January 6, 1849

It was on January 6, 1849 that Hartley Coleridge, the son of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, died. His father was famous for discussing birds, but his son was not famous for poetry. Hartley has a reputation today as a biogrpaher and critic. His poem about his cat is touching, though, for the light it sheds on the difficulties of having a father of a towering literary reputation. I quote at some length:

Nellie, methinks, 'twixt thee and me
There is a kind of sympathy;
And could we interchange our nature-
If I were cat, thou human creature--
I should, like thee, be no great mouser,
And thou, like me, no great composer.
...
And yet thou canst upon the rug lie,
...
As if thou were not lean or ugly
...
The world would just the same go round
If I were hanged and thou wert drowned;
There is one difference, 'tis true;
THou dost not know it, and I do.

This is graceful, and Montaigne's conceit about seeing things from a cat's viewpoint is given in Coleridge's verse, a modern and sad twist.