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letter tell me whether I gave it as my own, or whether I gave it as a matter Brown was employed upon at the time. He read it over to George the other day, and George said he had heard it all before. So Brown suspects I have been giving you his story as my own. I should like to set him right in it by your evidence. George has not returned from town; when he does I shall tax his memory. We had a young, long, raw, lean Scotchman with us yesterday, callid Thornton. Rice, for fun or for mistake, would persist in calling him Stevenson. I know three people of no wit at all, each distinct in his excellence - A, B, and C. A is the coolishest, B the sultriest, C is a negative. A makes you yawn, B makes you hate; as for C, you never see him, though he is six feet high. I bear the first, I forbear the second, I am not certain that the third is. The first is gruel, the second ditch-water, the third is spilt — he ought to be wip'd up. A is inspired by Jack-o'-the-clock, B has been drilled by a Russian sargeant; C, they say, is not his mother's true child, but she bought him of the man who cries, “Young lambs to sell.” Twang-dillo-dee. This, you must know, is the amen to nonsense. I know a good many places where amen should be scratched out, rubbed over with ponce made of Momus's little finger bones, and in its place Twang-dillodee written. This is the word I shall be tempted to write at the end of most modern poems. Every American book ought to have it. It would be a good distinction in society. My Lords Wellington and Castlereagh, and Canning, and many more, would do well to wear Twang-dillo-dee written on their backs, instead of wearing ribbons in their button-holes. How many people would go sideways along walls and quickset hedges to keep their “Twang-dillo-dee" out of sight, or wear large pigtails to hide it. However, there would be so many that the Twang-dillo-dees would keep one another in countenance — which Brown cannot do for me. I have fallen away lately. Thieves and murderers would gain rank in the world, for would any one of them have the poorness of spirit to condescend to be a Twang-dillo-dee? “I have robbed many a dwelling-house; I have killed many a fowl, many a goose, and many a Man (would such a gentleman say), but, thank Heaven, I was never yet a Twang-dillo-dee.” Some philosophers in the moon, who spy at our globe as we do at theirs, say that Twang-dillo-dee is written in large letters on our globe of earth; they say the beginning of the “T” is just on the spot where London stands, London being built within the flourish; “wan” reaches downward and slants as far as Timbuctoo in Africa; the tail of the “g" goes slap across the Atlantic into the Rio della Plata; the remainder of the letters wrap around New Holland, and the last "e" terminates in land we have not yet discovered. However, I must be silent; these are dangerous times to libel a man in – much more a world.

I will send you a close written sheet on the first of next month; but for fear of missing the mail, I must finish here. God bless you, my dear sister. Your affectionate brother,





No. 1.


Your letter has filled me with a proud pleasure,
and shall be kept by me as a stimulus to exertion.
I begin to fix my eyes on an horizon. My feelings
entirely fall in with yours with regard to the ellip-
sis, and I glory in it. The idea of your sending it
to Wordsworth* puts me out of breath-you know
with what reverence I would send my well-wishes
to him.

Yours sincerely,

John Keats. regard to tecatis opinion of Wordsworth, see tega, f. 143

No. 2.


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

125 the Heay don scenes to have been to him a wire are a ptakeut conseller, arcan to have turrutagee hime to brace hie ponora by undictracted sturch, while he advice a hire to be resoudon for a war and lake rune care of his health. The following hole writter in March 18m chons leat Keter as he was re-norocoured

pointed out how necessary it is that I should be alone to improve myself, they give up the temporary pleasure of being 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 sofas — banish wine — banish music; but right Jack Health, honest Jack Health, true Jack Health. Banish Health and banish all the world. Your sincere friend,


No. 3.


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

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