel Isaac Eaton, who 
 was prosecuted in the Court of King's 
 Bench for publishing " a blasphemous 
 and profane libel on the Holy 
 Scriptures, entitled The Age of Reason, 
 Part the Third, by Thomas Paine." 
 Tried before a jury, with Lord Ellen- 
 borough as Judge, he was as a matter 
 of course condemned. Shelley's 
 defence, it need hardly be said, took 
 the form of A Letter to Lord Ellen- 
 borough, which was printed, but not 
 published till long afterwards. 
 
Richard Glav and Sons, Limited, 
 
 bread street hill, e.g., and 
 
 bungay, suffolk.