My Dear Lady, CVIII. To MISS JEFFREY. C. Brown Esqre's Wentworth Place-Hampstead— [Postmark, 31 May 1819.] I I was making a day or two ago a general conflagration of all old Letters and Memorandums, which had become of no interest to me-I made however, like the Barber-inquisitor in Don Quixote some reservations -among the rest your and your Sister's Letters. assure you you had not entirely vanished from my Mind, or even become shadows in my remembrance: it only needed such a memento as your Letters to bring you back to me. Why have I not written before? Why did I not answer your Honiton Letter? I had no good news for you-every concern of ours, (ours I wish I could say) and still I must say ours-though George is in America and I have no Brother left. Though in the midst of my troubles I had no relation except my young sister-I have had excellent friends. M' B. at whose house I now am, invited me,-I have been with him ever since. I could not make up my mind to let you know these things. Nor should I now-but see what a little interest will do -I want you to do me a Favor; which I will first ask and then tell you the reasons. Enquire in the Villages round Teignmouth if there is any Lodging commodious for its cheapness; and let me know where it is and what price. I have the choice as it were of two Poisons (yet I ought not to call this a Poison) the one is voyaging to and from India for a few years; the other is leading a fevrous life alone with Poetry-This latter will suit me best; for I cannot resolve to give up my Studies. It strikes me it would not be quite so proper for you to make such inquiries-so give my love to your Mother and ask her to do it. Yes, I would rather conquer my indolence and strain my nerves at some grand Poemthan be in a dunderheaded indiaman. Pray let no one in Teignmouth know any thing of this. Fanny must by this time have altered her name-perhaps you have also are you all alive? Give my Compts to Mrs your Sister. I have had good news, (tho' 'tis a queerish world in which such things are call'd good) from George -he and his wife are well. I will tell you more soon. Especially don't let the Newfoundland fishermen know it-and especially no one else. I have been always till now almost as careless of the world as a fly-my troubles were all of the Imagination-My Brother George always stood between me and any dealings with the world. Now I find I must buffet it-I must take my stand upon some vantage ground and begin to fight -I must choose between despair and Energy—I choose the latter-though the world has taken on a quakerish look with me, which I once thought was impossible 'Nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass and glory in the flower.' I once thought this a Melancholist's dream But why do I speak to you in this manner? No believe me I do not write for a mere selfish purpose-the manner in which I have written of myself will convince you. I do not do so to Strangers. I have not quite made up my mind. Write me on the receipt of this-and again at your Leisure; between whiles you shall hear from me again— Your sincere friend Z CIX. To MISS JEFFREY. My Dear young Lady, Wentworth Place. [Postmark, 9 June 1819.] I am exceedingly obliged by your two letters— Why I did not answer your first immediately was that I have had a little aversion to the South of Devon from the continual remembrance of my Brother Tom. On that account I do not return to my old Lodgings in Hampstead though the people of the house have become friends of mine-This however I could think nothing of, it can do no more than keep one's thoughts employed for a day or two. I like your description of Bradley very much and I dare say shall be there in the course of the summer; it would be immediately but that a friend with ill health and to whom I am greatly attached call'd on me yesterday and proposed my spending a Month with him at the back of the Isle of Wight. This is just the thing at present the morrow will take care of itself-I do not like the name of Bishop's Teigntown-I hope the road from Teignmouth to Bradley does not lie that way-Your advice about the Indiaman is a very wise advice, because it just suits me, though you are a little in the wrong concerning its destroying the energies of Mind: on the contrary it would be the finest thing in the world to strengthen them-To be thrown among people who care not for you, with whom you have no sympathies forces the Mind upon its own resources, and leaves it free to make its speculations of the differences of human character and to class them with the calmness of a Botanist. An Indiaman is a little world. One of the great reasons that the English have produced the finest writers in the world is, that the English world has illtreated them during their lives and foster'd them after their deaths. They have in general been trampled aside into the bye paths of life and seen the festerings of Society. They have not been treated like the Raphaels of Italy. And where is the Englishman and Poet who has given a magnificent Entertainment at the christening of one of his Hero's Horses as Boyardo did? He had a Castle in the Appenine. He was a noble Poet of Romance; not a miserable and mighty Poet of the human Heart. The middle age of Shakspeare was all c[1]ouded over; his days were not more happy than Hamlet's who is perhaps more like Shakspeare himself in his common every day Life than any other of his Characters-Ben Johnson [sic] was a common Soldier and in the Low countries, in the face of two armies, fought a single combat with a french Trooper and slew him-For all this I will not go on board an Indiaman, nor for example's sake run my head into dark alleys: I dare say my discipline is to come, and plenty of it too. I have been very idle lately, very averse to writing; both from the overpowering idea of our dead poets and from abatement of my love of fame. I hope I am a little more of a Philosopher than I was, consequently a little less of a versifying Pet-lamb. no more in Print or you should have had it. judge of my 1819 temper when I tell you that the thing I have most enjoyed this year has been writing an ode to Indolence. Why did you not make your long-haired sister put her great brown hard fist to paper and cross your Letter? Tell her when you write again that I expect chequer-work-My friend Mr. Brown is sitting opposite me employed in writing a Life of David. He reads me passages as he writes them stuffing my infidel mouth as though I were a young rook-Infidel Rooks do I have put not provender with Elisha's Ravens. If he goes on as he has begun your new Church had better not proceed, for parsons will be superseeded [sic]-and of course the Clerks must follow. Give my love to your Mother with the assurance that I can never forget her anxiety for my Brother Tom. Believe also that I shall ever remember our leave-taking with you. Ever sincerely yours John Keats. CX. To FANNY KEATS. My dear Fanny, man; Wentworth Place. [Postmark, 9 June 1819.] I shall be with you next monday at the farthest. I could not keep my promise of seeing you again in a week because I am in so unsettled a state of mind about what I am to do-I have given up the Idea of the IndiaI cannot resolve to give up my favorite studies: so I purpose to retire into the Country and set my Mind at work once more. A Friend of Mine who has an ill state of health' called on me yesterday and proposed to spend a little time with him at the back of the Isle of Wight where he said we might live very cheaply. I agreed to his proposal. I have taken a great dislike to Town-I never go there-some one is always calling on me and as we have spare beds they often stop a couple of days. I have written lately to some acquaintances in |