writing, which grows more and more upon me; and a greater to summon up circumstances before me of an unpleasant nature. I was not willing to trouble you with them. Could I have dated from my Palace of Milan you would have heard from me. Not even now will I mention a word of my affairs-only that "I Rab am here" but shall not be here more than a Week more, as I purpose to settle in Town and work my way with the rest. I hope I shall never be so silly as to injure my health and industry for the future by speaking, writing or fretting about my non-estate. I have no quarrel, I assure you, of so weighty a nature with the world, on my own account as I have on yours. I have done nothing—except for the amusement of a few people who refine upon their feelings till any thing in the ununder-standable way will go down with them-people predisposed for sentiment. I have no cause to complain because I am certain any thing really fine will in these days be felt. I have no doubt that if I had written Othello I should have been cheered by as good a mob as Hunt. So would you be now if the operation of painting was as universal as that of Writing. It is not: and therefore it did behove men I could mention among whom I must place Sir George Beaumont to have lifted you up above sordid cares. That this has not been done is a disgrace to the country. I know very little of Painting, yet your pictures follow me into the Country. When I am tired of reading I often think them over and as often condemn the spirit of modern Connoisseurs. Upon the whole, indeed, you have no complaint to make, being able to say what so few Men can, "I have succeeded." On sitting down to write a few lines to you. these are the uppermost in my mind, and, however I may be beating about the arctic while your spirit has passed the line, you may lay-to a minute and consider I am

earnest as far as I can see. Though at this present "I have great dispositions to write" I feel every day more and more content to read. Books are becoming more interesting and valuable to me. I may say I could not live without them. If in the course of a fortnight you can procure me a ticket to the British Museum I will make a better use of it than I did in the first instance. I shall go on with patience in the confidence that if I ever do any thing worth remembering the Reviewers will no more be able to stumble-block me than the Royal Academy could you. They have the same quarrel with you that the Scotch nobles had with Wallace. The fame they have lost through you is no joke to them. Had it not been for you Fuseli would have been not as he is major but maximus domo. What Reviewers can put a hindrance to must be a nothing-or mediocre which is worse. I am sorry to say that since I saw you I have been guilty of a practical joke upon Brown which has had all the success of an innocent Wildfire among people. Some day in the next week you shall hear it from me by word of Mouth. I have not seen the portentous Book which was skummer'd at you just as I left town. It may be light enough to serve you as a Cork Jacket and save you for awhile the trouble of swimming. I heard the Man went raking and rummaging about like any Richardson. That and the Memoirs of Menage are the first I shall be at. From Sr. G. B's, Lord Ms' and particularly Sr. John Leicesters good lord deliver us. I shall expect to see your Picture plumped out like a ripe Peach-you would not be very willing to give me a slice of it. I came to this place in the hopes of meeting with a Library but was disappointed. The High Street is as quiet as a Lamb. The

1 Sir George Beaumont and Lord Mulgrave.

knockers are dieted to three raps per diem. The walks about are interesting from the many old Buildings and archways. The view of the High Street through the Gate of the City in the beautiful September evening light has amused me frequently. The bad singing of the Cathedral I do not care to smoke-being by myself I am not very coy in my taste. At St. Cross there is an interesting picture of Albert Dürer's-who living in such warlike times perhaps was forced to paint in his Gauntlets so we must make all allowances.

I am my dear Haydon

Yours ever

John Keats

Brown has a few words to say to you and will cross

this.

CXXXIX.

To FANNY BRAWNE.

College Street.

[Postmark, 11 October 1819.]

My sweet Girl,

I am living today in yesterday: I was in a complete fascination all day. I feel myself at your mercy. Write me ever so few lines and tell me you will never for ever be less kind to me than yesterday. You dazzled me. There is nothing in the world so bright and deliWhen Brown came out with that seemingly true story against me last night, I felt it would be death to me if you ever had believed it-though against any one else I could muster up my obstinacy. Before I knew Brown could disprove it I was for the moment more

cate.

miserable. When shall we pass a day alone? I have had a thousand kisses, for which with my whole soul I thank love-but if you should deny me the thousand and first 'twould put me to the proof how great a misery I could live through. If you should ever carry your threat yesterday into execution-believe me 'tis not my pride, my vanity or any petty passion would torment mereally 'twould hurt my heart-I could not bear it. I have seen Mrs. Dilke this morning; she says she will come with me any fine day.

This moment I have set myself to copy some verses out fair. I cannot proceed with any degree of content. I must write you a line or two and see if that will assist in dismissing you from my Mind for ever so short a time. Upon my Soul I can think of nothing else. The time is passed when I had power to advise and warn you against the unpromising morning of my Life. My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you. I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again-my Life seems to stop there--I see no further. You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving-I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing

you. I should be afraid to separate myself far from you. My sweet Fanny, will your heart never change? My love, will it? I have no limit now to my love...... Your note came in just here. I cannot be happier away from you. 'Tis richer than an Argosy of Pearles. Do not threat me even in jest. I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion-I have shudder'd at it. I shudder no more-I could be martyr'd for my Religion-Love is my religion-I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet. You have ravish'd me away by a Power I cannot resist; and yet I could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I have endeavoured often "to reason against the reasons of my Love." I can do that no more—the pain would be too great. My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.

My Conscience is always reproaching me for neglecting you for so long a time. I have been returned from Winchester this fortnight and as yet I have not seen you. I have no excuse to offer-I should have no excuse. I shall expect to see you the next time I call on Mr. A about George's affairs which perplex me a great deal I should have to day gone to see if you were in town-but as I am in an industrious humour (which is