them, I cannot in thought help wishing, as did the cruel Emperor, 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 Mr. 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 o' Lantern to amuse whoever may chance to be struck with its brilliance. As tradesmen say everything 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 things may at least be thus real, divided under three heads-Things real-things semireal-and nothings. Things real, such as existences of Sun moon and Stars— and passages of Shakspeare.-Things semireal, such as love, the Clouds etc., which require a greeting of the Spirit to make them wholly exist-and Nothings, which are made great and dignified by an ardent pursuitwhich, by the by, stamp the Burgundy mark on the bottles of our minds, insomuch as they are able to consecrate whate'er they look upon." I have written a sonnet here of a somewhat collateral nature-so don't imagine it an apropos des bottes ".

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of Man :
He hath his lusty Spring, when Fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:

He has 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

G

And havens of repose, when his tired wings
Are folded up, and he content to look1
On Mists in idleness-to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his winter too of Pale misfeature,

Or else he would forego 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 everything 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 catgut strings to his lyre, used a cat's paw as a pecten-and further from said Pecten's reiterated and continual teasing came the term hen-pecked. My Brother Tom desires to be remembered to you; he has just this moment had a spitting of blood, poor fellow— Remember me to Gleig and Whitehead.

Your affectionate friend

JOHN KEATS.

XLII. -TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS.

Teignmouth, Saturday [March 14, 1818].

Dear Reynolds-I escaped being blown over and blown under and trees and house being toppled on me.-I have since hearing of Brown's accident had an aversion to a dose of parapet, and being also a lover of antiquities

1 The five lines ending here Keats afterwards re-cast, doubtless in order to get rid of the cockney rhyme "ports" and "thoughts."

and

I would sooner have a harmless piece of Herculaneum sent me quietly as a present than ever so modern a chimney-pot tumbled on to my head-Being agog to see some Devonshire, I would have taken a walk the first day, but the rain would not let me; and the second, but the rain would not let me; and the third, but the rain forbade it. Ditto 4-ditto 5—ditto- so I made up my Mind to stop indoors, and catch a sight flying between the showers and, behold I saw a pretty valley-pretty cliffs, pretty Brooks, pretty Meadows, pretty trees, both standing as they were created, and blown down as they are uncreated-The green is beautiful, as they say, pity it is that it is amphibious-mais! but alas! the flowers here wait as naturally for the rain twice a day as the Mussels do for the Tide; so we look upon a brook in these parts as you look upon a splash in your Country. There must be something to support this-aye, fog, hail, snow, rain, Mist blanketing up three parts of the year. This Devonshire is like Lydia Languish, very entertaining when it smiles, but cursedly subject to sympathetic moisture. You have the sensation of walking under one great Lamplighter and you can't go on the other side of the ladder to keep your frock clean, and cosset your superstition. Buy a girdle-put a pebble in your mouthloosen your braces-for I am going among scenery whence I intend to tip you the Damosel Radcliffe-I'll cavern you, and grotto you, and waterfall you, and wood you, and water you, and immense-rock you, and tremendous-sound you, and solitude you. I'll make a lodgment on your glacis by a row of Pines, and storm your covered way with bramble Bushes. I'll have at you with hip and haw small-shot, and cannonade you with Shingles-I'll be witty upon salt-fish, and impede your cavalry with clotted cream. But ah Coward! to talk at this rate to a sick man, or, I hope, to one that was sick-for I hope by this you stand on your right foot. If you are not-that's all,

-I intend to cut all sick people if they do not make up their minds to cut Sickness-a fellow to whom I have a

complete aversion, and who strange to say is harboured and countenanced in several houses where I visit he is sitting now quite impudent between me and Tom-He insults me at poor Jem Rice's—and you have seated him before now between us at the Theatre, when I thought he looked with a longing eye at poor Kean. I shall say, once for all, to my friends generally and severally, cut that fellow, or I cut you—

I went to the Theatre here the other night, which I forgot to tell George, and got insulted, which I ought to remember to forget to tell any Body; for I did not fight, and as yet have had no redress-"Lie thou there, sweetheart!" I wrote to Bailey yesterday, obliged to speak in a high way, and a damme who's afraid-for I had owed him so long; however, he shall see I will be better in future. Is he in town yet? I have directed to Oxford as the better chance. I have copied my fourth Book, and shall write the Preface soon. I wish it was all done; for I want to forget it and make my mind free for something new-Atkins the Coachman, Bartlett the Surgeon, Simmons the Barber, and the Girls over at the Bonnetshop, say we shall now have a month of seasonable weather-warm, witty, and full of invention-Write to me and tell me that you are well or thereabouts, or by the holy Beaucœur, which I suppose is the Virgin Mary, or the repented Magdalen (beautiful name, that Magdalen), I'll take to my Wings and fly away to anywhere but old or Nova Scotia-I wish I had a little innocent bit of Metaphysic in my head, to criss-cross the letter: but you know a favourite tune is hardest to be remembered when one wants it most and you, I know, have long ere this taken it for granted that I never have any speculations without associating you in them, where they are of a pleasant nature, and you know enough of me to tell the places where I haunt most, so that if you think for five minutes after having read this, you 1 And, sweetheart, lie thou there":-Pistol (to his sword) in Henry IV., Part 2, II. iv.

will find it a long letter, and see written in the Air above you,

Your most affectionate friend

JOHN KEATS.

Remember me to all. Tom's remembrances to you.

XLIII.-TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

Teignmouth, Saturday Morn [March 21, 1818]. My dear Haydon-In sooth, I hope you are not too sanguine about that seal-in sooth I hope it is not Brumidgeum-in double sooth I hope it is his—and in triple sooth I hope I shall have an impression.1 Such a piece of intelligence came doubly welcome to me while in your own County and in your own hand-not but I have blown up the said County for its urinal qualificationsthe six first days I was here it did nothing but rain; and at that time having to write to a friend I gave Devonshire a good blowing up-it has been fine for almost three days, and I was coming round a bit; but to-day it rains again—with me the County is yet upon its good behaviour. I have enjoyed the most delightful Walks these three fine days beautiful enough to make me con

tent.

Here all the summer could I stay,

For there's Bishop's teign

And King's teign

And Coomb at the clear teign head-
Where close by the stream

You may have your cream
All spread upon barley bread.

There's arch Brook

And there's larch Brook
Both turning many a mill;

And cooling the drouth
Of the salmon's mouth,

And fattening his silver gill.

1 Replying to an ecstatic note of Haydon's about a seal with a true lover's knot and the initials W. S., lately found in a field at Stratford-on-Avon.