Be as happy as you can, and believe me, dear brother and sister, your anxious and affectionate brother,

This is my birthday.

JOHN.

No. 12.

DECEMBER, 1818.

MY DEAR BROther and Sister :

You will have been prepared before this reaches you for the worst news you could hear; 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 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 VOL. I.

7

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 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 more 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 same manner, and the more when I tell you that I shall read a page of Shakspeare every Sunday at ten o'clock: you read one at the same time, and we shall be as

near each other as blind bodies can be in the same room.

Thursday. This morning is very fine. What are you doing this morning? Have you a clear hard frost as we have? How do you come on with the gun? Have you shot a buffalo? Have you met with any pheasants? My thoughts are frequently in a foreign country. I live more out of England than in it. The mountains of Tartary are a favourite lounge, if I happen to miss the Alleghany ridge or have no whim for Savoy. There must be great pleasure in pursuing game-pointing your gunno, it won't do— now -no— rabbit it—now, bang -smoke and feathers - where is it? Shall you be able to get a good pointer or so? Now I am not addressing myself to G. Minor-and yet I am, for you are one. Have you some warm furs? By your next letter I shall expect to hear exactly how you get on; smother nothing; let us have all-fair and foul-all plain. Will the little bairn have made his entrance before you have this? Kiss it for me, and when it can first know a cheese from a caterpillar show it my picture twice a week. You will be glad to hear that Gifford's attack upon me has done me service-it has got my book among several sets. Nor must I forget to mention once more, what I suppose Haslam has told you, the present of a £25 note I had anonymously sent me. Another pleasing circumstance I may mention, on the authority of Mr. Neville, to whom I sent a copy of "Endymion." It was lying on his cousin's table, where it had been seen by one of the Misses Porter

See p.55-56.

(of romance celebrity), who expressed a wish to read it. After having dipped into it, in a day or two she returned it, accompanied by the following letter:

"DEAR SIR:

"As my brother is sending a messenger to Esher, I cannot but make the same the bearer of my regrets for not having had the pleasure of seeing you the morning you called at the gate. I had given orders to be denied, I was so very unwell with my still adhesive cold; but had I known it was you, I should have broken off the interdict for a few minutes, to say how very much I am delighted with 'Endymion.' I had just finished the poem, and have now done as you permitted lent it to Miss Fitzgerald.

"I regret you are not personally acquainted with the author, for I should have been happy to have acknowledged to him, through the advantage of your communication, the very rare delight my sister and myself have enjoyed from this first fruits of his genius. I hope the ill-natured review will not have damped such true Parnassian fire. It ought not, for when life is granted to the possessor it always burns its brilliant way through every obstacle. Had Chatterton possessed sufficient manliness of mind to know the magnanimity of patience, and been aware that great talents have a commission from heaven, he would not have deserted his post, and his name might have paged with Milton. "Ever much yours,

"DITTON COTTAGE, Dec. 4, 1818.

"To H. NEVILLE, Esq., Esher."

"JANE PORTER.

Now I feel more obliged than flattered by this so obliged, that I will not at present give you an extravaganza of a Lady Romance. I will be introduced to them first, if it be merely for the pleasure of writing you about them. Hunt has

asked me to meet Tom Moore, so you shall hear of him also some day.

I am passing a quiet day, which I have not done for a long time; and if I do continue so, I feel I must begin again with my poetry, for if I am not in action, mind or body, I am in pain, and from that I suffer greatly by going into parties, when, from the rules of society and a natural pride, I am obliged to smother my spirits and look like an idiot, because I feel my impulses, if given way to, would too much amaze them. I live under an everlasting restraint, never relieved except when I am composing, so I will write away.

Friday. I think you knew before you left England that my next subject would be the "Fall of Hyperion." I went on a little with it last night, but it will take some time to get in the vein again. I will not give you any extracts, because I wish the whole to make an impression. I have, however, a few poems which you will like, and I will copy them out on the next sheet. I will write to Haslam this morning to know when the next packet sails, and till it does I will write something every day. After that my journal shall go on like clock-work, and you must not complain of its dulness; for what I wish is to write a quantity to you, knowing well that dulness itself from me will be instructing to you. You may conceive how this, not having been done, has weighed upon me. I shall be better able to judge from your next what sort of information will be of most service or amusement to you.

Perhaps, as you are fond of giving me sketches of characters, you may like a little pic-nic of scandal