Keats's Letters

To Benjamin Robert Haydon, 23 January 1818





Recipient:  The painter Benjamin Robert Haydon (1786-1846) met Keats at Leigh Hunt's home in October 1816.  They were close and devoted friends for the next three years.  Haydon included Keats's face in his historical painting Christ's Triumphant Entry into Jerusalem, along with Hazlitt's, Wordsworth's, and Lamb's.  Their friendship ended in June 1819 when Haydon quarreled with their mutual friends Hunt and John Hamilton Reynolds and reneged on a loan Keats had made him.  Haydon's work never achieved popular or critical success and he committed suicide in 1846.  He remains the source of most well-known anecdotes about Keats; he also held the famous 'Immortal Dinner' of 1817, which Keats attended with Wordsworth and Lamb.

Introduction:  This brief note discusses Haydon's possible illustrations for Keats's work.  Keats ends the letter by telling Haydon he will write to Taylor - and I have included the note to Taylor (written on the same day) below.

Friday 23rd

My dear Haydon,

I have a complete fellow-feeling with you in this business --so much so that it would be as well to wait for a choice out of Hyperion--when that Poem is done there will be a wide range for you--in Endymion I think you may have many bits of the deep and sentimental cast--the nature of Hyperion will lead me to treat it in a more naked and grecian Manner--and the march of passion and endeavour will be undeviating--and one great contrast between them will be--that the Hero of the written tale being mortal is led on, like Buonaparte, by circumstance; whereas the Apollo in Hyperion being a fore-seeing God will shape his actions like one. But I am counting &c.

Your proposal pleases me--and, believe me, I would not have my Head in the shop windows from any hand but yours--no by Apelles!

I will write Taylor and you shall hear from me

Yours ever

John Keats--

Friday 23rd

My dear Taylor,

I have spoken to Haydon about the Drawing--he would do it with all his Art and Heart too if so I will it--however he has written thus to me--but I must tell you first, he intends painting a finished picture from the Poem--thus he writes

"When I do any thing for your poem, it must be effectual--an honor to both of us--to hurry up a sketch for the season won't do. I think an engraving from your head, from a Chalk drawing of mine--done with all my might-to which I would put my name, would answer Taylor's Idea more than the other indeed I am sure of it--this I will do & this will be effectual and as I have not done it for any other human being--it will have an effect"

What think you of this? Let me hear. I shall have my second book in readiness forthwith--

Your's most sincerely

John Keats--

If Reynolds calls tell him three lines would be acceptable for I am squat at Hampstead

Keats's Letters

To Benjamin Bailey, 13 March 1818

'This is the thing- for I have been rubbing up my invention; trying several sleights--I first polish'd a cold, felt it in my fingers tried it on the table, but could not pocket it: I tried Chilblains, Rheumatism, Gout, tight Boots, nothing of that sort would do, so this is, as I was going to say, the thing.'

'[....] the two uppermost thoughts in a Man's mind are the two poles of his World he revolves on them and every thing is southward or northward to him through their means. We take but three steps from feathers to iron. Now my dear fellow I must once for all tell you I have not one Idea of the truth of any of my speculations--I shall never be a Reasoner because I care not to be in the right, when retired from bickering and in a proper philosophical temper. So you must not stare if in any future letter I endeavour to prove that Apollo as he had cat gut strings to his Lyre used a cats' paw as a Pecten--and further from said Pecten's reiterated and continual teasing came the term Hen peck'd.'



Recipient:  Benjamin Bailey (1791-1853) was a student at Oxford when he and Keats became friends.  The friendship ended when Bailey, after passionately courting Marianne Reynolds, married Hamilton Gleig instead.  The marriage may have been determined by his career; Gleig was the daughter of the bishop of Brechin and Bailey was a country parson.  Keats's last letter to Bailey was an achingly polite congratulations on his wedding.

Introduction:  This letter includes several noteworthy passages, as well as the original draft of The Human Seasons.

Teignmouth Friday

My dear Bailey,

When a poor devil is drowning, it is said he comes thrice to the surface, ere he makes his final sink--if however, even at the third rise, he can manage to catch hold of a piece of weed or rock, he stands a fair chance, as I hope I do now, of being saved. I have sunk twice in our Correspondence, have risen twice and been too idle, or something worse, to extricate myself. I have sunk the third time and just now risen again at this two of the Clock P.M. and saved myself from utter perdition--by beginning this, all drench'd as I am and fresh from the Water--and I would rather endure the present inconvenience of a Wet Jacket than you should keep a laced one in store for me. Why did I not stop at Oxford in my Way?--How can you ask such a Question? Why did I not promise to do so? Did I not in a Letter to you make a promise to do so?, Then how can you be so unreasonable as to ask me why I did not? This is the thing- for I have been rubbing up my invention; trying several sleights--I first polish'd a cold, felt it in my fingers tried it on the table, but could not pocket it: I tried Chilblains, Rheumatism, Gout, tight Boots, nothing of that sort would do, so this is, as I was going to say, the thing.--I had a Letter from Tom saying how much better he had got, and thinking he had better stop--I went down to prevent his coming up. Will not this do? Turn it which way you like-it is selvaged all round. I have used it these three last days to keep out the abominable Devonshire Weather--by the by you may say what you will of devonshire: the thuth is, it is a splashy, rainy, misty, snowy, foggy, haily, floody, muddy, slipshod County--the hills are very beautiful, when you get a sight of 'em--the Primroses are out, but then you are in--the Cliffs are of a fine deep Colour, but then the Clouds are continually vieing with them. The Women like your London People in a sort of negative way --because the native men are the poorest creatures in England--because Government never have thought it worth while to send a recruiting party among them. When I think of Wordsworth's Sonnet 'Vanguard of Liberty! ye Men of Kent!' the degenerated race about me are Pulvis Ipecac. Simplex--a strong dose. Were I a Corsair I'd make a descent on the South Coast of Devon, if I did not run the chance of having Cowardice imputed to me: as for the Men they'd run away into the methodist meeting houses, and the Women would be glad of it. Had England been a large devonshire we should not have won the Battle of Waterloo. There are knotted oaks--there are lusty rivulets there are Meadows such as are not--there are vallies of femminine Climate but there are no thews and Sinews--Moor's Almanack is here a curiosity--Arms Neck and Shoulders may at least be seen there, and the Ladies read it as some out of the way romance. Such a quelling Power have these thoughts over me that I fancy the very Air of a deteriorating quality--I fancy the flowers, all precocious, have an Acrasian spell about them--I feel able to beat off the devonshire waves like soap froth. I think it well for the honor of Britain that Julius Cæsar did not first land in this County. A Devonshirer standing on his native hills is not a distinct object--he does not show against the light--a wolf or two would dispossess him. I like I love England. I like its strong Men. Give me a long brown plain for my Morning so I may meet with some of Edmond Ironside's des[c]endants. Give me a barren mould so I may meet with some Shadowing of Alfred in the Shape of a Gipsey, a Huntsman or a Shepherd. Scenery is fine--but human nature is finer. The Sward is richer for the tread of a real, nervous, english foot--the eagles nest is finer for the Mountaineer has look'd into it--Are these facts or prejudices? Whatever they are, for them I shall never be able to relish entirely any devonshire scenery--Homer is very fine, Achilles is fine, Diomed is fine, Shakspeare is fine, Hamlet is fine, Lear is fine, but dwindled englishmen are not fine--Where too the Women are so passable, and have such english names, such as Ophelia, Cordelia &c--that they should have such Paramours or rather Imparamours. As for them I cannot, in thought help wishing as did the cruel Emperour, that they had but one head and I might cut it off to deliver them from any horrible Courtesy they may do their undeserving Countrymen.--I wonder I meet with no born Monsters--O Devonshire, last night I thought the Moon had dwindled in heaven. I have never had your Sermon from Wordsworth but Mrs Dilke lent it me. You know my ideas about Religion. I do not think myself more in the right than other people, and that nothing in this world is proveable. I wish I could enter into all your feelings on the subject merely for one short 10 Minutes and give you a Page or two to your liking. I am sometimes so very sceptical as to think Poetry itself a mere Jack a lanthen to amuse whoever may chance to be struck with its brilliance. As Tradesmen say every thing is worth what it will fetch, so probably every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer--being in itself a nothing--Ethereal thing[s] may at least be thus real, divided under three heads--Things real--things semireal --and no things. Things real--such as existences of Sun Moon & Stars and passages of Shakspeare. Things semireal such as Love, the Clouds &c which require a greeting of the Spirit to make them wholly exist--and Nothings which are made Great and dignified by an ardent pursuit --which by the by stamps the burgundy mark on the bottles of our Minds, insomuch as they are able to "consec[r]ate whate'er they look upon". I have written a Sonnet here of a somewhat collateral nature--so don't imagine it an a propos des bottes.

Four Seasons fill the Measure of the year;
Four Seasons are there in the mind of Man.
He hath his lusty spring when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He hath his Summer, when luxuriously
He chews the honied cud of fair spring thoughts,
Till, in his Soul dissolv'd they come to be
Part of himself. He hath his Autumn ports
And Havens of repose, when his tired wings
Are folded up, and he content to look
On Mists in idleness: to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshhold brook.
He hath his Winter too of pale Misfeature,
Or else he would forget his mortal nature.

Aye this may be carried--but what am I talking of-it is an old maxim of mine and of course must be well known that every point of thought is the centre of an intellectual world--the two uppermost thoughts in a Man's mind are the two poles of his World he revolves on them and every thing is southward or northward to him through their means. We take but three steps from feathers to iron. Now my dear fellow I must once for all tell you I have not one Idea of the truth of any of my speculations--I shall never be a Reasoner because I care not to be in the right, when retired from bickering and in a proper philosophical temper. So you must not stare if in any future letter I endeavour to prove that Apollo as he had cat gut strings to his Lyre used a cats' paw as a Pecten--and further from said Pecten's reiterated and continual teasing came the term Hen peck'd. My Brother Tom desires to be remember'd to you--he has just this moment had a spitting of blood poor fellow. Remember me to Greig and Whitehe[a]d--

Your affectionate friend

John Keats

Keats's Letters

To Benjamin Robert Haydon, 8 April 1818

 



Recipient:  The painter Benjamin Robert Haydon (1786-1846) met Keats at Leigh Hunt's home in October 1816.  They were close and devoted friends for the next three years.  Haydon included Keats's face in his historical painting Christ's Triumphant Entry into Jerusalem, along with Hazlitt's, Wordsworth's, and Lamb's.  Their friendship ended in June 1819 when Haydon quarreled with their mutual friends Hunt and John Hamilton Reynolds and reneged on a loan Keats had made him.  Haydon's work never achieved popular or critical success and he committed suicide in 1846.  He remains the source of most well-known anecdotes about Keats; he also held the famous 'Immortal Dinner' of 1817, which Keats attended with Wordsworth and Lamb.

Introduction:  This letter discusses Keats's plans for a holiday in northern England and Scotland.  It also mentions Wordsworth, the older poet whom Haydon introduced to Keats.

Wednesday--

My dear Haydon,

I am glad you were pleased with my nonsense and if it so happen that the humour takes me when I have set down to prose to you I will not gainsay it. I should be (god forgive me) ready to swear because I cannot make use of you[r] assistance in going through Devon if I was not in my own Mind determined to visit it thoroughly at some more favorable time of the year. But now Tom (who is getting greatly better) is anxious to be in Town therefore I put off my threading the County. I purpose within a Month to put my knapsack at my back and make a pedestrian tour through the North of England, and part of Scotland--to make a sort of Prologue to the Life I intend to pursue--that is to write, to study and to see all Europe at the lowest expence. I will clamber through the Clouds and exist. I will get such an accumulation of stupendous recollolections that as I walk through the suburbs of London I may not see them--I will stand upon Mount Blanc and remember this coming Summer when I intend to straddle ben Lomond--with my Soul!-galligaskins are out of the Question--I am nearer myself to hear your Christ is being tinted into immortality--Believe me Haydon your picture is a part of myself--I have ever been too sensible of the labyrinthian path to eminence in Art (judging from Poetry) ever to think I understood the emphasis of Painting. The innumerable compositions and decompositions which take place between the intellect and its thousand materials before it arrives at that trembling delicate and snail-horn perception of Beauty. I know not you[r] many havens of intenseness--nor ever can know them--but for this I hope no[ugh]t you adchieve is lost upon me: for when a Schoolboy the abstract Idea I had of an heroic painting--was what I cannot describe I saw it somewhat sideways large prominent round and colour'd with magnificence--somewhat like the feel I have of Anthony and Cleopatra. Or of Alcibiades, leaning on his Crimson Couch in his Galley, his broad shoulders imperceptibly heaving with the Sea--That [for What] passage in Shakspeare is finer than this

'See how the surly Warwick mans the Wall',

I like your consignment of Corneille--that's the humor of it --They shall be called your Posthumous Works. I don't understand you[r] bit of Italian. I hope she will awake from her dream and flourish fair--my respects to her. The Hedges by this time are beginn[in]g to leaf--Cats are becoming more vociferous--young Ladies that wear Watches are always looking at them--Women about forty five think the Season very backward--Ladie's Mares have but half an allowance of food--It rains here again, has been doing so for three days--however as I told you I'll take a trial in June July or August next year.

I am affraid Wordsworth went rather huff'd out of Town --I am sorry for it. he cannot expect his fireside Divan to be infallible he cannot expect but that every Man of worth is as proud as himself. O that he had not fit with a Warrener that is din'd at Kingston's. I shall be in town in about a fortnight and then we will have a day or so now and then before I set out on my northern expedition--we will have no more abominable Rows--for they leave one is [for in] a fearful silence having settled the Methodists let us be rational--not upon compulsion--no if it will out let it--but I will not play the Basson any more delibe[r]ately --Remember me to Hazlitt, and Bewick --

Your affectionate friend

John Keats

Keats's Letters

To J H Reynolds, 3 May 1818

'axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses'

 


Recipient:  John Hamilton Reynolds (1794-1852) met Keats at Leigh Hunt's home in October 1816.  Reynolds later introduced Keats to Charles Brown, James Rice, Benjamin Bailey, Charles Wentworth Dilke (among others), as well as his future publisher, John Taylor.  Reynolds had dabbled in poetry himself but abandoned it for a career in law.  He was a passionate advocate of Keats's work and a devoted friend.  They discussed poetry and planned several works together.

Introduction:  This letter, written when Keats was 22 years old and nursing his brother Tom, is justly famous.  He discusses the Reformation, Milton, his contemporary Wordsworth, and even quotes Lord Byron.  The letter also contains his 'Mansion of Many Apartments' metaphor.

Teignmouth May 3d

My dear Reynolds,

What I complain of is that I have been in so an uneasy a state of Mind as not to be fit to write to an invalid.  I cannot write to any length under a dis-guised feeling.  I should have loaded you with an addition of gloom, which I am sure you do not want.  I am now thank God in a humour to give you a good groats worth - for Tom, after a Night without a Wink of sleep, and overburdened with fever, has got up after a refreshing fay sleep and is better than he has been for a long time; and you I trust have been again round the Common without any effect but refreshment. - As to the Matter I hope I can say with Sir Andrew "I have matter enough in my head" in your favor And now, in the second place, for I reckon that I have finished my Imprimis, I am glad you blow up the weather - all through your letter there is a leaning towards a climate-curse, and you know what a delicate satisfaction there is in having a vexation anathematized: one would think there has been growing up for these last four thousand years, a grandchild Scion of the old forbidden tree, and that some modern Eve had just violated it; and that there was come with double charge, "Notus and Afer black with thunderous clouds from Sierra-leona" - I shall breathe worsted stockings sooner than I thought for.  Tom wants to be in Town - we will have some such days upon the heath like that of last summer and why not with the same book" or what say you to a black Letter Chaucer printed in 1596: aye I've got one huzza!  I shall have it bounden gothique a nice sombre binding - it will go a little way to unmodernize.  And also I see no reason, because I  have been away this last month, why I should not have a peep at your Spencerian - notwithstanding you speak of your office, in my thought a little too early, for I do not see why a Mind like yours is not capable of harbouring and digesting the whole Mystery of Law as easily as Parson Hugh does Pepins - which did not hinder him from his poetic Canary - Were I to study physic or rather Medicine again, - I feel it would not make the least difference in my Poetry; when the Mind is in its infancy a Bias is in reality a Bias, but when we have acquired more strength, a Bias becomes no Bias.  Every department of knowledge we see excellent and calculated towards a great whole.  I am so convinced of this, that I am glad at not having given away my medical Books, which I shall again look over to keep alive the little I know thitherwards; and moreover intend through you and Rice to become a sort of Pip-civilian.  An extensive knowledge is needful to thinking people - it takes away the heat and fever; and helps, by widening speculation, to ease the Burden of the Mystery: a thing I begin to understand a little, and which weighed upon you in the most gloomy and true sentence in your Letter.  The difference of high Sensations with and without knowledge appears to me this - in the latter case we are falling continually ten thousand fathoms deep and being blown up again without wings and with all [the] horror of a bare shouldered Creature - in the former case, our shoulders are fledge, and we go thro' the same air and space without fear.  This is running one's rigs on the score of abstracted benefit - when we come to human Life and the affections it is impossible how a parallel of breast and head can be drawn - (you will forgive me for thus privately treading out [of] my depth and take it for treading as schoolboys tread the water) - it is impossible to know how far knowledge will console us for the death of a friend and the ill "that flesh is heir to" - With respect to the affections and Poetry you must know by a sympathy my thoughts that way; and I dare say these few lines will be but a ratification: I wrote them on May-day - and intend to finish the ode all in good time. -

Mother of Hermes! and still youthful Maia!
    May I sing to thee
As thou was hymned on the shores of Baiæ?
    Or may I woo thee
In earlier Sicilian? or thy smiles
Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles,
By Bards who died content in pleasant sward,
Leaving great verse unto a little clan?
O give me their old vigour, and unheard,
Save of the quiet Primrose, and the span
Of Heave, and few ears
Rounded by thee my song should die away
Content as theirs
Rich in the simple worship of a day. ___

You may be anxious to know for fact to what sentence in your Letter I allude.  You say "I fear there is little chance of any thing else in this life."  You seem by that to have been going through with a more painful and acute zest the same labyrinth that I have - I have come to the same conclusion thus far.  My Branchings out therefrom  have been numerous: one of them is the consideration of Wordsworth's genius and as a help, in the manner of gold being the meridian Line of worldly wealth, - how he differs from Milton. - And here I have nothing but surmises, from an uncertainty whether Miltons apparently less anxiety for Humanity proceeds from his seeing further or no than Wordsworth: And whether Wordsworth has in truth epic passion, and martyrs himself to hte human heart, the main region of his song - In regard to his genius alone - we find what he says true as far as we have experienced and we can judge no further but by larger experience - for axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses: We have read fine ______ things but never feel them to thee full until we have gone the same steps as the Author. - I know this is not plain; you will know exactly my meaning when I say, that now I shall relish Hamlet more than I ever have done - Or, better - You are sensible no man can set down Venery as a bestial or joyless thing until he is sick of it and therefore all philosophizing in it would be mere wording.  Until we are sick, we understand not; - in fine, as Byron says, "Knowledge is Sorrow"; and I go on to say that "Sorrow is Wisdom" - and further for aught we can know for certainty!  "Wisdom is folly" - So you see how I have run away from Wordsworth and Milton; and shall still run away from what was in my head, to observe, that some kind of letters are good squares others handsome ovals, and others some orbicular, others spheroid - and why should there not be another species with two rough edges like a Rat-trap?  I hope you will find all my long letters of that species, and all will be well; for by merely touching the spring delicately and etherially, the rough edged will fly immediately into a proper compactness, and thus you may make a good wholesome load, with your own leven in it, of my fragments - If you cannot find this said Rat-trap sufficiently tractable - alas for me, it being an impossibility in grain for my ink to stain otherwise: If I scribble long letters I must play my vagaries.  I must be too heavy, or too light, for whole pages - I must be quaint and free of Tropes and figures - I must play my draughts as I please, and for my advantage and your erudition, crown a white with a black, or a black with a white, and move into black or white, far and near as I please - I must go from Hazlitt to Patmore, and make Wordsworth and Coleman play at leap-frog - or keep on e of them down a whole half holiday at fly the garter - "From Gray to Gay, from Little to Shakespeare" - Also as a long cause requires two or more sittings of the Court, so a long letter will require two or more sittings of the Breech wherefore I shall resume after dinner. -

Have you not seen a Gull, an orc, a sea Mew, or any thing to bring this Line to a proper length, and also fill up this clear part; that like the Gull I may dip - I hope, not out of sight, and also, like a Gull, I hope to be lucky in a good sized fish - This crossing a letter is not without its association - for chequer work leads us naturally to a Milkmaid, a Milkmaid to Hogarth Hogarth to Shakespeare Shakespear to Hazlitt - Hazlitt to Shakespeare and thus by merely pulling an apron string we set a pretty peal of Chimes at work - Let them chime on while, with your patience, - I will return to Wordsworth - whether or no he has an extended vision or a circumscribed grandeur - whether he is an eagle in his nest, or on the wing - And to be more explicit and to show you how tall I stand by the giant, I will put down a simile of human life as far as I now perceive it; that is, to the point to which I say we both have arrived at - ' Well - I compare human life to a large Mansion of Many Apartments, two of which I can only describe, the doors of the rest being yet shut upon me - The first we step into we call the infant or thoughtless Chamber, in which we remain as long as we do not think - We remain there a long while, and notwithstanding the doors of the second Chamber remain wide open, showing a bright appearance, we care not to hasten to it; but are at length imperceptibly impelled by the awakening of the thinking principle - within us - we no sooner get into the second Chamber, which I shall call the Chamber of Maiden-Thought, than we become intoxicated with the light and the atmosphere, we see nothing but pleasant wonders, and think of delaying there for ever in delight: However among the effects this breathing is father of is that tremendous one of sharpening one's vision into the heart and nature of Man - of convincing ones nerves that the World is full of Misery and Heartbreak, Pain, Sickness and oppression - whereby This Chamber of Maiden Thought become gradually darken'd and at the same time on all sides of it many doors are set open - but all dark - all leading to dark passages - We see not the ballance of good and evil.  We are in a Mist - We are now in that state - We feel the "burden of the Mystery," To this point was Wordsworth come, as far as I can conceive when he wrote 'Tintern Abbey' and it seems to me that his Genius is explorative of those dark Passages.  Now if we live, and go on thinking, we too shall explore them.  He is a Genius and superior [to] us, in so far as he can, more than we, make discoveries, and shed a light in them - Here I must think Wordsworth is deeper than Milton - though I think it has depended more upon the general and gregarious advance of intellect, than individual greatness of Mind - From the Paradise Lost and the other Works of Milton, I hope it is not too presuming, even between ourselves to say, his Philosophy, human and divine, may be tolerably understood by one not much advanced in years, In his time englishmen were just emancipated form a great superstition - and Men had got hold of certain points and resting places in reasoning which were too newly born to be doubted, and too much opposed by the Mass of Europe not to be thought etherial and authentically divine - who could gainsay his ideas on virtue, vice, and Chastity in Comus, just at the time of the dismissal of Cod-pieces and a hundred other disgraces? who would not rest satisfied with his hintings at good and evil in the Paradise Lost, when just free form the inquisition and burning in Smithfield?  The Reformation produced such immediate and great benefits, that Protestantism was considered under the immediate eye of heaven, and its own remaining Dogmas and superstition, then, as it were, regenerated, constituted those resting places and seeming sure points of Reasoning - from that I have mentioned, Milton, whatever he may have thought in the sequel, appears to have been content with these by his writings - He did not think into the human heart, as Wordsworth has done - Yet Milton as a Philosopher, had sure as great powers as Wordsworth - What is then to be inferr'd?  O many things - It proves there is really a grand march of intellect - , it proves that a mighty providence subdues the mightiest Minds to the service of the time being, whether it be in human Knowledge or Religion - I have often pitied a Tutor who has to hear "Nom: Musa" - so often dinn'd into his ears - I hope you may not have the same pain in this scribbling - I may have read these things before, but I never had even a thus dim perception of them: and moreover I like to say my lesson to one who will endure my tediousness for my own sake - After all there is certainly something real in the World - Moore's present to Hazlitt is real - I like that Moore, and am glad I saw him at the Theatre just before I left Town.  Tom has spit a leetle blood this afternoon, and that is rather a damper, - but I know - the truth is there is something real in the World Your third Chamber of Life shall be a lucky and a gentle one - stores with the wine of love - and the Bread of Friendship - When you see George if he should not have recēd a letter form me tell him he will find one at home most likely - tell Bailey I hope soon to see him - Remember me to all The leaves have been out here, for MONY a day - I have written to George for the first stanzas of my Isabel - I shall have them soon and will copy the whole out for you.

Your affectionate friend
John Keats

Keats's Letters

To Benjamin Bailey, 21,25 May 1818

 


Recipient:  Benjamin Bailey (1791-1853) was a student at Oxford when he and Keats became friends.  The friendship ended when Bailey, after passionately courting Marianne Reynolds, married Hamilton Gleig instead.  The marriage may have been determined by his career; Gleig was the daughter of the bishop of Brechin and Bailey was a country parson.  Keats's last letter to Bailey was an achingly polite congratulations on his wedding.

Introduction:  This letter informs Bailey of George Keats's decision to emigrate to America.  Keats also discusses his literary apathy.

Hampstead, Thursday -

My dear Bailey,

I should have answered your letter on the moment - if I could have said yes to your invitation.  What hinders me is insuperable; I will tell it at a little length. You know my Brother George has been out of employ for some time. it has weighed very much upon him, and driven him to scheme and turn over things in his Mind. the result has been his resolution to emigrate to the back settlements of America, become farmer and work with his own hands after purchacing 1400 hundred Acres of the American Government.  This for many reasons has met with my entire consent-and the chief one is this-he is of too independant and liberal a Mind to get on in trade in this Country-in which a generous Ma(n) with a: scanty recourse must be ruined.  I would, -' sooner he should till the ground than bow to a Customer- there is no choice with him; he could not bring himself to the latter-I would not consent to his going alone - no; but that objection is done away with-he will marry before he sets sail a young Lady he has known some years-of a nature liberal and highspirited enough to follow him to the Banks of the Mississipi.  He will set off in a month or six weeks, and you will see how I should wish to pass that time with him-and then I must set out on a journey of my own - Brown and I are going a pedestrian tour through the north of England and Scotland as far a[s] John 0 Grots.  I have this morning such a Lethargy that I cannot write - the reason of my delaying is oftentimes from this feeling -- I wait for a proper temper-Now you ask for an immediate answer I do not like to wait even till tomorrow-However I am now so depressed that I have not an Idea to put to paper--my hand feels like lead-and yet it is and unpleasant numbness it does not take away the pain of existence - I don't know what to write-Monday - You see how I have delayed-and even now I have but a confused idea of what I should be about my intellect must be in a degen[er]ating state - it must be for when I should writing about god knows what I am troubling you with Moods of my own Mind or rather body - for Mind there is none.  I am in that temper that if I were under Water I would, scarcely kick to come to the top-I know very well 't is all nonsense.  In a short time I hope I shall be in a temper to fell [for feel] sensibly your mention of my Book - in vain have I waited till Monday to have any interest in that or in any thing else.  I feel no spur at my Brothers going to America and am almost stony-hearted about his wedding.  All this will blow over - all I am sorry for is having to write to you in such a time - but I cannot force my letters in a hot bed - I could not feel comfortable in making sentences for you - I am your debtor - I must ever remain so - nor do I wish to be clear of my rational debt - There is a comfort in throwing oneself on the charity of ones friends - 't is like the albatros sleeping on its wings - I will be to you wine in the cellar and the more modestly or rather indolently I retire into the backward Bin, the more falerne will I be at the drinking, There is one thing I must mention.  My Brother talks of sailing in a fortnight if so I will most probably be with you a week before I set out for Scotland.  The middle of your first page should be suffic[i]ent to rouse me-what I said is true and I have dreamt of your mention of it and m(y) not a[n]swering it has weighed on me since - If I com(e,) I will bring your Letter and hear more fully your sentiments on one or two points.  I will call about the Lectures at Taylors and at Little Britain tomorrow - Yesterday I dined with Hazlitt; Barnes, and Wilkie at Haydon's.  The topic was the Duke of Wellington very amusingly pro and con'd.  Reynolds has been getting much better; and Rice may begin to crow for he got a little so so at a Party of his and was none the worse for it the next morning. I hope I shall soon see you for we must have many new thoughts and feelings to analize, and to discover whether a little more knowledge has not made us more ignorant -

Your's affectionately
John Keats

Keats's Letters

To Benjamin Bailey, 10 June 1818

'My Love for my Brothers from the early loss of our parents and even for earlier Misfortunes has grown into a affection 'passing the Love of Women''

 



Recipient:  Benjamin Bailey (1791-1853) was a student at Oxford when he and Keats became friends.  The friendship ended when Bailey, after passionately courting Marianne Reynolds, married Hamilton Gleig instead.  The marriage may have been determined by his career; Gleig was the daughter of the bishop of Brechin and Bailey was a country parson.  Keats's last letter to Bailey was an achingly polite congratulations on his wedding.

Introduction:  In this famous letter, Keats discusses his feelings for his siblings and the fair sex.  He also mentions derogatory reviews of his work.

London -

My dear Bailey,

I have been very much gratified and very much hurt by your Letters in the Oxford Paper: because independant of that un lawful and mortal feeling of pleasure at praise, there is a glory in enthusia[s]m; and because the world is malignant enough to chuckle at the most honorable Simplicity.  Yes on my Soul my dear Bailey you are too simple for the World - and that Idea makes me sick of it - How is it that by extreme opposites we have as it were got discontlent]ed nerves - you have all your Life (I think so) believed every Body - I have suspected every Body - and although you have been so deceived you make a simple appeal - the world has something else to do, and I am glad of it - were it in my choice I would reject a petrarchal coronation - on accou[n]t of my dying day, and because women have Cancers.  I should not by rights speak in this tone to you - for it is an incendiary spirit that would do so.  Yet I am not old enough or magnanimous enough to anihilate self - and it would perhaps be paying you an ill compliment.  I was in hopes some little time back to be able to releive your dullness by my spirits - to point out things in the world worth your enjoyment - and now I am never alone without rejoicing that there is such a thing as death - without placing my ultimate in the glory of dying for a great human purpose Perphaps if my affairs were in a different state I should not have written the above-you shall judge - I have two Brothers one is driven by the 'burden of Society' to America the other, with an exquisite love of Life, is in a lingering state - My Love for my Brothers from the early loss of our parents and even for earlier Misfortunes has grown into a affection 'passing the Love of Women' - I have been ill temper'd with them, I have vex'd them-but the thought of them has always stifled the impression that any woman might otherwise have made upon me - I have a sister too and may not follow them, either to America or to the Grave - Life must be undergone, and I certainly derive a consolation from the thought of writing one or two more Poems before it ceases - I have heard some hints of your retireing to scotland-I should like to know your feeling on it - it seems rather remote - perhaps Gle[i]g will have a duty near you.  I am not certain whether I shall be able to go my Journey on account of my Brother Tom and a little indisposition of my own - If I do not you shall see me soon - if no[t] on my return - or I'll quarter myself upon you in Scotland next Winter.  I had know[n] my sister in Law some time before she was my Sister and was very fond of her.  I like her better and better - she is the most disinterrested woman I ever knew - that is to say she goes beyond degree in it - To see an entirely disinterrested Girl quite happy is the most pleasant and extraordinary thing in the world - it depends upon a thousand
Circumstances - on my word 'tis extraordinary.  Women must want Imagination and they may thank God for it - and so m[a]y we that a delicate being can feel happy without any sense of crime.  It puzzles me and I have no sort of Logic to comfort me - I shall think it over.  I am not at home and your letter being there I cannot look it over to answer any particular - only I must say I felt that passage of Dante - if I take any book with me it shall be those minute volumes of carey for they will go into the aptest corner.  Reynolds is getting I may say robust - his illness has been of service to him - like eny one just recoverd he is high-spirited.  I hear also good accounts of Rice - With respects to domestic Literature - the Endinburgh Magasine in another blow up against Hunt calls me 'the amiable Mister Keats' and I have more than a Laurel from the Quarterly Reviewers for they have smothered me in 'Foliage'  I want to read you my 'Pot of Basil' if you go to scotland I should much like to read it there to you among the Snows of next Winter.  My Brothers' remembrances to you.

Your affectionate friend
John Keats

Keats's Letters

To Thomas Keats, 25-27 June 1818

'I shall learn poetry here and shall henceforth write more than ever, for the abstract endeavor of being able to add a mite to that mass of beauty which is harvested from these grand materials, by the finest spirits, and put into etherial existence for the relish of one's fellows. I cannot think with Hazlitt that these scenes make man appear little. I never forgot my stature so completely - I live in the eye; and my imagination, surpassed, is at rest - '





Recipient:  Thomas Keats (1799-1818) was Keats's beloved youngest brother.  He died of tuberculosis; click here to view the letter Keats sent to their sister Fanny announcing Tom's death.

Introduction:  This letter was written during Keats's walking tour of Scotland with Charles Brown.  He wrote several such letters to Tom; you can view a July 1818 letter by clicking here, or visiting the Original Manuscript Images page. 

Tom was already ill with the tuberculosis which would kill him when Keats went on this trip.  When the poet returned (having been summoned home by friends concerned over Tom's health), he devoted himself to nursing his brother.  This care ensured his own demise from the same disease less than three years later. 

25-27 June 1818

Here beginneth my journal, this Thursday, the 25th day of June, Anno Domini 1818. This morning we arose at 4, and set off in a Scotch mist; put up once under a tree, and in fine, have walked wet and dry to this place, called in the vulgar tongue Endmoor, 17 miles; we have not been incommoded by our knapsacks; they serve capitally, and we shall go on very well.

June 26 - I merely put pro forma, for there is no such thing as time and space, which by the way came forcibly upon me on seeing for the first hour the Lake and Mountains of Winander - I cannot describe them - they surpass my expectation - beautiful water-shores and islands green to the marge - mountains all round up to the clouds. We set out from Endmoor this morning, breakfasted at Kendal with a soldier who had been in all the wars for the last seventeen years - then we have walked to Bowne's to dinner - said Bowne's situated on the Lake where we have just dined, and I am writing at this present. I took an oar to one of the islands to take up some trout for dinner, which they keep in porous boxes. I enquired of the waiter for Wordsworth - he said he knew him, and that he had been here a few days ago, canvassing for the Lowthers. What think you of that - Wordsworth versus Brougham!! Sad-sad-sad - and yet the family has been his friend always. What can we say? We are now about seven miles from Rydale, and expect to see him to-morrow. You shall hear all about our visit.

There are many disfigurements to this Lake - not in the way of land or water. No; the two views we have had of it are of the most noble tenderness - they can never fade away - they make one forget the divisions of life; age, youth, poverty and riches; and refine one's sensual vision into a sort of north star which can never cease to be open lidded and stedfast over the wonders of the great Power. The disfigurement I mean is the miasma of London. I do suppose it contaminated with bucks and soldiers, and women of fashion-and hat-band ignorance. The border inhabitants are quite out of keeping with the romance about them, from a continual intercourse with London rank and fashion. But why should I grumble? They let me have a prime glass of soda water - O they are as good as their neighbors. But Lord Wordsworth, instead of being in retirement, has himself and his house full in the thick of fashionable visitors quite convenient to be pointed at all the summer long. When we had gone about half this morning, we began to get among the hills and to see the mountains grow up before us-the other half brought us to Wynandermere, 14 miles to dinner. The weather is capital for the views, but is now rather misty, and we are in doubt whether to walk to Ambleside to tea - it is five miles along the borders of the Lake. Loughrigg will swell up before us all the way - I have an amazing partiality for mountains in the clouds. There is nothing in Devon like this, and Brown says there is nothing in Wales to be compared to it. I must tell you, that in going through Cheshire and Lancashire, I saw the Welsh mountains at a distance. We have passed the two castles, Lancaster and Kendal.

27th-We walked here to Ambleside yesterday along the border of Winandermere all beautiful with wooded shores and Islands - our road was a winding lane, wooded on each side, and green overhead, full of Foxgloves - every now and then a glimpse of the Lake, and all the while Kirkstone and other large hills nestled together in a sort of grey black mist. Ambleside is at the northern extremity of the Lake. We arose this morning at six, because we call it a day of rest, having to call on Wordsworth who lives only two miles hence - before breakfast we went to see the Ambleside water fall. The morning beautiful - the walk easy among the hills. We, I may say, fortunately, missed the direct path, and after wandering a little, found it out by the noise - for, mark you, it is buried in trees, in the bottom of the valley-the stream itself is interesting throughout with "mazy error over pendant shades." Milton meant a smooth river - this is buffetting all the way on a rocky bed ever various - but the waterfall itself, which I came suddenly upon, gave me a pleasant twinge. First we stood a little below the head about half way down the first fall, buried deep in trees, and saw it streaming down two more descents to the depth of near fifty feet - then we went on a jut of rock nearly level with the second fall-head, where the first fall was above us, and the third below our feet still - at the same time we saw that the water was divided by a sort of cataract island on whose other side burst out a glorious stream - then the thunder and the freshness. At the same time the different falls have as different characters; the first darting down the slate-rock like an arrow; the second spreading out like a fan - the third dashed into a mist-and the one on the other side of the rock a sort of mixture of all these. We afterwards moved away a space, and saw nearly the whole more mild, streaming silverly through the trees. What astonishes me more than any thing is the tone, the coloring, the slate, the stone, the moss, the rock-weed; or, if I may so say, the intellect, the countenance of such places. The space, the magnitude of mountains and waterfalls are well imagined before one sees them; but this countenance or intellectual tone must surpass every imagination and defy any remembrance. I shall learn poetry here and shall henceforth write more than ever, for the abstract endeavor of being able to add a mite to that mass of beauty which is harvested from these grand materials, by the finest spirits, and put into etherial existence for the relish of one's fellows. I cannot think with Hazlitt that these scenes make man appear little. I never forgot my stature so completely - I live in the eye; and my imagination, surpassed, is at rest - We shall see another waterfall near Rydal to which we shall proceed after having put these letters in the post office. I long to be at Carlisle, as I expect there a letter from George and one from you. Let any of my friends see my letters - they may not be interested in descriptions - descriptions are bad at all times - I did not intend to give you any; but how can I help it? I am anxious you should taste a little of our pleasure; it may not be an unpleasant thing, as you have not the fatigue. I am well in health. Direct henceforth to Port Patrick till the 12th July. Content that probably three or four pair of eyes whose owners I am rather partial to will run over these lines I remain; and moreover that I am your affectionate brother John.


Notes:  Keats mentions William Wordsworth's political support for the Tory candidate William Lowther in the General Election of 1818.

Keats's Letters

To George and Georgiana Keats,
17, 18, 20, 21, 24, 25, 27 September 1819

'My name with the literary fashionables is vulgar - I am a weaver boy to them - a Tragedy would lift me out of this mess. And mess it is as far as it regards our Pockets - But be not cast down any more than I am. I feel I can bear real ills better than imaginary ones. Whenever I find myself growing vapourish, I rouse myself, wash and put on a clean shirt brush my hair and clothes, tie my shoestrings neatly and in fact adonize as I were going out - then all clean and comfortable I sit down to write. This I find the greatest relief - Besides I am becoming accustom'd to the privations of the pleasures of sense. In the midst of the world I live like a Hermit. I have forgot how to lay plans for enjoyment of any Pleasure. I feel I can bear any thing, any misery, even imp[r]isonment-so long as I have neither wife nor child.'

'Nothing strikes me so forcibly with a sense of the rediculous as love - A Man in love I do think cuts the sorryest figure in the world - Even when I know a poor fool to be really in pain about it, I could burst out laughing in his face - His pathetic visage becomes irrisistable.'

 



Recipient:  George Keats (1797-1841) was the longest-lived of the Keats brothers.  He married Georgiana Wylie (1798-1879) in May 1818 and emigrated to America in June.  It was initially a disaster; George was soon swindled and returned to England in January 1820 in search of money.  He managed to collect his share of Tom Keats's inheritance as well as most of John Keats's money.  Keats's letters reveal his conflicted feelings about his brother's actions; his friends were less charitable and openly disparaged George.  George returned to his new home in Louisville, Kentucky where he and Georgiana prospered.

Introduction:  This long letter spans ten days in September 1819 and offers a fascinating glimpse into Keats's daily life and personality.  Most of his letters to his brothers are written in a loose, conversational style, as though he were talking directly to them, and this increases their charm and immediacy.  Critics / biographers often refer to these letters as Keats's 'journal letters'.

This letter includes the first draft of The Eve of St Mark, a discussion of literary reviews and George's American troubles.  Keats also includes a funny (and, some might say, misogynistic) quote from The Anatomy of Melancholy which, he tells George, 'I would give my favou[r]ite leg to have written', and analyzes the 'Three great changes' in English history.
What else?  His niece, his height, his health, jokes and puns, changing his opinion of Haydon and Dilke, etc

Part of this letter was a copy of his July 1818 letter from Scotland to Tom Keats; that section has been omitted and marked by brackets.

Winchester Septr Friday -

My dear George,

I was closely employed in reading and composition, in this place, whither I had come from Shanklin, for the convenience of a library, when I received your last, dated July 24th You will have seen by the short Letter I wrote from Shanklin, how matters stand beetween us and Mrs Jennings, They had not at all mov'd and I knew no way of ove[r]coming the inveterate obstinacy of our affairs. On receiving your last I immediately took a place in the same night's coach for London - Mr Abbey behaved extremely well to me, appointed Monday evening at 7 to meet me and observed that he should drink tea at that hour. I gave him the inclosed note and showed him the last leaf of yours to me. He really appeared anxious about it; promised he would forward your money as quickly as possible - I think I mention'd that Walton was dead - He will apply to Mr Gliddon the partner; endeavour to get rid of Mrs Jennings's claim and be expeditious. He has received an answer from my Letter to Fry - that is something. We are certainly in a very low estate: I say we, for I am in such a situation that were it not for the assistance of Brown & Taylor, I must be as badly off as a Man can be. I could not raise any sum by the promise of any Poem - no, not by the mortgage of my intellect. We must wait a little while. I really have hopes of success. I have finish'd a Tragedy which if it succeeds will enable me to sell what I may have in manuscript to a good avantage. I have pass'd my time in reading, writing and fretting - the last I intend to give up and stick to the other two. They are the only chances of benefit to us. Your wants will be a fresh spur to me. I assure you you shall more than share what I can get, whilst I am still young - the time may come when age will make me more selfish. I have not been well treated by the world - and yet I have capitally well - I do not know a Person, to whom so many purse strings would fly open as to me - if I could possibly take advantage of them - which I cannot do for none of the owners of these purses are rich - Your present situation I will not suffer myself to dwell upon - when misfortunes are so real we are glad enough to escape them, and the thought of them. I cannot help thinking Mr Audubon a dishonest man - Why did he make you believe that he was a Man of Property? How is it his circumstances have altered so suddenly? In truth I do not believe you fit to deal with the world; or at. least the american worrld - But good God - who can avoid these chances - You have done your best - Take matters as coolly as you can and confidently expecting help from England, act as if no help was nigh. Mine I am sure is a tolerable tragedy - it would have been a bank to me, if just as I had finish'd it I had not heard of Kean's resolution to go to America. That was the worst news I could have had. There is no actor can do the principal character besides Kean. At Covent Garden there is a great chance of its being damn'd. Were it to succeed even there it would lift me out of the mire. I mean the mire of a bad reputation which is continually rising against me. My name with the literary fashionables is vulgar - I am a weaver boy to them - a Tragedy would lift me out of this mess. And mess it is as far as it regards our Pockets - But be not cast down any more than I am. I feel I can bear real ills better than imaginary ones. Whenever I find myself growing vapourish, I rouse myself, wash and put on a clean shirt brush my hair and clothes, tie my shoestrings neatly and in fact adonize as I were going out - then all clean and comfortable I sit down to write. This I find the greatest relief - Besides I am becoming accustom'd to the privations of the pleasures of sense. In the midst of the world I live like a Hermit. I have forgot how to lay plans for enjoyment of any Pleasure. I feel I can bear any thing, any misery, even imp[r]isonment - so long as I have neither wife nor child. Perpaps you will say yours are your only comfort - they must be. I return'd to Winchester the day before yesterday and am now here alone, for Brown some days before I left, went to Bedhampton and there he will be for the next fortnight. The term of his house will be up in the middle of next month when we shall return to Hampstead. On Sunday I dined with your Mother and Henry and Charles in Henrietta Street - Mrs and Miss Millar were in the Country - Charles had been but a few days returned from Paris. I dare say you will have letters exp[r]essing the motives of his journey. Mrs Wylie and Miss Waldegrave seem as qu[i]et as two Mice there alone. I did not show your last - I thought it better not. For better times will certainly come and why should they be unhappy in the main time. On Monday Morning I went to Walthamstow - Fanny look'd better than I had seen her for some time. She complains of my not hearing from you appealing to me as if it was half my fault - I had been so long in retirement that London appeared a very odd place I could not make out I had so many acquaintance, and it was a whole day before I could feel among Men - I had another strange sensation there was not one house I felt any pleasure to call at. Reynolds was in the Country and saving himself I am p[r]ejudiced against all that family. Dilke and his wife and child were in the Country. Taylor was at Nottingham - I was out and every body was out. I walk'd about the Streets as in a strange land - Rice was the only one at home - I pass'd some time with him. I know him better since we have liv'd a month together in the isle of Wight. He is the most sensible, and even wise Man I know - he has a few John Bull prejudices; but they improve him. His illness is at times alarming. We are great friends, and there is no one I like to pass a day with better. Martin call'd in to bid him good bye before he set out for Dublin. If you would like to hear one of his jokes here is one which at the time we laugh'd at a good deal. A Miss -with three young Ladies, one of them Martin's sister had come a gadding in the Isle of wight and took for a few days a Cottage opposite ours - we dined with them one day, and as I was saying they had fish - Miss - said she thought they tasted of the boat - No says Martin very seriously they haven't been kept long enough. I saw Haslam he is very much occupied with love and business being one of Mr Saunders executors and Lover to a young woman He show'd me her Picture by Severn - I think she is, though not very cunning, too cunning for him. Nothing strikes me so forcibly with a sense of the rediculous as love - A Man in love I do think cuts the sorryest figure in the world - Even when I know a poor fool to be really in pain about it, I could burst out laughing in his face - His pathetic visage becomes irrisistable. Not that I take Haslam as a pattern for Lovers - he is a very worthy man and a good friend. His love is very amusing. Somewhere in the Spectator is related an account of a Man inviting a party of stutter[e]rs and squinters to his table. 't would please me more to scrape together a party of Lovers, not to dinner-no to tea. The[re] would be no fighting as among Knights of old -

Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes
Nibble their to[a]sts, and cool their tea with sighs,
Or else forget the purpose of the night
Forget their tea-forget their appetite.
See with cross'd arms they sit - ah hapless crew
The fire is going out, and no one rings
For coals, and therefore no coals betty brings.
A Fly is in the milk pot-must he die
Circled by a humane society?
No no there mr Wert[h]er takes his spoon
Inverts it dips the handle and lo, soon
The little struggler sav'd from perils dark
Across the tea board draws a long wet mark.
Romeo! Arise! take Snuffers by the handle
There's a large Cauliflower in each candle.
A winding-sheet - Ah me! I must away
To no 7 just beyond the Circus gay.
'Alas' my friend! your Coat sits very well:
Where may your Taylor live'?' 'I may not tell -
'0 pardon me - I'm absent now and then'
Where might my Taylor live? - I say again
I cannot tell. let me no more be teas'd-
He lives in wapping might live where he pleas'd

You see I cannot get on without writing as boys do at school a few nonsense verses - I begin them and before I have written six the whim has pass'd - if there is any th[i]ng deserving so respectable a name in them. I shall put in a bit of information any where just as it strikes me. Mr Abbey is to write to me as soon as he can bring matters to bear, and then I am to go to Town to tell him the means of forwarding to you through Capper and Hazlewood - I wonder I did not put this before - I shall go on tomorrow-  it is so fine now I must take a bit of a walk - Saturday - With my inconstant disposition it is no wonder that this morning, amid all our bad times and misfortunes, I should feel so alert and well spirited. At this moment you are perhaps in a very different state of Mind. It is because my hopes are very paramount to my despair. I have been reading over a part of a short poem I have composed lately call'd 'Lamia' - and I am certain there is that sort of fire in it which must take hold of people in some way - give them either pleasant or unpleasant sensation. What they want is a sensation of some sort. I wish I could pitch the key of your spirits as high as mine is - but your organ loft is beyond the reach of my voice - I admire the exact admeasurement of my niece in your Mother's letter - O the little span long elf - I am not in the least judge of the proper weight and size of an infant. Never trouble yourselves about that: she is sure to be a fine woman - Let her have only delicate nails both on hands and feet and teeth as small as a May-fly's. who will live you his life on a square inch of oak-leaf. And nails she must have quite different from the market women here who plough into the butter and make a quatter pound taste of it. I intend to w[r]ite a letter to you Wifie and there I may say more on this little plump subject - I hope she's plump - 'Still harping on my daughter' - This Winchester is a place tolerably well suited to me; there is a fine Cathedral, a College, a Roman- Catholic Chapel, a Methodist do, an independent do, - and there is not one loom or any thing like manufacturing beyond bread & butter in the whole City. There are a number of rich Catholic[s] in the place. It is a respectable, ancient aristocratical place - and moreover it contains a nunnery - Our set are by no means so hail fellow, well met, on literary subjects as we were wont to be. Reynolds has tum'd to the law. Bye the bye, he brought out a little piece at the Lyceum call'd one, two th[r]ee, four, by advertisement. It met with complete success. The meaning of this odd title is explained when I tell you the principal actor is a mimic who takes off four of our best performers in the course of the farce - Our stage is loaded with mimics. I did not see the Piece being out of Town the whole time it was in progress. Dilke is entirely swallowed up in his boy:  't is really lamentable to what a pitch he carries a sort of parental mania - I had a Letter from him at Shanklin - He went on a word or two about the isle of Wight which is a bit of hobby horse of his; but he soon deviated to his boy. 'I am sitting' says he "at the window expecting my Boy from School." I suppose I told you some where that he lives in Westminster, and his boy goes to the School there. where he gets beaten, and every bruise he has and I dare say deserves is very bitter to Dilke. The Place I am speaking of, puts me in mind of a circumsta[n]ce occured lately at Dilkes - I think it very rich and dramatic and quite illustrative of the little quiet fun that he will enjoy sometimes. First I must tell you their house is at the corner of Great Smith Street, so that some of the windows look into one Street, and the back windows into another round the corner - Dilke had some old people to dinner, I know not who - but there were two old ladies among them - Brown was there - they had known him from a Child. Brown is very pleasant with old women, and on that day, it seems, behaved himself so winningly they [for that] they became hand and glove together and a little complimentary. Brown was obliged to depart early. He bid them good bye and pass'd into the passage - no sooner was his back turn'd than the old women began lauding him. When Brown had reach'd the Street door and was just going, Dilke threw up the Window and ca,ll'd 'Brown ! Brown ! They say you look younger than ever you did !' Brown went on and had just tum'd the corner into the other street. when Dilke appeared at the back window crying "Brown ! Brown ! By God, they say you're handsome !" You see what a many words it requires to give any identity to a thing I could have told you in half a minute. I have been reading lately Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy; and I think you will be very much amused with a page I here coppy for you. I call it a Feu de joie round the batteries of Fort St Hyphen-de-Phrase on the birthday of the Digamma. The whole alphabet was drawn up in a Phalanx on the cover of an old Dictionary. Band playing "Amo, Amas &c" "Every Lover admires his Mistress, though she be very deformed of herself, ill-favored, wrinkled, pimpled, pale, red, yellow, tann'd, tallow-fac'd, have a swoln juglers platter face, or a thin, lean, chitty face, have clouds in her face, be crooked, dry, bald, goggle-eyed, blear-eyed or with staring eyes, she looks like a squis'd cat, hold her head still awry, heavy, dull, hollow-eyed, black or yellow about the eyes, or squint-eyed, sparrow-mouth'd, Persean-hook-nosed, have a sharp fox nose, a red nose, China flat, great nose, nare simo patuloque, a nose like a promontory, gubber-tush'd, rotten teeth, black, uneven, brown teeth, beetle-brow'd, a witches beard, her breath stink allover the room, her nose drop winter and summer, with a Bavarian poke under her chin, a sharp chin, lave-eared, with a long crane's neck, which stands awry too, pendulis mammis her dugs like two double jugs, or else no dugs in the other extream, bloody-falln fingers, she have filthy, long, unpaired, nails, scabbed hands or wrists, a tan'd skin, a rotton carcass, crooked back, she stoops, is lame, splea footed, as slender in the middle as a cow in the wast, gowty legs, her ankles hang over her shooes, her feet stink, she breed lice, a meer changeling, a very monster, an aufe imperfect, her whole complexion savors, an harsh voice, incondite gesture, vile gate, a vast virago, or an ugly tit, a slug, a fat fustilugs, a trusse, a long lean rawbone, a Skeleton, a Sneaker, (si qua patent meliora puta) and to thy Judgement looks like a mard in a Lanthom, whom thou couldst not fancy for a world, but hatest, loathest, and wouldst have spit in her face, or blow thy nose in her bosom, remedium amoris to another man, a dowdy, a Slut, a scold, a nasty rank, rammy, filthy, beastly quean, dishonest peradventure, obscene, base, beggarly, rude, foolish, untaught-peevish, Irus' daughter, Thersite's sister, Grobian's Scholler; if he love her once, he admires her for all this, he takes no notice of any such errors or imperfections of boddy or mind - " There's a dose for you - fine!! I would give my favou[r]ite leg to have written this as a speech in a Play: with what effect could Mathews pop-gun it at the pit' This I th[i]nk will amuse you more than so much Poetry. Of that I do not like to copy any as I am affraid it is too mal apropo for you at present - and yet I will send you some - for by the time you receive it things in England may have taken a different turn. When I left Mr Abbey on monday evening I walk'd up Cheapside but returned to put some letters in the Post and met him again in Bucklersbury: we walk'd together th[r]ough the Poultry as far as the hatter's shop he has some concern in - He spoke of it in such a way to me, I though[t] he wanted me to make an offer to assist him in it. I do believe if I could be a hatter I might be one. He seems anxious about me. He began blowing up Lord Byron while I was sitting with him, however Says he the fellow says true things now & then; at which he took up a Magasine and read me some extracts from Don Juan, (Lord Byron's last flash poem) and particularly one against. literary ambition. I do think I must be well spoken of among sets, for Hodgkinson is more than polite, and the coffee-german endeavour'd to be very close to me the other night at covent garden where I went at half-price before I tumbled into bed - Everyone however distant an acquaintance behaves in the most conciliating manner to me  - You will see I speak of this as a matter of interest. On the next Street [tor sheet] I will give you a little politics. In every age there has been in England for some two or th[r]ee centuries subjects of great popular interest on the carpet: so that however great the uproar one can scarcely prophesy any material change in the government; for as loud disturbances have agitated this country many times. All civil[iz]ed countries become gradually more enlighten'd and there should be a continual change for the better. Look at this Country at present and remember it when it was even though[t] impious to doubt the justice of a trial by Combat - From that time there has been a gradual change - Three great changes have been in progress - First for the better, next for the worse, and a third time for the better once more. The first was the gradual annihilation of the tyranny of the nobles. when kings found it their interest to conciliate the common people, elevate them and be just to them. Just when baronial Power ceased and before standing armies were so dangerous, Taxes were few. kings were lifted by the people over the heads of their nobles, and those people held a rod over kings. The change for the worse in Europe was again this. The obligation of kings to the Multitude began to be forgotten - Custom had made noblemen the humble servants of kings - Then kings turned to the Nobles as the adorners of the[i]r power, the slaves of it, and from the people as creatures continually endeavouring to check them. Then in every kingdom therre was a long struggle of kings to destroy all popular privileges. The english were the only people in europe who made a grand kick at this. They were slaves to Henry 8th but were free-men under william 3rd at the time the french were abject slaves under Lewis 14th The example of England, and the liberal writers of france and england sowed the seed of opposition to this Tyranny - and it was swelling in the ground till it burst out in the french revolution -  that has had an unlucky termination. It put a stop to the rapid progress of free sentiments in England; and gave our Court hopes of turning back to the despotism of the 16 century. They have made a handle of this event in every way to undermine our freedom. They spread a horrid superstition against all inovation and improvement - The present struggle in England of the people is to destroy this superstition. What has rous'd them to do it is their distresses - Perpaps on this account the pres'ent distresses of this nation are a fortunate thing - tho so horrid in the[i]r experience. You will see I mean that the french Revolution but [for put] a tempor[a]ry stop to this third change, the change for the better - Now it is in progress again and I thing [for think] in an effectual one. This is no contest beetween whig and tory - but between right and wrong. There is scarcely a grain of party spirit now in England - Right and Wrong considered by each man abstractedly is the fashion. I know very little of these things. I am convinced however that apparently small causes make great alterations. There are little signs wherby we many [for may] know how matters are going on - This makes the business about Carlisle the Bookseller of great moment in my mind. He has been selling deistical pamphlets, republished Tom Payne and many other works held in superstitious horror. He even has been selling for some time immense numbers of a work call 'The Deist' which comes out in weekly numbers - For this Conduct he I think has had above a dozen [Prosecutions is crossed out] inditements issued against him; for which he has found Bail to the amount of many thousand Pounds - After all they are affraid to prosecute: they are affraid of his defence: it will would be published in all the papers all over the Empire: they shudder at this: the Trials would light a flame they could not extinguish. Do you not think this of great import? You will hear by the papers of the proceedings at Manchester and Hunt's triumphal entry into London - I[t] would take me a whole day and a quire of paper to give you any thing like detail - I will merely mention that it is calculated that 30.000 people were in the streets waiting for him - The whole distance from the Angel Islington to the Crown and anchor was lined with Multitudes. As I pass'd Colnaghi's window I saw a profil Portraict of Sands the destroyer of Kotzebue. His very look must interest every one in his favour - I suppose they have represented him in his college dress - He seems to me like a young Abelard - A fine Mouth, cheek bones (and this is no joke) full of sentiment; a fine unvulgar nose and plump temples. On looking over some Letters I found the one I wrote intended for you from the foot of Helvellyn to Liverpool-but you had sail'd and therefore It was returned to me. It contained among other nonsense an Acrostic of my Sister's name - and a pretty long name it is. I wrote it in a great hurry which you will see. Indeed I would not copy it if I thought it would ever be seen by any but yourselves - ... [This deleted section is a copy of the acrostic and other parts of his July 1818 Scottish letter to Tom.]  I ought to make a large Q here: but I had better take the opportunity of telling you I have got rid of my haunting sore throat - and conduct myself in a manner not to catch another You speak of Lord Byron and me - There is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees - I describe what I imagine - Mine is the hardest task. You see the immense difference - The Edinburgh review are affraid to touch upom [for upon] my Poem - They do not know what to make of it - they do not like to condemn it and they will not p[r]aise it for fear - They are as shy of it as I should be of wearing a Quaker's hat - The fact is they have no real taste - they dare not compromise their Judgements on so puzzling a Question - If on my next Publication they should praise me and so lug in Endymion - I will address [them] in a manner they will not at all relish - The Cowardliness of the Edinburgh is worse than the abuse of the Quarterly.

Monday - This day is a grand day for winchester - they elect the Mayor. It was indeed high time the place should have some sort. of excitement. There was nothing going on - all asleep - Not an old Maids Sedan returning from a card party - and if any old women have got tipsy at christenings they have not exposed themselves in the Street - The first night tho' of our arrival here there was a slight uproar took place at about ten of the clock - We heard distinctly a noise patting down the high street as of a walking Cane of the good old dowager breed; and a little minute after we heard a less voice obse[r]ve 'what a noise the ferril made.' - it must be loose." Brown wanted to call the Constables, but I observed 't was only a little breeze and would soon pass over. The side-streets here are excessively maiden lady like - The door steps always fresh from the flannel. The knockers have a very staid ser[i]ous, nay almost awful qu[i]etness about them - I never saw so quiet a collection of Lions, and rams heads - The doors most part black with a little brass handle just above the key hole - so that you may easily shut yourself out of your own house - he! he! There is none of your Lady Bellaston rapping and ringing here - no thundering-Jupiter footmen no opera-trebble-tattoos - but a modest lifting up of the knocker by a set of little wee old fingers that peep through the grey mittens, and a dying-fall thereof - The great beauty of Poetry is, that it makes every thing every place interesting - The palatine venice and the  abbotine Winchester are equally interesting - Some time since I began a poem call'd "the Eve of St Mark quite in the spirit of Town quietude. I th[i]nk it wlll give you the sensation of walking about an old county Town in a coolish evening. I know not yet whether I shall ever finish it - I will give it far as I have gone. Ut tibi placent!

\Jpon a Sabbath day it fell;
Thrice holy was the sabbath bell
That call'd the folk to evening prayer.
The City Streets were clean and fair
Fron [for From] wholesome drench of April rains,
And on the western window pains
The chilly sunset faintly told
Of immaturd, green vallies cold,
Of the green, thorny, bloomless hedge,
Of Rivers new with spring tide sedge,
Of Primroses by shelter'd rills,
And Dasies on the aguish hills.
Thrice holy was the sabbath bell:
The silent streets were crowded well
With staid and pious companies
Wa[r]m from their fireside oratries,
And moving with demurest air
To even song and vesper prayer.
Each arched porch and entry low
Was fill'd with patient crowd and slow,
With whispers hush, and shuffling feet
While play'd the organs loud and sweet.

The Bells had ceas'd, the Prayers begun,
And Bertha had not yet half done
A curious volume, patch'd and torn,
That all day long, from earliest morn,
Had taken captive her fair eyes
Among its golden broideries: -
Perplex'd her with a thousand things -
The Stars of heaven, and Angels wings;
Martyrs in a fiery blaze;
Azure Saints 'mid silver rays;
Aron's breastplate, and the seven
Candlesticks John saw in heaven;
The winged Lion of St Mark,
And the Covenental Arck
With its many Misteries
Cherubim and golden Mice.

Bertha was a Maiden fair,
Dwelling in the old Minster square:
From her fireside she could see
Sidelong its rich antiquity,
Far as the Bishop's garden wall,
Where sycamores and elm trees tall
Fullleav'd the forest had outstript,
By no sharp north wind ever nipt,
So sheltered by the mighty pile.

Bertha arose, and read awhile
With forehead 'gainst the window pane, -
Again she tried, and then again,
Until the dusk eve left her dark
Upon the Legend of St. Mark:
From pleated lawn-frill fine and thin
She lifted up her soft warm chin
With aching neck and swimming eyes
All daz'd with saintly imageries.

All was gloom, and silent all,
Save now and then the still foot fall
Of one returning homewards late
Past the echoing minster gate.
The clamourous daws that all the day
Above tree tops and towers play,
Pair by Pair had gone to rest,
Each in their ancient belfry nest
Where asleep they fall betimes
To music of the drowsy chimes.

All was silent, all was gloom
Abroad and in the homely roon [for room]; -
Down she sat, poor cheated soul,
And struck a swart Lamp from the coal,
Leaned forward with bright drooping hair
J And slant book full against the glare.
Her shadow, in uneasy guise,
Hover'd about, a giant size,
On ceiling, beam, and old oak chair,
The Parrot's cage and pannel square,
And the warm-angled winter screne,
On which were many monsters seen,
Call'd, Doves of Siam, Lima Mice,
And legless birds of Paradise,
Macaw, and tender Av'davat,
And silken-furr'd Angora Cat.

Untir'd she read-her shadow still
Glowerd about as it would fill
The room with gastly forms and shades-
As though some ghostly Queen of Spades
Had come to mock behind her back,
And dance, and ruffle her garments black.

Untir'd she read the Legend page
Of holy Mark from youth to age,
On Land, on sea, in pagan-chains,
Rejoicing for his many pains.
Sometimes the learned Eremite
With golden star, or daggar bright,
Refer'd to pious poesies
Written in smallst crow quill size
Beneath the text and thus the rhyme
Was parcell'd out from time to time:

What follows is an imitation of the Authors in Chaucer's time - 't is more ancient than Chaucer himself and perhaps betwe[e]n him and Gower

- Als writeth he of swevenis
Men han beforne they waken in blis,
When that hir friendes thinke hem bounde -
In crimpide shroude farre under grounde: :
And how a litling childe mote be
A scainte er its natavitie, ,
Gif that the modre (Gode her blesse)
Kepen in Solitarinesse,
And kissen devoute the holy croce.
Of Goddis love and Sathan's force
He writithe; and things many moe,
Of swiche thinges I may not show,
Bot I must tellen verilie
Somedele of Saintè Cicilie,
And chieflie what he auctoreth
Of Sainte Markis life and dethe.

I hope you will like this for all its Carelessness - I must take an opportunity here to observe that though I am writing to you I am all the while writing at your Wife - This explanation will account for my speaking sometimes hoity-toityishly. Whereas if you were alone I should sport a little more sober sadness. I am like a squinti[n]g gentleman who saying soft things to one Lady ogles another--or what is as bad in arguing with a person on his left hand appeals with his eyes to one one [for on] the right. His Vision is elastic he bends it to a certain object but having a patent sp[r]ing it flies off. Writing has this disadvan[ta]ge of speaking. one cannot write a wink, or a nod, or a grin, or a purse of the Lips, or a smile - O law! One can-[not] put ones pinger [for finger] to one's nose, or yerk ye in the ribs, or lay hold of your button in writing - but in all the most lively and titterly parts of my Letter you must not fail to imagine me as the epic poets say - now here, now there, now with one foot pointed at the ceiling, now with another - now with my pen on my ear, now with my elbow in my mouth - O my friends you loose the action - and attitude is every thing as Fusili said when he took up his leg like a Musket to shoot a Swallow just darting behind his shoulder. And yet does not the word mum! go for ones finger beside the nose - I hope it does. I have to make use of the word Mum I before I tell you that Severn has got a little Baby - all his own let us hope - He told Brown he had given up painting and had tu[r]n'd modeller. I hope sincerely tis not a party concern; that no Mr -or **** is the real Pinxit and Severn the poor Sculpsit to this work of art - You know he has long studied in the Life-Academy. Haydon - yes your wife will say, 'here is a sum total account of Haydon again I wonder your Brother don't put a monthly bulleteen in the Philadelphia Papers about him - I wont hear - no - skip down to the bottom - aye and there are some more of his verses, skip (lullaby-by) them too" "No, lets go regularly through" "I wont hear a word about Haydon -  bless the child, how rioty she is! - there go on there" Now pray go on here for I have a few words to say about Haydon - Before this Chancery threat had cut of every legitimate supp[l]y of Cash from me I had a little at my disposal: Haydon being very much in want I lent him 30£ of it. Now in this se-saw game of Life I got nearest to the ground and this chancery business rivetted me there so that I was sitting in that uneasy position where the seat slants so abominably. I applied to him for payment - he could not - that was no wonder. but goodman Delver, where was the wonder then, why marry, in this, he did not seem to care much about it - and let me go without my money with almost nonchalance when he aught to have sold his drawings to supply me. I shall perhaps still be acquainted with him, but for friendship that is at an end. Brown has been my friend in this he got him to sign a Bond payable at three Months - Haslam has assisted me with the return of part of the money you lent him. Hunt - 'there,' says your wife, 'there's another of those dull folkes - not a syllable about my friends - well - Hunt - what about Hunt pray - you little thing see how she bites my finger - my! is not this a tooth"-Well, when you have done with the tooth, read on - Not a syllable about your friends Here are some syllables. As far as I could smoke things on the Sunday before last, thus matters stood in Henrietta street - Henry was a greater blade than ever I remember to have seen him. He had on a very nice coat, a becoming waistcoat and buff trowsers - I think his face has lost a little of the spanish-brown, but no flesh. He carv'd some beef exactly to suit my appetite, as if I had been measured for it. As I stood looking out of the window with Charles after dinner, quizzing the Passengers, at which, I am sorry to say he is too apt, I observed that his young, son of a gun's whiskers had begun to curl and curl-little twists and twists; all down the sides of his face getting properly thickish on the angles of the the visage, He certainly will have a notable pair of Whiskers. "How shiny your gown is in front" says Charles "Why, dont you see 't is an apron says Henry" Whereat I scrutiniz'd and behold your mother had a purple stuff gown on, and over it an apron of the same colour, being the same cloth that was used for the lining - and furthermore to account for the shining it was the first day of wearing. I guess'd as much of the Gown - but that is entre-nous. Charles likes england better than france. They've got a fat, smiling, fair Cook as ever you saw-she is a little lame, but that improves her. it makes her go more swimmingly. When I ask'd 'Is Mr. Wylie within' she gave such a large, five-and-thirty-year-old smile, it made me look round upon the forth stair - it might have been the fifth - but that's a puzzle. I shall never be able if I were to set myself a recollecting for a year, to recollect that - I think I remember two or three specks in her teeth but I really cant say exactly. Your mother said something about Miss Keasle - what that was is quite a riddle to me now - Whether she had got fatter or thinner, or broader or longer-straiter, or had taken to the zig zags - Whether she had taken to, or left off, asses Milk - that by the by she ought never to touch - how much better it would be to put her out to nurse with the Wise woman of Brentford. I can say no more on so spare a subject. Miss Millar now is a different morsell if one knew how to divide and subdivide, theme her out into sections and subsections - Say a little on every part of her body as it is divided in common with all her fellow creatures, in Moor's Almanac. But Alas! I have not heard a word about her. no cue to begin upon. There was indeed a buzz about her and her mother's being at Old Mrs So and So's who was like to die - as the jews say - but I dare say, keeping up their dialect, she was not like to die. I must tell you a good thing Reynolds did: 't was the best thing he ever said. You know at taking leave of a party at a door way, sometimes a Man dallies and foolishes and gets awkward, and does not know how to make off to advantage - Good bye - well - good-bye - and yet he does not-go--good bye and so on - well - good bless you - You know what I mean. Now Reynolds was in this predicament and got out of it in a very witty way. He was leaving us at Hampstead. He delay'd, and we were joking at him and even said, 'be off' - at which he put the tails of his coat between his legs; and sneak'd off as nigh like a spanial as could be. He went with flying colours: this is very clever - I must, being upon the subject, tell you another good thing of him; He began, for the service it might be of to him in the law, to learn french. He had Lessons at the cheap rate of 2.6 per fag.89 and observed to Brown 'Gad says he, the man sells his Lessons so cheap he must have stolen 'em.' You have heard of Hook the farce writer. Horace Smith said to one who ask'd him if he knew Hook "Oh yes' Hook and I are very intimate." Theres a page of Wit for you - to put John Bunyan's emblems out of countenance.

Tuesday - You see I keep adding a sheet daily till I send the packet off - which I shall not do for a few days as I am inclined to write a good deal: for there can be nothing so remembrancing and enchaining as a good long letter be it composed of. what it may - From the time you left me, our friends say I have altered completely - am not the same person - perhaps in this letter I am for in a letter one takes up one's existence from the time we last met - I dare say you have altered also - every man does - Our bodies every seven years are completely fresh-materiald - seven years ago it was not this hand that clench'd itself against Hammond - We are like the relict garments of a Saint: the same and not the same: for the careful Monks patch it and patch it for St Anthony's shirt. This is the reason why men who had been bosom friends, on being separated for any number of years, afterwards meet coldly, neither of them knowing why - The fact is they are both altered - Men who live together have a silent moulding and influencing power over each other - They inter-assimulate. 'T is an uneasy thought that in seven years the same hands cannot greet each other again. All this may be obviated by a willful and dramatic exercise of our Minds towards each other. Some think I have lost that poetic ardour and fire 't is said I once had - the fact is perhaps I have: but instead of that I hope I shall substitute a more thoughtful and quiet power. I am more frequently, now, contented to read and think - but now & then, haunted with ambitious thoughts. Qui[e]ter in my pulse, improved in my digestion; exerting myself against vexing speculations - scarcely content to write the best verses for the fever they leave behind. I want to compose without this fever. I hope lone day shall. You would scarcely imagine I could live alone so comfortably "Kepen in solitarinesse" I told Anne, the servent here, the other day, to say I was not at home if anyone should call. I am not certain how I should endu[r]e loneliness and bad weather together. Now the time is beautiful. I take a walk every day for an hour before dinner and this is generally my walk - I go out at the back gate across one street, into the Cathedral yard, which is always interesting; then I pass under the trees along a paved path, pass the beautiful front of the Cathedral, turn to the left under a stone door way - then I am on the other side of the building - which leaving behind me I pass on through two college-like squares seemingly built for the dwelling place of Deans and Prebendaries - garnished with grass and shaded with trees. Then I pass through one of the old city gates and then you are in one College-Street through which I pass and at the end thereof crossing some meadows and at last a country alley of gardens I arrive, that is, my worship arrives at the foundation of Saint Cross, which is a very interesting old place, both for its gothic tower and alms-square and for the appropriation of its rich rents to a relation of the Bishop of Winchester - Then I pass across St Cross meadows till you come to the most beautifully clear river - now this is only one mile of my walk I will spare you the other two till after supper when they would do you more good - You must avoid going the first mile just after dinner. I could almost advise you to put by all this nonsense until you are lifted out of your difficulties - but when you come to this part feel with confidence what I now feel that though there can be no stop put to troubles we are inheritors of there can be and must be and [for an] end to immediate difficulties. Rest in the confidence that I will not omit any exertion to benefit you by some means or other. If I cannot remit you hundreds, I will tens and if not that ones. Let the next year be managed by you as  well as possible-the next month I mean for I trust you will soon receive Abbey's remittance. What he can send you will not be a sufficient capital to ensure you any command in America. What he has of mine I nearly have anticipated by debts. So I would advise you not to sink it, but to live upon it in hopes of my being able to encrease it - To this end I will devote whatever I may gain for a few years to come - at which period I must begin to think of a security of my own comforts when quiet will become more pleasant to me than the World - Still I would have you doubt my success - 'T is at present the cast of a die with me. You say 'these things will be a great torment to me.' I shall not suffer them to be so. I shall only exert myself the more - while the seriousness of their nature will prevent me from missing up imaginary griefs. I have not had the blue devils once since I received your last - I am advised not to publish till it is seen
whether the Tragedy will or not succeed - Should it, a few mo[n]ths may see me in the way of acquiring property; should it not it will be a drawback and I shall have to perform a longer literary Pilgrimage - You will perceive that it is quite out of my interest to come to America - What could I do there? How could I employ myself? Out of the reach of Libraries. You do not mention the name of the gentleman who assists you. 'T is an extraordinary thing. How could you do without that assistance? I will not trust myself with brooding over this. The following is an extract from a Letter of Reynolds to me "I am glad to hear you are getting on so well with your writings. I hope you are not neglecting the revision of your Poems for the press: from which I expect more than you do" - the first thought that struck me on reading your last, was to mo[r]tgage a Poem to Murray: but on more consideration I made up my mind not to do so: my reputation is very low: he would perhaps not have negociated my bill of intellect or given me a very small sum. I should have bound my self down for some time. 'T is best to meet present misfortunes; not for a momentary good to sacrifice great benefits which one's own untramell'd and free industry may bring one in the end. In all this do never think of me as in any way unhappy: I shall not be so. I have a great pleasure in thinking of my responsibility to you and shall do myself the greatest luxury if I can succeed in any way so as to be of assistance to you. We shall look back upon these times - even before our eyes are at all dim - I am convinced  of it. But be careful of those Americans - I could almost advise you to come whenever you have the sum of 500£ to England - Those Americans will I am affraid still fleece you - If ever you should think of such a thing you must bear in mind the very different state of society here -  the immense difficulties of the times - The great sum required per annum to maintain yourself in any decency. In fact the whole is with Providence. I know now [for not] how to advise you but by advising you to advise with yourself. In your next tell me at large your thoughts, about america; what chance there is of succeeding there: for it appears to me you have as yet been somehow deceived. I cannot help thinking Mr Audubon has deceived you. I shall not like the sight of him - I shall endeavour to avoid seeing him - You see how puzzled I am - I have no meridian to fix you to -- being the Slave of what is to happen. I think I may bid you finally remain in good hopes: and not teise yourself with my changes and variations of Mind - If I say nothing decisive in anyone particular part of my Letter. you may glean the truth from the whole pretty correctly - You may wonder why I had not put your affairs with Abbey in train on receiving your Letter before last, to which there will reach you a short answer dated from shanklin. I did write and speak to Abbey but to no purpose. You last, with the enclosed note has appealed home to him - He will not see the necessity of a thing till he is hit in the mouth. 'T will be effectual - I am sorry to mix up foolish and serious things together - but in writing so much I am obliged to do so - and I hope sincerely the tenor of your mind will maintain itself better. In the course of a few months I shall be as good an Italian Scholar as I am a french one - I am reading Ariosto at present: not manageing more than six or eight stanzas at a time. When I have done this language so as to be able to read it tolerably well-1 shall set myself to get complete in latin and there my learning must stop. I do not think of venturing upon Greek. I would not go even so far if I were not persuaded of the power the knowlege of any language gives one. the fact is I like to be acquainted with foreign languages. It is besides a nice way of filling up intervals &c Also the reading of Dante in [for is] well worth the while. And in latin there is a fund of curious literature of the middle ages - The Works of many great Men Aretine and Sanazarius and Machievel - I shall never become attach'd to a foreign idiom so as to put it into my writings. The Paradise lost though so fine in itself is a curruption of our Language - it should be kept as it is unique - a curiosity. a beautiful and grand Curiosity. The most remarkable Production of the world - A northern dialect accommodating itself to greek and latin inversions and intonations. The purest english I think - or what ought to be the purest- is Chatterton's - The Language had existed long enough to be entirely uncorrupted of Chaucer's gallicisms and still the old words are used - Chatterton's language is entirely northern - I prefer the native music of it to Milton's cut by feet I have but lately stood on my guard against Milton. Life to him would be death to me. Miltonic verse cannot be written but it [for in] the vein of art - I wish to devote myself to another sensation - I have been obliged to intermiten your Letter for two days (this being Friday morn) from having had to attend to other correspondence. Brown who was at Bedhampton, went thence to Chichester, and I still directing my letters Bedhampton - there asore [for arose] a misunderstand about them - I began to suspect my Letters had been stopped from curiosity. However yesterday Brown had four Letters from me all in a Lump - and the matter is clear'd up - Brown complained very much in his Letter to me of yesterday of the great alteration the Disposition of Dilke has undergone - He thinks of nothing but 'Political Justice' and his Boy - Now the first political duty a Man ought to have a Mind to is the happiness of his friends. I wrote Brown a comment on the subject, wherein I explained what I thought of Dilke's Character. Which resolved itself into this conclusion. That Dilke was a Man who cannot feel he has a personal identity unless he has made up his Mind about every thing. The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing - to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts. Not a select party. The genus is not scarce in population. All the stubborn arguers you meet with are of the same brood - They never begin upon a subject they have not preresolved on. They want to hammer their nail into you and if you turn the point, still they think you wrong. Dilke will never come at a truth as long as he lives; because he is always trying at it. He is a Godwin-methodist. I must not forget to mention that your mother show'd me the lock of hair - 't is of a very dark colour for so young a creature. When it is two feet in length I shall not stand a barley corn higher. That's not fair - one ought to go on growing as well as others - At the end of this sheet I shall stop for the present -  and sent it off. you may expect another Letter immediately after it. As I never know the day of the mo[n]th but by chance I put here that this is the 24'h September. I would wish you here to stop your ears, for I have a word or two to say to your Wife - My dear sister, In the first place I must quarrel with you for sending me such a shabby sheet of paper - though that is in some degree made up for by the beautiful impress[i]on of the seal. You should like to know what I was doing - The first of May - let me see - I cannot recollect. I have all the Examiners ready to send - They will be a great treat to you when they reach you - I shall pack them up when my Business with Abbey has come to a good conclusion and the remittance is on the road to you - I have dealt round your best wishes to our friends, like a pack of cards but being always given to cheat, myself, I have turned up ace. You see I am making game of you. I see you are not all all happy in that America. England however would not be over happy for us if you were here. Perpaps 'twould be better to be teased herre than there. I must preach patience to you both. No step hasty or injurious to you must be taken. Your observation on the moschetos gives me great pleasure T is excessively poetical and humane. You say let one large sheet be all to me: You will find more than that in diffrent parts of this packet for you. Certainly I have been caught in rains. A Catch in the rain occasioned my last sore throat - but As for red-hair'd girls upon my word I do not recollect ever having seen one - Are you quizzing me or Miss Waldegrave when you talk of promenading. As for Pun-making I wish it was as good a trade as pin-making-there is very little business of that sort going on now. We struck for wages like the manchester we[a]vers - but to no purpose - so we are all out of employ - I am more lucky than some you see by having an oportunity of exporting a few - getting into a little foreign trade - which is a comfortable thing. I wish one could get change for a pun in silver currency. I would give three and a half any night to get into Drury-pit - But they wont ring at all. No more will notes you will say - but notes are differing things - though they make together a Pun mote -as the term goes. If I were your Son I shouldn't mind you, though you rapt me with the Scissars - But lord! I should be out of favor sin the little un be comm'd. You have made an Uncle of me, you have, and I don't know what to make of myself. I suppose next there'll be a Nevey. You say-in may last, write directly. I have not received your Letter above 10 days. The though[t] of you little girl puts me in mind of a thing I heard a Mr Lamb say. A child in a[r]ms was passing by his chair toward the mother, in the nurses a[r]ms - Lamb took hold of the long clothes saying "Where, god bless me, Where does it leave off?" Saturday. If you would prefer a joke or two to any thing else I have too for you fresh hatchd. just ris ris as the Baker's wives say by the rolls. The first I play'd off at Brown - the second I play'd on on myself. Brown when he left me "Keats! says he "my good fellow (staggering upon his left heel, and fetching an irregular pirouette with his right) Keats says he (depressing his left eyebrow and elevating his right one «tho by the way, at the moment, I did not know which was the right one» Keats says he (still in the same posture but forthermore both his hands in his waistcoat pockets and jutting out his stomach) "Keats-my-go-o-ood fell o-o-o-ooh! says he (inter-larding his exclamation with certain ventriloquial parentheses) - no this is all a lie - He was as sober as a Judge when a judge happens to be sober; and said "Keats, if any Letters come for me - Do not forward them, but open them and give me the marrow of them in few words. At the time when I wrote my first to him no letters had arrived - I thought I would invent one, and as I had not time to manufacture a long one I dabbed off as [for a] short one - and that was the reason of the joke succeeding beyond my expectations. Brown let his house to a Mr Benjamin a Jew. Now the water which furnishes the house is in a tank sided with a composition of lime and the lime imp[r]egnates the water unpleasantly - Taking advantage of this circumstance I pretended that Mr Benjamin had written the following short note - "Sir. By drinking your damn'd tank water I have got the gravel - what reparation can you make to me and my family? Nathan Benjamin" By a fortunate hit, I hit upon his right he[a]then name - his right Pronomen. Brown in consequence it appears wrote to the surprised Mr Benjamin the following "Sir, I cannot offer you any remuneration until your gravel shall have formed itself into a Stone when I will cut you with Pleasure. C. Brown" This of Browns Mr Benjamin has answered insisting on an explatinon [for explanation] of this singular circumstance. B. says "when I read your Letter and his following I roared, and in came  Mr Snook who on reading them seem'd likely to burst the hoops of his fat sides - so the Joke has told well - Now for the one I played on myself - I must first give you the scene and the dramatis Personæ - There are an old M[a]jor and his youngish wife live in the next apartments to me - His bed room door opens at an angle with my sitting room door. Yesterday I was reading as demurely as a Parish Clerk when I heard a rap at the door - I got up and opened it-no one was to be seen - I listened and heard some one in the Major's room - Not content with this I went up stairs and down look'd in the cubboards - and watch'd - At last I set myself to read again not quite so demurely - then there came a louder rap - I arose determin'd to find out who it was - I look out the Stair cases were all silent - "This must be the Major's wife said I - at all events I will see the truth" so I rapt me at the Major's door and went in to the utter surprise and confusion of the Lady who was in reality there - after a little explanation, which I can no more describe than fly, I made my retreat from her convinced of my mistake. She is to all appearance a silly body and is really surprised about it - She must have been - for I have discoverd that a little girt in the house was the Rappee - I assure you she has nearly make me sneeze. If the Lady tells tits I shall put a very grave and moral face on the matter with the old Gentleman, and make his little Boy a present of a humming top -

My Dear George - This Monday morning the 27th I have received your last dated July 12th You say you have not heard from England these three months - Then my Letter from Shanklin wr[i]tten I think at the end of July cannot have reach'd you. You shall not have cause to think I neglect you. I have kept this back a little time in expectation of hearing from Mr Abbey - You will say I might have remained in Town to be Abbey's messenger in these affairs. That I offer'd him - but he in his answer convinced me he was anxious to bring the Business to an issue - He observed that by being himself the agent in the whole, people might be more expeditious. You say you have not heard for th[r]ee mo[n]ths and yet you letters have the tone of knowing how our affairs are situated by which I conjecture I acquainted you with them in a Letter previous to the Shanklin one. That I may not have done. To be certain I will here state that it is in consequence of Mrs Jennings threatning a Chancery suit that you have been kept from the receipt of monies and myself deprived of any help from Abbey - I am glad you say you keep up your Spirits - I hope you make a true statement on that score - Still keep them up - for we are all young - I can only repeat here that you shall hear from me again immediately - Notwithstanding their bad intelligence I have experienced some pleasure in receiving so correctly two Letters from you, as it give[s] me if I may so say a distant Idea of Proximity. This last improves upon my litle niece - Kiss her for me. Do not fret yourself about the delay of money on account of any immediate opportunity being lost: for in a new country whoever has money must have opportunity of employing it in many ways. The report runs now more in favor of Kean stopping in England. If he should I have confident hopes of our Tragedy - If he smokes the hotblooded character of Ludolph - and he is the only actor that can do it - He will add to his own fame, and improve my fortune - I will give you a half dozen lines of it before I part as a specimen --
"Not as a Swordsman would I pardon crave,
But as a Son: the bronz'd Centurion
Long-toil'd in foreign wars, and whose high deeds
Are shaded in a forest of tall spears,
Known only to his troop, hath greater plea
Of favour with my Sire than I can have--"
Believe me my dear brother and Sister -

Your affectionate and anxious Brother
John Keats
 

Notes:  The American naturalist John James Audubon had swindled George.

Keats's Letters

To Fanny Brawne, 11 October 1819

 
  Recipient:  Fanny Brawne (1800-1865) was first Keats's neighbor and later his fiancée.  The eldest child of a widowed mother, she at first perplexed and exasperated the poet.  They fell in love, though Keats's friends were against the match.

 
Introduction:  Keats's letters to Fanny Brawne are among the most famous love letters ever written.  As next door neighbors, they exchanged numerous short notes, and occasionally more passionate ones.  None of Fanny's letters to Keats survive.  From his, however, it seems he was often unsettled by her behavior and uncertain of her affection.  His illness brought them closer; when he left for Rome, they were engaged and deeply in love.

College Street -

My sweet Girl,

I am living to day in yesterday: I was in a complete fa[s]cination all day.  I feel myself at your mercy.  Write me ever so few lines and tell you [for me] you will never for ever be less kind to me than yesterday - You dazzled me - There is nothing in the world so bright and delicate - When Brown came out with that seemingly true story again[ s]t me last night, I felt it would be death to me if you had ever believed it - though against anyone else I could muster up my obstinacy - Before I knew Brown could disprove it I was for the moment miserable.  When shall we pass a day alone?  I have had a thousand kisses, for which with my whole soul I thank love - but if you should deny me the thousand and first - 't would put me to the proof how great a misery I could live through.  If you should ever carry your threat yesterday into execution - believe me 't is not my pride, my vanity or any petty passion would torment me - really 't would hurt my - heart - I could not bear it - I have seen Mrs Dilke this morning - she says she will come with me any fine day-

Ever yours
John Keats

Ah hertè mine!

 


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:  Keats wrote this letter from College Street in Westminster.  Ah hertè mine! is taken from Chaucer's Troilus and Cressida.
 

Keats's Letters

To Fanny Brawne, 13 October 1819

 
Recipient:  Fanny Brawne (1800-1865) was first Keats's neighbor and later his fiancée.  The eldest child of a widowed mother, she at first perplexed and exasperated the poet.  They fell in love, though Keats's friends were against the match.
 
Introduction:  Keats's letters to Fanny Brawne are among the most famous love letters ever written.  As next door neighbors, they exchanged numerous short notes, and occasionally more passionate ones.  None of Fanny's letters to Keats survive.  From his, however, it seems he was often unsettled by her behavior and uncertain of her affection.  His illness brought them closer; when he left for Rome, they were engaged and deeply in love.


25 College Street

My dearest Girl,

This moment I have set myself to copy some verses out fair.  I cannot proceed with any degree of content.  I must write you a line or two and see if that will assist in dismissing you from my Mind for ever so short a time.  Upon my Soul I can think of nothing else - The time is passed when I had power to advise and warn you again[s]t the unpromising morning of my Life - My love has made me selfish.  I cannot exist without you - I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again - my Life seems to stop there - I see no further.  You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving - I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you.  I should be afraid to separate myself far from you.  My sweet Fanny, will your heart never change?  My love, will it?  I have no limit now to my love - You note came in just here - I cannot be happier away from you - 'T is richer than an Argosy of Pearles.  Do not threat me even in jest. I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion - I have shudder'd at it - I shudder no more - I could be martyr'd for my Religion - Love is my religion - I could die for that - I could die for you.  My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet - You have ravish'd me away by a Power I cannot resist: and yet I could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I have endeavoured often "to reason against the reasons of my Love."  I can do that no more - the pain would be too great - My Love is selfish - I cannot breathe without you.

Yours for ever
John Keats

Notes:  Keats quotes from Ford's 'Tis Pity She's a Whore.