2 when you return I may give you a commission or two. Mr. B. C.' has sent me not only his Sicilian Story but yesterday his Dramatic Scenes-this is very polite and I shall do what I can to make him sensible I think so. I confess they teaze me they are composed of amiability, the Seasons, the Leaves, the Moon &c. upon which he rings (according to Hunt's expression) triple bob majors. However that is nothing-I think he likes poetry for its own sake, not his. I hope I shall soon be well enough to proceed with my faeries and set you about the notes on Sundays and Stray-days. If I had been well enough I should have liked to cross the water with you. Brown wishes you a pleasant voyage-Have fish for dinner at the sea ports, and don't forget a bottle of Claret. You will not meet with so much to hate at Brussels as at Paris. Remember me to all my friends. If I were well enough I would paraphrase an ode of Horace's for you, on your embarking in the seventy years ago style. The Packet will bear a comparison with a Roman galley at My dearest Girl, Indeed I will not deceive you with respect to my Health. This is the fact as far as I know. I have been 1 Bryan Waller Procter ("Barry Cornwall"). confined three weeks and am not yet well-this proves that there is something wrong about me which my constitution will either conquer or give way to. Let us hope for the best. Do you hear the Thrush singing over the field? I think it is a sign of mild weather-so much the better for me. Like all Sinners now I am ill I philosophize, aye out of my attachment to every thing, Trees, flowers, Thrushes, Spring, Summer, Claret, &c. &c.—-aye every thing but you.-My sister would be glad of my company a little longer. That Thrush is a fine fellow. I hope he was fortunate in his choice this year. Do not send any more of my Books home. I have a great pleasure in the thought of you looking on them. Wentworth Place, Thursday [24 February 1820]. My dear Fanny, [Postmark, 25 February 1820.] I am sorry to hear you have been so unwell: now you are better, keep so. Remember to be very careful of your cloathing-this climate requires the utmost care. There has been very little alteration in me lately. I am much the same as when I wrote last. When I am well enough to return to my old diet I shall get stronger. If my recovery should be delay'd long I will ask Mr. Abbey to let you visit me-keep up your Spirits as well as you You shall hear soon again from me— can. Your affectionate Brother John I had a better night last night than I have had since my attack, and this morning I am the same as when you saw me. I have been turning over two volumes of Letters written between Rousseau and two Ladies in the perplexed strain of mingled finesse and sentiment in which the Ladies and gentlemen of those days were so clever, and which is still prevalent among Ladies of this Country who live in a state of reasoning romance. The likeness however only extends to the mannerism, not to the dexterity. What would Rousseau have said at seeing our little correspondence! What would his Ladies have said! I don't care much-I would sooner have Shakespeare's opinion about the matter. The common gossiping of washerwomen must be less disgusting than the continual and eternal fence and attack of Rousseau and these sublime Petticoats. One calls herself Clara and her friend Julia, two of Rousseau's heroines-they all the same time christen poor Jean Jacques St. Preux-who is the pure cavalier of his famous novel. Thank God I am born in England with our own great Men before my eyes. Thank God that you are fair and can love me without being Letterwritten and sentimentaliz'd into it.-Mr. Barry Cornwall has sent me another Book, his first, with a polite note. I must do what I can to make him sensible of the esteem I have for his kindness. If this north east would take a turn it would be so much the better for me. my love, my dear love, my beauty Good bye, love me for ever. J. K. CLXX. To FANNY BRAWNE. [Wentworth Place, February 1820?] My dearest Girl, I continue much the same as usual, I think a little better. My spirits are better also, and consequently I am more resign'd to my confinement. I dare not think of you much or write much to you. Remember me to all. My dear Fanny, I think you had better not make any long stay with me when Mr. Brown is at home. Whenever he goes out you may bring your work. You will have a pleasant walk to-day. I shall see you pass. I shall follow you with my eyes over the Heath. Will you come towards evening instead of before dinner? When you are gone, 'tis past—if you do not come till the evening I have something to look forward to all day. Come round to my window for a moment when you have read this. Thank your Mother, for the preserves, for me. The raspberry will be too sweet not having any acid; therefore as you are so good a girl I shall make you a present of it. Good bye My sweet Love! J. Keats. CLXXII. To FANNY BRAWNE. [Wentworth Place, February 1820?] My dearest Fanny, The power of your benediction is of not so weak a nature as to pass from the ring in four and twenty hours-it is like a sacred Chalice once consecrated and ever consecrate. I shall kiss your name and mine where your Lips have been-Lips! why should a poor prisoner as I am talk about such things? Thank God, though I hold them the dearest pleasures in the universe, I have a consolation independent of them in the certainty of your affection. I could write a song in the style of Tom Moore's Pathetic about Memory if that would be any relief to me. No 'twould not. I will be as obstinate as a Robin, I will not sing in a cage. Health is my expected heaven and you are the Houri-this word I believe is both singular and plural-if only plural, never mind-you are a thousand of them. Ever yours affectionately my dearest, J. K. You had better not come to-day. |