answer it! Where shall I find, in my poor brain, such gibes, such jeers, such flashes of merriment? Alas! you will say, as you read me, Alas! poor Brown! quite chop fallen! But that's not true; my chops have been beautifully plumped out since I came here: my dinners have been good & nourishing, & my inside never washed by a red herring broth. Then my mind has been so happy! I have been smiled on by the fair ones, the Lacy's, the Prices, & the Mullings's, but not by the Richards's; Old Dicky has not called here during my visit,-I have not seen him; the whole of the family are shuffling to carriage folks for acquaintances, cutting their old friends, and dealing out pride & folly, while we allow they have got the odd trick, but dispute their honours. I was determined to be beforehand with them, & behaved cavalierly & neglectingly to the family, & passed the girls in Havant with a slight bow.-Keats is much better, owing to a strict forbearance from a third glass of wine. He & I walked from Chichester yesterday, we were here at 3, but the Dinner was finished; a brace of Muir fowl had been dressed; I ate a piece of the breast cold, & it was not tainted; I dared not venture further. Mr. Snook was nearly turned sick by being merely asked to take a mouthful. The other brace was so high, that the cook declined preparing them for the spit, & they were thrown away. I see your husband declared them to be in excellent order; I suppose he enjoyed them in a disgusting manner,—sucking the rotten flesh off the bones, & crunching the putrid bones. Did you eat any? I hope not, for an ooman should be delicate in her food.—O you Jezabel! to sit quietly in your room, while the thieves were ransacking my house! No doubt poor Ann's throat was cut; has the Coroner sat on her yet?—Mrs. Snook says she knows how to hold a

pen very well, & wants no lessons from me; only think of the vanity of the coman! She tells me to make honourable mention of your letter which she received at Breakfast time, but how can I do so? I have not read it ; & I'll lay my life it is not a tenth part so good as mine,-pshaw on your letter to her !—On Tuesday night I think you'll see me. In the mean time I'll not say a word about spasms in the way of my profession, tho' as your friend I must profess myself very sorry. Keats & I are going to call on Mr. Butler & Mr. Burton this morning, & to-morrow we shall go to Sanstead to see Mr. Way's Chapel consecrated by the two Big-wigs of Gloucester & St. Davids. If that vile Carver & Gilder does not do me justice, I'll annoy him all his life with legal expences at every quarter, if my rent is not sent to the day, & that will not be revenge enough for the trouble & confusion he has put me to.-Mrs. Dilke is remarkably well for Mrs. Dilke in winter.-Have you heard any thing of John Blagden; he is off! want of business has made him play the fool,--I am sorry—that Brown and you are getting so very witty-my modest feathered Pen frizzles like baby roast beef at making its entrance among such tantrum sentences-or rather ten senses. Brown super

or supper sir named the Sleek has been getting thinner a little by pining opposite Miss Muggins-(Brown says Mullins but I beg leave to differ from him)-we sit it out till ten o'Clock-Miss M. has persuaded Brown to shave his whiskers he came down to Breakfast like the sign of the full Moon-his Profile is quite alter'd. He looks more like an oman than I ever could think it possible-and on putting on Mrs. D's Calash the deception was complete especially as his voice is trebled by making love in the

1 Mrs. Dilke of Chichester, the mother of Keats's friend.

draught of a doorway. I too am metamorphosed—a young oman here in Bed hampton has over persuaded me to wear my shirt collar up to my eyes. Mrs. Snook I catch smoaking it every now and then and I believe Brown does but I cannot now look sideways. Brown wants to scribble more so I will finish with a marginal note-Viz. Remember me to Wentworth Place and Elm Cottage-not forgetting Millamaut—

Your's if possible

J. Keats

This is abominable! I did but go up stairs to put on a clean & starched handkerchief, & that overweening rogue read my letter & scrawled over one of my sheets, and given him a counterpain,-I wish I could blank-it Į k

all over and beat him with a certain rod, & have a fresh one bolstered up, Ah! he may dress me as he

likes but he shan't tickle me pillow the feathers,—I would not give a tester for such puns, let us ope brown Ferratum a large a Bumble B.) will go no further in the Bedroom & not call Mat Snook a relation to Mattrass--- This is grown to a conclusion-I had excellent puns in my head but one bad one from Brown has quite upset me but I am quite set-up for more, but I'm content to be conqueror. Your's in love,

Cha'. Brown.

N.B. I beg leaf [sic] to withdraw all my Puns-they

are all wash, an base uns.

LXXXIV.

To GEORGE AND GEORGIANA KEATS.

My dear Brother and Sister,

[1818-19.]

You will have been prepared, before this reaches you, for the worst news you could have, nay, if Haslam's letter arrived in proper time, I have a consolation in thinking the first shock will be passed before you receive this. The last days of poor Tom were of the most distressing nature; but his last moments were not so painful, and his very last was without a pang. I will not enter into any parsonic comments on death. Yet the commonest observations of the commonest people on death are true as their proverbs. I have a firm belief in immortality, and so had Tom.

During poor Tom's illness I was not able to write, and since his death the task of beginning has been a hindrance to me. Within this last week I have been everywhere, and I will tell you, as nearly as possible, how I go on. I am going to domesticate with Brown, that is, we shall

Lord Houghton places the following paragraph before this letter :— "The journal-letters to his brother and sister in America are the best records of his outer existence. I give them in their simplicity, being assured that thus they are best. They are full of a genial life which will be understood and valued by all to whom a book of this nature presents any interest whatever: and, when it is remembered how carelessly they are written, how little the writer ever dreamt of their being redeemed from the far West or exposed to any other eyes than those of the most familiar affection, they become a mirror in which the individual character is shown with indisputable truth, and from which the fairest judgment of his very self can be drawn." I presume this instalment belongs to December 1818 and January

keep house together. I shall have the front-parlour, and he the back one, by which I shall avoid the noise of Bentley's children, and be able to go on with my studies, which have been greatly interrupted lately, so that I have not the shadow of an idea of a book in my head, and my pen seems to have grown gouty for verse. How are you going on now? The going on of the world makes me dizzy. There you are with Birkbeck, here I am with Brown; sometimes I imagine an immense separation, and sometimes, as at present, a direct communication of spirit with you. That will be one of the grandeurs of immortality. There will be no space, and consequently the only commerce between spirits will be by their intelligence of each other-when they will completely understand each other, while we, in this world, merely comprehend each other in different degrees; the higher the degree of good, so higher is our Love and Friendship. I have been so little used to writing lately that I am afraid you will not smoke my meaning, so I will give you an example. Suppose Brown, or Haslam, or any one else, whom I understand in the next degree to what I do you, were in America, they would be so much the further from me in proportion as their identity was less' impressed upon me. Now the reason why I do not feel, at the present moment, so far from you, is that I remember your ways, and manners, and actions; I know your manner of thinking, your manner of feeling; I know what shape your joy or your sorrow would take; I know the manner of your walking, standing, sauntering, sitting down, laughing, punning, and every action, so truly that you seem near to me. You will remember me in the

'Lord Houghton gives the word more in this place; but less must clearly be what Keats meant to write.