detailed accuracy, and advised him to put up with the loss from the
purchase of the MSS and of the Translation, as a much less evil than the
publication. I went so far as to declare that its success was, in the
state of public Taste, impossible; that the enthusiastic admirers of
"The Robbers," "Cabal and Love," etc., would lay the blame on me; and
that he himself would suspect that if he had only lit on _another_
Translator then, etc. Everything took place as I had foretold, even his
own feelings--so little do Prophets gain from the fulfilment of their
Prophecies!

On the other hand, though I know that executed as alone I can or dare do
it--that is, to the utmost of my power (for which the intolerable Pain,
nay the far greater Toil and Effort of doing otherwise, is a far safer
Pledge than any solicitude on my part concerning the approbation of the
PUBLIC), the translation of so very difficult a work as the "Faustus,"
will be most inadequately remunerated by the terms you propose; yet they
very probably are the highest it may be worth your while to offer to
_me_. I say this as a philosopher; for, though I have now been much
talked of, and written of, for evil and not for good, but for suspected
capability, yet none of my works have ever sold. The "Wallenstein" went
to the waste. The "Remorse," though acted twenty times, rests quietly on
the shelves in the second edition, with copies enough for seven years'
consumption, or seven times seven. I lost £200 by the non-payment, from
forgetfulness, and under various pretences, by "The Friend"; [Footnote:
Twenty-seven numbers of _The Friend_ were published by Coleridge at
Penrith in Cumberland in 1809-10, but the periodical proved a failure,
principally from the irregularity of its appearance. It was about this
time that he was addicted to opium-eating.] and for my poems I _did_ get
from £10 to £15. And yet, forsooth, the _Quarterly Review_ attacks me
for neglecting and misusing my powers! I do not quarrel with the