turned out her maid to grass - and astonished Brown; whose letter to her on these events I would rather see than the original Copy of the Book of Genesis. Should you see Mr. W. D. remember me to him, and to little Robinson Crusoe, and to Mr. Snook. Poor Bailey, scarcely ever well, has gone to bed, pleased that I am writing to you. To your brother John (whom henceforth I shall consider as mine) and to you, my dear friends, Marianne and Jane, I shall ever feel grateful for having made known to me so real a fellow as Bailey. He delights me in the selfish and (please God) the disinterested part of my disposition. If the old Poets have any pleasure in looking down at the enjoyers of their works, their eyes must bend with a double satisfaction upon him. I sit as at a feast when he is over them, and pray that if, after my death, any of my labours should be worth saving, they may have so 'honest a chronicler' as Bailey. Out of this, his enthusiasm in his own pursuit and for all good things is of an exalted kind-worthy a more healthful frame and an untorn spirit. He must have happy years to come he shall not die by God.' A letter from John the other day was a chief happiness to me. I made a little mistake when, just now, I talked of being far inland. How can that be when Endymion and I are at the bottom of the sea? whence I hope to bring him in safety before you leave the seaside; and, if I can so contrive it, you shall be greeted by him upon the sea-sands, and he shall tell you all his adventures, which having finished, he shall thus proceed 'My dear Ladies, favourites of my gentle mistress, however my friend Keats may have teased and vexed you, believe me he loves you not the less- for instance, I am deep in his favour, and yet he has been hauling me through the earth and sea with unrelenting perseverance. I know for all this that he is mighty fond of me, by his contriving me all sorts of pleasures. Nor is this the least, fair ladies, this one of meeting you on the desert shore, and greeting you in his name. He sends you moreover this little scroll-' My dear Girls, I send you, per favour of Endymion, the assurance of my esteem for you, and my utmost wishes for your health and pleasure, being ever, Your affectionate Brother JOHN KEATS. 14. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS Oxford, Sunday Morn [September 21, 1817]. MY DEAR REYNOLDS So you are determined to be my mortal foe - draw a Sword at me, and I will forgive - Put a Bullet in my Brain, and I will shake it out as a dewdrop from the Lion's Mane-put me on a Gridiron, and I will fry with great complacency — but oh, horror! to come upon me in the shape of a Dun! Send me bills! as I say to my Tailor, send me Bills and I'll never employ you more. However, needs must, when the devil drives: and for fear of before and behind Mr. Honeycomb' I'll proceed. I have not time to elucidate the forms and shapes of the grass and trees; for, rot it! I forgot to bring my mathematical case with me, which unfortunately contained my triangular Prism so that the hues of the grass cannot be dissected for you For these last five or six days, we have had regularly a Boat on the Isis, and explored all the streams about, which are more in number than your eye-lashes. We sometimes skim into a Bed of rushes, and there become naturalised river-folks, there is one particularly nice nest, which we have christened ‘Reynolds's Cove,' in which we have read Wordsworth and talked as may be. I think I see you and Hunt meeting in the Pit. — What a very pleasant fellow he is, if he would give up the sovereignty of a Room pro bono. What Evenings we might pass with him, could we have him from Mrs. H. Failings I am always rather rejoiced to find in a man than sorry for; they bring us to a Level. He has them, but then his makes-up are very good. He agrees with the Northern Poet 14 in this, 'He is not one of those who much delight to season their fireside with personal talk' -I must confess however having a little itch that way, and at this present moment I have a few neighbourly remarks to make. The world, and especially our England, has, within the last thirty years, been vexed and teased by a set of Devils, whom I detest so much that I almost hunger after an Acherontic promotion to a Torturer, purposely for their accommodation. These devils are a set of women, who having taken a snack or Luncheon of Literary scraps, set themselves up for towers of Babel in languages, Sapphos in Poetry, Euclids in Geometry, and everything in nothing. Among such the name of Montague has been preeminent. The thing has made a very uncomfortable impression on me. I had longed for some real feminine Modesty in these things, and was therefore gladdened in the extreme on opening the other day, one of Bailey's Books - a book of poetry written by one beautiful Mrs. Philips, a friend of Jeremy Taylor's, and called The Matchless Orinda - 'You must have heard of her, and most likely read her Poetry -I wish you have not, that I may have the pleasure of treating you with a few stanzas - I do it at a venture You will not regret reading them once more. The following, to her friend Mrs. M. A. at parting, you will judge of. I have examin'd and do find, There's none I grieve to leave behind To part with thee I needs must die, Could parting sep'rate thee and I. But neither Chance nor Complement 'T was sacred sympathy was lent That Friendship Fortune did create, Still fears a wound from Time or Fate. we will con over together. So Haydon is in Town. I had a letter from him yesterday. We will contrive as the winter comes on- - but that is neither here nor there. Have you heard from Rice? Has Martin met with the Cumberland Beggar, or been wondering at the old Leech-gatherer? Has he a turn for fossils? that is, is he capable of sinking up to his Middle in a Morass? How is Hazlitt? We were reading his Table 15 last night. I know he thinks himself not estimated by ten people in the world I wish he knew he is. I am getting on famous with my third Book - have written 800 lines thereof, and hope to finish it next Week. Bailey likes what I have done very much. Believe me, my dear Reynolds, one of my chief layings-up is the pleasure I shall have in showing it to you, I may now say, in a few days. I have heard twice from my Brothers, they are going on very well, and send their Remembrances to you. We expected to have had notices from little-Hampton this morning we must wait till Tuesday. I am glad of their Days with the Dilkes. You are, I know, very much teased in that precious London, and want all the rest possible; so I shall be contented with as brief a scrawla Word or two, till there comes a pat hour. Send us a few of your stanzas to read in 'Reynolds's Cove.' Give my Love and respects to your Mother, and remember me kindly to all at home. Now I think this is an excellent method of giving a very clear description of an interesting place such as Oxford is. [Here follows the verses on Oxford, given on p. 252.] 16. TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON Oxford, September 28 [1817]. MY DEAR HAYDON - I read your letter to the young Man, whose Name is Cripps. He seemed more than ever anxious to avail himself of your offer. I think I told you we asked him to ascertain his Means. He does not possess the Philosopher's stone — nor Fortunatus's purse, nor Gyges's ring -but at Bailey's suggestion, whom I assure you is very capital fellow, we have stummed up a kind of contrivance whereby he will be enabled to do himself the benefits you will lay in his Path. I have a great Idea that he will be a tolerable neat brush. 'Tis perhaps the finest thing that will befal him this many a year: for he is just of an age to get grounded in bad habits from which you will pluck him. He brought a copy of Mary Queen of Scots: it appears to me that he has copied the bad style of the painting, as well as coloured the eyeballs yellow like the original. He has also the fault that you pointed out to me in Hazlitt on the constringing and diffusing of substance. However I really believe that he will take fire at the sight of your Picture -and set about things. If he can get ready in time to return to town with me, which will be in a few days - I will bring him to you. You will be glad to hear that within these last three weeks I have written 1000 lines which are the third Book of my Poem. My Ideas with respect to it I assure you are very low-and I would write the subject thoroughly again - but I am tired of it and think the time would be better spent in writing a new Romance which I have in my eye for next summer Rome was not built in a Day - and all the good I expect from my employment this V summer is the fruit of Experience which I hope to gather in my next Poem. Bailey's kindest wishes, and my vow of being Yours eternally JOHN KEATS. 17. TO BENJAMIN BAILEY Hampstead, Wednesday [October 8, 1817]. MY DEAR BAILEY After a tolerable journey, I went from Coach to Coach as far as Hampstead where I found my Brothers the next Morning finding myself tolerably well I went to Lamb's Conduit Street and delivered your parcel. Jane and Marianne were greatly improved. Marianne especially, she has no unhealthy plumpness in the face, but she comes me healthy and angular to the chin- -I did not see John I was extremely sorry to hear that poor Rice, after having had capital health during his tour, was very ill. I daresay you have heard from him. From No. 19 I went to Hunt's and Haydon's who live now neighbours. Shelley was there I know nothing about anything in this part of the world - every Body seems at Loggerheads. There's Hunt infatuated - there's Haydon's picture in statu quo There's Hunt walks up and down his painting room criticising every head most unmercifully. There's Horace Smith tired of Hunt. web of our life is of mingled yarn.' Haydon having removed entirely from Marlborough Street, Cripps must direct his letter to Lisson Grove, North Paddington. Yesterday Morning while I was at Brown's, in came Reynolds, he was pretty bobbish, we had a pleasant day he would walk home at night that cursed cold distance. Mrs. Bentley's children are making a horrid row whereby I regret I cannot be transported to your Room to write to you. I am quite disgusted with literary men and will never know another except Wordsworth no not even Byron. Here is an instance of the friendship of such. -- The Haydon and Hunt have known each other many years -now they live, pour ainsi dire, jealous neighbours - Haydon says to me, Keats, don't show your lines to Hunt on any Account, or he will have done half for you so it appears Hunt wishes it to be thought. When he met Reynolds in the Theatre, John told him that I was getting on to the completion of 4000 lines - Ah! says Hunt, bad it not been for me they would have been 7000! If he will say this to Reynolds, what would he to other people? Haydon received a Letter a little while back on this subject from some Lady -which contains a caution to me, through him, on the subject now is not all this a most paltry thing to think about? You may see the whole of the case by the following Extract from a Letter I wrote to George in the Spring-As to what you say about my being a Poet, I can return no Answer but by saying that the high Idea I have of poetical fame makes me think I see it towering too high above me. At any rate, I have no right to talk until Endymion is finished it will be a test, a trial of my Powers of Imagination, and chiefly of my invention, which is a rare thing indeed -by which I must make 4000 lines of one bare circumstance, and fill them with poetry: and when I consider that this is a great task, and that when done it will take me but a dozen paces towards the temple of fame it makes me say God forbid that I should be without such a task! I have heard Hunt say, and I may be asked - why endeavour after a long Poem? To which I should answer, Do not the Lovers of Poetry like to have a little Region to wander in, where they may pick and choose, and in which the images are so numerous that many are forgotten and found new in a second Reading: which may be food for a Week's stroll in the Summer? Do not they like this better than what they can read through before Mrs. Williams comes down stairs? a Morning work at most. 'Besides, a long poem is a test of invention, which I take to be the Polar star of Poetry, as Fancy is the Sails and Imagination the rudder. Did our great Poets ever write short Pieces? I mean in the shape of Tales - this same invention seems indeed of late years to have been forgotten as a Poetical excellence But enough of this, I put on no Laurels till I shall have finished Endymion, and I hope Apollo is not angered at my having made a Mockery at him at Hunt's'. You see, Bailey, how independent my Writing has been. Hunt's dissuasion was of no avail - I refused to visit Shelley that I might have my own unfettered scope;and after all, I shall have the Reputation of Hunt's élève. His corrections and amputations will by the knowing ones be traced in the Poem. This is, to be sure, the vexation of a day, nor would I say so many words about it to any but those whom I know to have my welfare and reputation at heart. Haydon promised to give directions for those Casts, and you may expect to see them soon, with as many Letters You will soon hear the dinning of Bells never mind! you and Gleig 16 will defy the foul fiend - - But do not sacrifice your health to Books: do take it kindly and not so voraciously. I am certain if you are your own Physician, your Stomach will resume its proper strength and then what great benefits will follow. My sister wrote a Letter to me, which I think must be at the post-office-Ax Will to see. My Brother's kindest remembrances to you we are going to dine at Brown's where I have some hopes of meeting Reynolds. The little Mercury I have taken has corrected the poison and improved my health-though I feel from my employment that I shall never be again secure in Robustness. Would that you were as well as Your Sincere friend and brother JOHN KEATS. 18. TO THE SAME [Hampstead: about November 1, 1817.] MY DEAR BAILEY - So you have got a Curacy good, but I suppose you will be obliged to stop among your Oxford favourites during Term time. Never mind. When do you preach your first sermon ? tell me, for I shall propose to the two R.'s 17 to hear it, so don't look into any of the old corner oaken pews, for fear of being put out by us. Poor Johnny Moultrie can't be there. He is ill, I expect - but that's neither here nor there. All I can say, I wish him as well through it as I am like to be. For this fortnight I have been confined at Hampstead. Saturday evening was my first day in town, when I went to Rice's- as we intend to do every Saturday till we know not when. We hit upon an old gent we had known some few years ago, and had a very pleasante daye. In this world there is no quiet, — nothing but teasing and snubbing and vexation. My brother Tom looked very unwell yesterday, and I am for shipping him off to Lisbon. Perhaps I ship there with him. I have not seen Mrs. Reynolds since I left you, wherefore my conscience smites me. I think of seeing her tomorrow; have you any message? I hope Gleig came soon after I left. I don't suppose I've written as many lines as you have read volumes, or at least chapters, since I saw you. However, I am in a fair way now to come to a conclusion in at least three weeks, when I assure you I shall be glad to dismount for a month or two; although I'll keep as tight a rein as possible till then, nor suffer myself to sleep. I will copy for you the opening of the Fourth Book, in which you will see from the manner I had not an opportunity of mentioning any poets, for fear of spoiling the effect of the passage by particularising them. Thus far had I written when I received your last, which made me at the sight of the direction caper for despair; but for one |