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,
Of all that favour me
There's none I grieve to leave behind
But only, only thee.

To part with thee I needs must die,
Could parting sep'rate thee and I.

But neither Chance nor Complement
Did element our Love;

"T was sacred sympathy was lent
Us from the Quire above.
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

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

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. 'The 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.

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, had 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

'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 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

we are

JOHN KEATS.

18. TO THE SAME

273

[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 reiry 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

thing I am glad that I have been neglectful, and that is, therefrom I have received a proof of your utmost kindness, which at this present I feel very much, and I wish I had a heart always open to such sensations; but there is no altering a man's nature, and mine must be radically wrong, for it will lie dormant a whole month. This leads me to suppose that there are no men thoroughly wicked, so as never to be self-spiritualised into a kind of sublime misery; but, alas! 't is but for an hour. He is the only Man 'who has kept watch on man's mortality,' who has philanthropy enough to overcome the disposition to an indolent enjoyment of intellect, who is brave enough to volunteer for uncomfortable hours. You remember in Hazlitt's essay on commonplace people he says, 'they read the Edinburgh and Quarterly, and think as they do.' Now, with respect to Wordsworth's 'Gipsy,' I think he is right, and yet I think Hazlitt is right, and yet I think Wordsworth is rightest. If Wordsworth had not been idle, he had not been without his task; nor had the 'Gipsies' they in the visible world had been as picturesque an object as he in the invisible. The smoke of their fire, their attitudes, their voices, were all in harmony with the evenings. It is a bold thing to say - and I would not say it in print — but it seems to me that if Wordsworth had thought a little deeper at that moment, he❘ would not have written the poem at all. I should judge it to have been written in one of the most comfortable moods of his life -it is a kind of sketchy intellectual landscape, not a search after truth, nor is it fair to attack him on such a subject; for it is with the critic as with the poet; had Hazlitt thought a little deeper, and been in a good temper, he would never have spied out imaginary faults there. The Sunday before last I asked Haydon to dine with me, when I thought of settling all matters with him, in regard to Cripps, and let you know about it. Now, although I engaged. Now, although I engaged him a fortnight before, he sent illness as an

excuse. He never will come. I have not been well enough to stand the chance of a wet night, and so have not seen him, nor been able to expurgatorise more masks for you; but I will not speak — your speakers are never doers. Then Reynolds, - every time I see him and mention you, he puts his hand to his head and looks like a son of Niobe's; but he'll write soon.

Rome, you know, was not built in a day. I shall be able, by a little perseverance, to read your letters off-hand. I am afraid your health will suffer from over study before your examination. I think you might regulate the thing according to your own pleasure, — and I would too. They were talking of your being up at Christmas. Will it be before you have passed? There is nothing, my dear Bailey, I should rejoice! at more than to see you comfortable, with a little Peona wife; an affectionate wife, I have a sort of confidence, would do you a great happiness. May that be one of the many blessings I wish you. Let me be but the one-tenth of one to you, and I shall think it great. My brother George's kindest wishes to you. My dear Bailey, I am,

Your affectionate friend JOHN KEATS.

I should not like to be pages in your way; when in a tolerable hungry mood you have no mercy. Your teeth are the Rock Tarpeian down which you capsize epic poems like mad. I would not for forty shillings be Coleridge's Lays in your way. I hope you will soon get through this abominable writing in the schools, and be able to keep the terms with more comfort in the hope of retiring to a comfortable and quiet home out of the way of all Hopkinses and black beetles. When you are settled, I will come and take a peep at your church, your house; try whether I shall have grown too lusty for my chair by the fireside, and take a peep at my earliest bower. A question is the best beacon towards a little speculation. Then ask me after my health and spirits. This question ratifies in my mind what I