quite perplexed in a world of doubts and fancies-there is nothing stable in the world; uproar's your only music -I don't mean to include Bailey in this and so I dismiss him from this with all the opprobrium he deserves—that is in so many words, he is one of the noblest men alive at the present day. In a note to Haydon about a week ago (which I wrote with a full sense of what he had done, and how he had never manifested any little mean drawback in his value of me) I said if there were three things superior in the modern world, they were "The Excursion," Haydon's Pictures, and Hazlitt's depth of Taste. So I do believe-not thus speaking with any poor vanity—that works of genius are the first things in this world. No! for that sort of probity and disinterestedness which such men as Bailey possess, does hold and grasp the tip-top of any spiritual honors that can be paid to anything in this world. And moreover having this feeling at this present come over me in its full force, I sat down to write to you with a grateful heart, in that I had not a Brother who did not feel and credit me for a deeper feeling and devotion for his uprightness, than for any marks of genius however splendid. I was speaking about doubts and fancies-I mean there has been a quarrel of a severe nature between Haydon and Reynolds and another ("the Devil rides upon a fiddle stick") between Hunt and Haydon. The first grew from the Sunday on which Haydon invited some friends to meet Wordsworth. Reynolds never went, and never sent any Notice about it, this offended Haydon more than it ought to have done-he wrote a very sharp and high note to Reynolds and then another in palliation-but which Reynolds feels as an aggravation of the first. Considering all things, Haydon's frequent neglect of his appointments &c., his notes were bad enough to put Reynolds on the right side of the question-but then

F

Reynolds has no power of sufferance; no idea of having the thing against him; so he answered Haydon in one of the most cutting letters I ever read; exposing to himself all his own weaknesses and going on to an excess, which whether it is just or no, is what I would fain have unsaid, the fact is they are both in the right and both in the wrong.

The quarrel with Hunt I understand thus far. Mrs. H. was in the habit of borrowing silver of Haydon-the last time she did so, Haydon asked her to return it at a certain time-she did not-Haydon sent for it-Hunt went to expostulate on the indelicacy &c.—they got to words and parted for ever. All I hope is at some time to bring them all together again.-Lawk! Molly there's been such doings-Yesterday evening I made an appointment with Wells to go to a private theatre, and it being in the neighbourhood of Drury Lane, and thinking we might be fatigued with sitting the whole evening in one dirty hole, I got the Drury Lane ticket, and therewith we divided the evening with a spice of Richard III.—

Good Lord! I began this letter nearly a week ago, what have I been doing since I have been-I mean not been sending last Sunday's paper to you I believe because it was not near me-for I cannot find it and my conscience presses heavy on me for not sending it. You would have had one last Thursday, but I was called away, and have been about somewhere ever since. Where? What? Well I rejoice almost that I have not heard from you because no news is good news. I cannot for the world recollect why I was called away, all I know is that there has been a dance at Dilke's, and another at the London Coffee House; to both of which I went. But I must tell you in another letter the cir

cumstances thereof-for though a week should have passed since I wrote on the other side it quite appals me-I can only write in scraps and patches. Brown is returned from Hampstead-Haydon has returned an answer in the same style-they are all dreadfully irri. tated against each other. On Sunday I saw Hunt and dined with Haydon, met Hazlitt and Bewick there, and took Haslam with me-forgot to speak about Cripps though I broke my engagement to Haslam's on purpose. Mem.-Haslam came to meet me, found me at Breakfast, had the goodness to go with me my way. I have just finished the revision of my First Book, and shall take it to Taylor's to-morrow. Do not let me see many days pass without hearing from you.

Your most affectionate Brother,

John.

My dear Taylor,

XXX.

To JOHN TAYLOR. Το

Friday, 23 January 1818.

I have spoke to Haydon about the drawing. He would do it with all his Art and Heart too, if so I will it; however, he has written thus to me; but I must tell you, first, he intends painting a finished Picture from the Poem. Thus he writes-"When I do anything for your Poem it must be effectual-an honour to both of us to hurry up a sketch for the season won't do. I think an engraving from your head, from a chalk drawing of mine, done with all my might, to which I would put my name, would answer Taylor's idea better than the other. Indeed, I am sure of it. This I will do, and this will be effectual,

and as I have not done it for any other human being, it

will have an effect."

What think you of this? Let me hear. I shall have my second Book in readiness forthwith.

Yours most sincerely

John Keats

If Reynolds calls tell him three lines will be acceptable, for I am squat at Hampstead.

XXXI.

To BENJAMIN BAILEY.

My dear Bailey,

Friday, 23 January 1818.

Twelve days have pass'd since your last reached me. What has gone through the myriads of human minds since the 12th? We talk of the immense Number of Books, the Volumes ranged thousands by thousands --but perhaps more goes through the human intelligence in Twelve days than ever was written.-How has that unfortunate family lived through the twelve? One saying of yours I shall never forget-you may not recollect itit being perhaps said when you were looking on the Surface and seeming of Humanity alone, without a thought of the past or the future-or the deeps of good and evil-you were at that moment estranged from speculation, and I think you have arguments ready for the Man who would utter it to you-this is a formidable preface for a simple thing-merely you said, "Why should woman suffer?" Aye, why should she? "By heavens, I'd coin my very soul, and drop my Blood for Drachmas!" These things are, and he, who feels how

incompetent the most skyey Knight-errantry is to heal this bruised fairness, is like a sensitive leaf on the hot hand of thought.-Your tearing, my dear friend, a spiritless and gloomy letter up, to re-write to me, is what I shall never forget-it was to me a real thing. Things have happened lately of great perplexity-you must have heard of them-Reynolds and Haydon retorting and recriminating, and parting for ever-the same thing has happened between Haydon and Hunt. It is unfortunate -Men should bear with each other: there lives not the Man who may not be cut up, aye Lashed to pieces on his weakest side. The best of men have but a portion. of good in them-a kind of spiritual yeast in their frames, which creates the ferment of existence-by which a Man is propelled to act, and strive, and buffet with Circumstance. The sure way, Bailey, is first to know a Man's faults, and then be passive-if after that he insensibly draws you towards him then you have no power to break the link. Before I felt interested in either Reynolds cr Haydon, I was well read in their faults; yet, knowing them, I have been cementing gradually with both. I have an affection for them both, for reasons almost opposite-and to both must I of necessity cling, supported always by the hope that, when a little time, a few years, shall have tried me more fully in their esteem, I may be able to bring them together. The time must come, because they have both hearts: and they will recollect the best parts of each other, when this gust is overblown.— I had a message from you through a letter to Jane'-I think, about Cripps-there can be no idea of binding until a sufficient sum is sure for him—and even then the thing should be maturely considered by all his helpersI shall try my luck upon as many fat purses as I can