ABSTRACT
Another day at Cresselly, Coleridge, who was fond of reading MS. poems of Wordsworth’s, asked Fanny whether she liked poetry, and when she said she did, came and sat by her on the sofa, and began to read the Leechgatherer. When he came to the passage, now I believe omitted, about his skin being so old and dry that the leeches wouldn’t stick, it set Fanny a-laughing. That frightened her, and she got into a convulsive fit of laughter that shook Coleridge, who was sitting close to her, looking very angry. He put up his MS., saying he ought to ask her pardon, for perhaps to a person who had not genius (Fanny cannot exactly remember the expression) the poem might seem absurd. F. sat in a dreadful fright, everybody looking amazed, Sarah looking angry; and she almost expected her father would turn her out of the room, but Uncle Tom came to her rescue. ‘Well, Coleridge, one must confess that it is not quite a subject for a poem.’ Coleridge did not forgive Fanny for some days, putting by his reading aloud if she came in. But afterwards he was very good friends with her, and one day in particular gave her all his history, amongst other things, ‘and there I had the misfortune to meet with my wife.’
