-sometimes appearing as one large Lake, sometimes as three distinct ones in different directions. At one point we saw afar off a rocky opening into the main sea.—We have also seen an Eagle or two. They move about without the least motion of Wings when in an indolent fit. I am for the first time in a country where a foreign Language is spoken-they gabble away Gælic at a vast rate-numbers of them speak English. There are not many Kilts in Argylshire-at Fort William they say a Man is not admitted into Society without one-the Ladies there have a horror at the indecency of Breeches. I cannot give you a better idea of Highland Life than by describing the place we are in. The Inn or public is by far the best house in the immediate neighbourhood. It has a white front with tolerable windows-the table I am writing on surprises me as being a nice flapped Mahogany one; at the same time the place has no watercloset nor any thing like it. You may if you peep see through the floor chinks into the ground rooms. The old Grandmother of the house seems intelligent though not over clean. N.B. No snuff being to be had in the village she made us some. The Guid Man is a rough looking hardy stout Man who I think does not speak so much English as the Guid wife who is very obliging and sensible and moreover though stockingless has a pair of old Shoes-Last night some Whisky Men sat up clattering Gælic till I am sure one o'clock to our great annoyance. There is a Gælic Testament on the Drawers in the next room. White and blue China ware has crept all about here-Yesterday there passed a Donkey laden with tin-pots-opposite the Window there are hills in a Mist-a few Ash trees and a mountain stream at a little distance.-They possess a few head of Cattle. If you had gone round to the back of the House just now-you would have seen more hills in a

Mist-some dozen wretched black Cottages scented of peat smoke which finds its way by the door or a hole in the roof—a girl here and there barefoot. There was one little thing driving Cows down a slope like a mad thing. There was another standing at the cowhouse door rather pretty fac'd all up to the ankles in dirt. We have walk'd 15 Miles in a soaking rain to Oban opposite the Isle of Mull which is so near Staffa-we had thought to pass to it--but the expense is 7 Guineas and those rather extorted. Staffa you see is a fashionable place and therefore every one concerned with it either in this town or the Island are what you call up. 'Tis like paying sixpence for an apple at the playhouse-this irritated me and Brown was not best pleased-we have therefore resolved to set northward for Fort William to-morrow morning. I fed upon a bit of white Bread to-day like a Sparrow-it was very fine-I cannot manage the cursed Oat Cake. Remember me to all and let me hear a good account of you at Inverness. I am sorry Georgy had not those lines. Good bye.

Your affectionate Brother

John

LXV.

TO BENJAMIN BAILEY.

My dear Bailey,

Inverary,

July 18 [1818].

The only day I have had a chance of seeing you when you were last in London I took every advantage of some devil led you out of the way. Now I have written to Reynolds to tell me where you will be in Cumberland—so that I cannot miss you. And when I

see you, the first thing I shall do will be to read that about Milton and Ceres, and Proserpine-yet though I am not going after you to John o' Grot's, it will be but poetical to say so. And here, Bailey, I will say a few words written in a sane and sober mind, a very scarce thing with me, for they may, hereafter, save you a great deal of trouble about me, which you do not deserve, and for which I ought to be bastinadoed. I carry all matters to an extreme-so that when I have any little vexation, it grows in five minutes into a theme for Sophocles. Then, and in that temper, if I write to any friend, I have so little self-possession that I give him matter for grieving, at the very time perhaps when I am laughing at a Pun. Your last letter made me blush for the pain I had given you I know my own disposition so well that I am certain of writing many times hereafter in the same strain to you-now, you know how far to believe in them. You must allow for Imagination. I know I shall not be able to help it.

I am sorry you are grieved at my not continuing my visits to Little Britain. Yet I think I have as far as a Man can do who has Books to read and subjects to think upon-for that reason I have been no where else except to Wentworth Place so nigh at hand-moreover I have been too often in a state of health that made it prudent not to hazard the night air. Yet, further, I will confess to you that I cannot enjoy Society small or numerous. I am certain that our fair friends are glad I should come for the mere sake of my coming; but I am certain I bring with me a vexation they are better without. If I can possibly at any time feel my temper coming upon me I refrain even from a promised visit. I am certain l have not a right feeling towards women-at this moment

Where the Reynolds family lived.

Is it

I am striving to be just to them, but I cannot. because they fall so far beneath my boyish Imagination? When I was a schoolboy I thought a fair woman a pure Goddess; my mind was a soft nest in which some one of them slept, though she knew it not. I have no right to expect more than their reality-I thought them ethereal above men-I find them perhaps equal-great by comparison is very small. Insult may be inflicted in more ways than by word or action. One who is tender of being insulted does not like to think an insult against another. I do not like to think insults in a lady's company-I commit a crime with her which absence would not have known. Is it not extraordinary ?-when among men, I have no evil thoughts, no malice, no spleen-I feel free to speak or to be silent-I can listen, and from every one I can learn-my hands are in my pockets, I am free from all suspicion and comfortable. When I am among women, I have evil thoughts, malice, spleenI cannot speak, or be silent-I am full of suspicions, and therefore listen to nothing-I am in a hurry to be gone. You must be charitable and put all this perversity to my being disappointed since my boyhood. Yet with such feelings I am happier alone among crowds of men, by myself, or with a friend or two. With all this, trust me, I have not the least idea that men of different feelings and inclinations are more short-sighted than myself. I never rejoiced more than at my Brother's marriage, and shall do so at that of any of my friends. I must absolutely get over this-but how? the only way is to find the root of the evil, and so cure it "with backward mutters of dissevering power"-that is a difficult thing; for an obstinate Prejudice can seldom be produced but from a gordian complication of feelings, which must take

1 See Milton's Comus (816-19).

N

time to unravel, and care to keep unravelled. I could say a good deal about this, but I will leave it, in hopes of better and more worthy dispositions—and also content that I am wronging no one, for after all I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not. You appeared to wish to know my moods on this subjectdon't think it a bore my dear fellow, it shall be my Amen. I should not have consented to myself these four months tramping in the highlands, but that I thought it would give me more experience, rub off more prejudice, use me to more hardship, identify finer scenes, load me with grander mountains, and strengthen more my reach in Poetry, than would stopping at home among books, even though I should reach Homer. By this time I am comparatively a Mountaineer. I have been among wilds and mountains too much to break out much about their grandeur. I have fed upon oat-cake-not long enough to be very much attached to it. The first mountains I saw, though not so large as some I have since seen, weighed very solemnly upon me. The effect is wearing away yet I like them mainly. We have come this evening' with a guide for without was impossible-into the middle of the Isle of Mull, pursuing our cheap journey to Iona, and perhaps Staffa. We would not follow the common and fashionable mode, from the great Imposition of Expense. We have come over heath and rock, and river and bog, to what in England would be called a horrid place. Yet it belongs to a Shepherd pretty well off perhaps. The family speak not a word but Gaelic, and we have not yet seen their faces for the smoke, which, after visiting every cranny (not excepting my eyes very much incommoded for writing), finds its

The 22nd of July 1818.