thus he found himself on his first entrance into manhood thrown on the world almost without the means of daily subsistence, but with many friends interested in his fortunes, and with the faith in the future which generally accompanies the highest genius. Mr. Haydon seems to have been to him a wise and prudent counsellor, and to have encouraged him to brace his powers by undistracted study, while he advised him to leave London for awhile, and take more care of his health. The following note, written in March, shows that Keats did as he was recommended :

MY DEAR REYNOLDS,

:

My brothers are anxious that I should go by myself into the country; they have always been extremely fond of me, and now that Haydon has pointed out how necessary it is that I should be alone to improve myself, they give up the temporary pleasure of living with me continually for a great good which I hope will follow; so I shall soon be out of town. You must soon bring all your present troubles to a close, and so must I, but we must, like the Fox, prepare for a fresh swarm of flies. Banish money-Banish sofasBanish wine-Banish music; but right Jack Health, honest Jack Health, true Jack Health. Banish Health and banish all the world.

Your sincere friend,

JOHN KEATS.

During his absence he wrote the following letters. The correspondence with Mr. Reynolds will form so considerable a portion of this volume, and will so distinctly enunciate the

invaluable worth of his friendship to Keats, that one can only regret that both portions of it are not preserved.*

CARISBROOKE,

April 17th, 1817.

MY DEAR REYNOLDS,

Ever since I wrote to my brother from Southampton, I have been in a taking, and at this moment I am about to become settled, for I have unpacked my books, put them into a snug corner, pinned up Haydon, Mary Queen [of] Scots, and Milton with his daughters in a row. In the passage I found a head of Shakspeare, which I had not before seen. It is most likely the same that George spoke so well of, for I like it extremely. Well, this head I have hung over my books, just above the three in a row, having first discarded a French Ambassador; now this alone is a good morning's work. Yesterday I went to Shanklin, which occasioned a great debate in my mind whether I should live there or at Carisbrooke. Shanklin is a most beautiful place; sloping wood and meadow ground reach round the Chine, which is a cleft between the cliffs, of the depth of nearly 300 feet at least. This cleft is filled with trees and bushes in the narrow part; and as it widens becomes bare, if it were not for primroses on one side, which spread to the very verge of

It is also to be lamented that Mr. Reynolds's own remarkable verse is not better known. Lord Byron speaks with praise of several pieces, and attributes some to Moore. "The Fancy," published

under the name of Peter Corcoran, and "The Garden of Florence," under that of John Hamilton, are full of merit, especially the former, to which is prefixed one of the liveliest specimens of fictitious biography I know.

the sea, and some fishermen's huts on the other, perched midway in the balustrades of beautiful green hedges along their steps down to the sands. But the sea, Jack, the sea, the little waterfall, then the white cliff, then St. Catherine's Hill, "the sheep in the meadows, the cows in the corn." Then why are you at Carisbrooke? say you. Because, in the first place, I should be at twice the expense, and three times the inconvenience; next, that from here I can see your continent from a little hill close by, the whole north angle of the Isle of Wight, with the water between us; in the third place, I see Carisbrooke Castle from my window, and have found several delightful wood-alleys, and copses, and quick freshes ; as for primroses, the Island ought to be called Primrose Island, that is, if the nation of Cowslips agree thereto, of which there are divers clans just beginning to lift up their heads. Another reason of my fixing is, that I am more in reach of the places around me. I intend to walk over the Island, east, west, north, south. I have not seen many specimens of ruins. I don't think, however, I shall ever see one to surpass Carisbrooke Castle. The trench is overgrown with the smoothest turf, and the walls with ivy. The Keep within side is one bower of ivy; a colony of jackdaws have been there for many years. I dare say I have seen many a descendant of some old cawer who peeped through the bars at Charles the First, when he was there in confinement. On the road from Cowes to Newport I saw some extensive Barracks, which disgusted me extremely with the Government for placing such a nest of debauchery in so beautiful a place. I asked a man on the coach about this, and he said that the people had been spoiled. In the room where I slept

at Newport, I found this on the window-"O Isle spoilt by the milatary!"

The wind is in a sulky fit, and I feel that it would be no bad thing to be the favourite of some Fairy, who would give one the power of seeing how our friends got on at a distance. I should like, of all loves, a sketch of you, and Tom, and George in ink which Haydon will do if you tell him how I want them. From want of regular rest I have been rather narvus, and the passage in Lear, "Do you not hear the sea!" has haunted me intensely.

It keeps eternal whisperings around

Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell
Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell
Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound.
Often 'tis in such gentle temper found,

That scarcely will the very smallest shell

Be moved for days from whence it sometime fell,
When last the winds of heaven were unbound.
Oh ye! who have your eye-balls vexed and tired,
Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea;
Oh ye! whose ears are dinn'd with uproar rude,
Or fed too much with cloying melody,-
Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood
Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quired!

I'll tell you what-on the 23rd was Shakespeare born. Now if I should receive a letter from you, and another from my brother on that day, 'twould be a parlous good thing. Whenever you write, say a word or two on some passage in Shakespeare that may have come rather new to you, which

must be continually happening, notwithstanding that we read the same play forty times-for instance, the following from the "Tempest" never struck me so forcibly as at present :

"Urchins

Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,

All exercise on thee."

How can I help bringing to your mind the line

"In the dark backward and abysm of time."

I

I find I cannot exist without Poetry—without eternal Poetry; I began with a little, but habit has made me a leviathan. had become all in a tremble from not having written anything of late the Sonnet over-leaf did me good; I slept the better last night for it; this morning, however, I am nearly as bad again. Just now I opened Spenser, and the first lines I saw were these

"The noble heart that harbours virtuous thought,

And is with child of glorious great intent,

Can never rest until it forth have brought
Th' eternal brood of glory excellent."

Let me know particularly about Haydon, ask him to write to me about Hunt, if it be only ten lines. I hope all is well. I shall forthwith begin my "Endymion," which I hope I shall have got some way into by the time you come, when we will read our verses in a delightful place, I have set my heart upon, near the Castle. Give my love to your sisters severally. Your sincere friend, JOHN KEATS.

VOL. I.

D