much separated from you and could almost speak to you in the words of Lorenzo's Ghost to Isabella Your Beauty grows upon me and I feel A greater love through all my essence steal. My greatest torment since I have known you has been the fear of you being a little inclined to the Cressid; but that suspicion I dismiss utterly and remain happy in the surety of your Love, which I assure you is as much a wonder to me as a delight. Send me the words “Good night" to put under my pillow.. Dearest Fanny, Your affectionate J. K. My dear Fanny, CLVI. To FANNY KEATS. Wentworth Place [Postmark, 11 February 1820]. I am much the same as when I last wrote. I hope a little more verging towards improvement. Yesterday morning being very fine, I took a walk for a quarter of an hour in the garden and was very much refresh'd by it. You must consider no news, good news -if you do not hear from me the day after to-morrowYour affectionate Brother John I am improving but very gradually and suspect it will be a long while before I shall be able to walk six miles The Sun appears half inclined to shine; if he obliges us I shall take a turn in the garden this morning. No one from Town has visited me since my last. I have had so many presents of jam and jellies that they would reach side by side the length of the sideboard. I hope I shall be well before it is all consumed. I am vex'd that Mr. Abbey will not allow you pocket money sufficient. He has not behaved well-By detaining money from me and George when we most wanted it he has increased our expences. In consequence of such delay George was obliged to take his voyage to England which will be £150 out of his pocket. I enclose you a noteYou shall hear from me again the day after to-morrow. Your affectionate Brother John CLVIII. To FANNY BRAWNE. [Wentworth Place, February 1820?] My dearest Girl, According to all appearances I am to be separated from you as much as possible. How I shall be able to bear it, or whether it will not be worse than your presence now and then, I cannot tell. I must be patient, and in the mean time you must think of it as little as possible. Let me not longer detain you from going to Town-there may be no end to this imprisoning of you. Perhaps you had better not come before to-morrow evening: send me however without fail a good night. You know our situation-what hope is there if I should be recovered ever so soon-my very health will not suffer me to make any great exertion. I am recommended not even to read poetry, much less write it. I wish I had even a little hope. I cannot say forget me -but I would mention that there are impossibilities in the world. No more of this. I am not strong enough to be weaned-take no notice of it in your good night. Happen what may I shall ever be my dearest Love Your affectionate CLIX. To FANNY BRAWNE. J. K. [Wentworth Place, February 1820?] My dearest Girl, how could it ever have been my wish to forget you? how could I have said such a thing? The utmost stretch my mind has been capable of was to endeavour to forget you for your own sake seeing what a chance there was of my remaining in a precarious state of health. I would have borne it as I would bear death if fate was in that humour: but I should as soon think of choosing to die as to part from you. Believe too my Love that our friends think and speak for the best, and if their best is not our best it is not their fault. When I am better I will speak with you at large on these subjects, if there is any occasion-I think there is none. I am rather nervous to-day perhaps from being a little recovered and suffering my mind to take little excursions beyond the doors and windows. I take it for a good sign, but as it must not be encouraged you had better delay seeing me till to-morrow. Do not take the trouble of writing much: merely send me my good night, Remember me to your Mother and Margaret. Your affectionate CLX. To FANNY BRAWNE. J. K. [Wentworth Place, February 1820?] My dearest Fanny, Then all we have to do is to be patient. Whatever violence I may sometimes do myself by hinting at what would appear to any one but ourselves a matter of necessity, I do not think I could bear any approach of a thought of losing you. I slept well last night, but cannot say that I improve very fast. I shall expect you to-morrow, for it is certainly better that I should see you seldom. Let me have your good night. Your affectionate J. K. CLXI. To JAMES RICE. Wentworth Place, 16 February 1820. My dear Rice, I have not been well enough to make any tolerable rejoinder to your kind letter. I will, as you advise, be very chary of my health and spirits. I am sorry to hear of your relapse and hypochondriac symptoms attending it. Let us hope for the best, as you say. I shall follow your example in looking to the future good rather than brooding upon the present ill. I have not been so worn with lengthened illnesses as you have, therefore cannot answer you on your own ground with respect to those haunting and deformed thoughts and feelings you speak of. When I have been, or supposed myself in health, I have had my share of them, especially within the last year. I may say, that for six months before I was taken ill I had not passed a tranquil day. Either that gloom overspread me, or I was suffering under some passionate feeling, or if I turned to versify, that acerbated the poison of either sensation. The beauties of nature had lost their power over me. How astonishingly (here I must premise that illness, as far as I can judge in so short a time, has relieved my mind of a load of deceptive thoughts and images, and makes me perceive things in a truer light),-how astonishingly does the chance of leaving the world impress a sense of its natural beauties upon us! Like poor Falstaff, though I do not "babble," I think of green fields; I muse with the greatest affection on every flower I have known from my infancy-their shapes and colours are as new to me as if I had just |