XLVII. -TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

Wednesday, [Teignmouth, April 8, 1818].

My dear Haydon-I am glad you were pleased with my nonsense, and if it so happen that the humour takes me when I have set down to prose to you I will not gainsay it. I should be (God forgive me) ready to swear because I cannot make use of your assistance in going through Devon if I was not in my own Mind determined to visit it thoroughly at some more favourable time of the year. But now Tom (who is getting greatly better) is anxious to be in Town-therefore I put off my threading the County. I purpose within a month to put my knapsack at my back and make a pedestrian tour through the North of England, and part of Scotland-to make a sort of Prologue to the Life I intend to pursue that is to write, to study and to see all Europe at the lowest expence. I will clamber through the Clouds and exist. I will get such an accumulation of stupendous recollections that as I walk through the suburbs of London I may not see them-I will stand upon Mount Blanc and remember this coming Summer when I intend to straddle Ben Lomond-with my soul !-galligaskins are out of the Question. I am nearer myself to hear your "Christ" is being tinted into immortality. Believe me Haydon your picture is part of myself-I have ever been too sensible of the labyrinthian path to eminence in Art (judging from Poetry) ever to think I understood the emphasis of painting. The innumerable compositions and decompositions which take place between the intellect and its thousand materials before it arrives at that trembling delicate and snail-horn perception of beauty. I know not your many havens of intenseness-nor

ever can

know them but for this I hope not you achieve is lost upon me1: for when a Schoolboy the abstract Idea I had

1 Sic: probably, as suggested by Mr. Forman, for "I hope what you achieve is not lost upon me."

I

of an heroic painting—was what I cannot describe. saw it somewhat sideways, large, prominent, round, and colour'd with magnificence-somewhat like the feel I have of Anthony and Cleopatra. Or of Alcibiades leaning

on his Crimson Couch in his Galley, his broad shoulders imperceptibly heaving with the Sea. That passage in Shakspeare is finer than this—

See how the surly Warwick mans the Wall.

I like your consignment of Corneille-that's the humour of it-they shall be called your Posthumous Works.1 I don't understand your bit of Italian. I hope she will awake from her dream and flourish fair-my respects to her. The Hedges by this time are beginning to leaf— Cats are becoming more vociferous-young Ladies who wear Watches are always looking at them. Women about forty-five think the Season very backwardLadies' Mares have but half an allowance of food. It rains here again, has been doing so for three days-however as I told you I'll take a trial in June, July, or August next year.

I am afraid Wordsworth went rather huffd out of Town-I am sorry for it—he cannot expect his fireside Divan to be infallible-he cannot expect but that every man of worth is as proud as himself. O that he had not fit with a Warrener 2. -that is dined at Kingston's. I shall be in town in about a fortnight and then we will have a day or so now and then before I set out on my northern expedition-we will have no more abominable Rowsfor they leave one in a fearful silence-having settled the

1 The English rebels against tradition in poetry and art at this time took much the same view of the French dramatists of the grand siècle as was taken by the romantiques of their own nation a few years later; and Haydon had written to Keats in his last letter, "When I die I'll have Shakspeare placed on my heart, with Homer in my right hand and Ariosto in the other, Dante at my head, Tasso at my feet, and Corneille under my

2 "He hath fought with a Warrener" :-Simple in Merry Wives, I. iv.

Methodists let us be rational-not upon compulsion-no —if it will out let it—but I will not play the Bassoon any more deliberately. Remember me to Hazlitt, and

Bewick

Your affectionate friend,

JOHN KEATS.

XLVIII.-TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS.

Thy. morng., [Teignmouth, April 9, 1818].

My dear Reynolds-Since you all agree that the thing 1 is bad, it must be so-though I am not aware there is anything like Hunt in it (and if there is, it is my natural way, and I have something in common with Hunt). Look it over again, and examine into the motives, the seeds, from which any one sentence sprung-I have not the slightest feel of humility towards the public-or to anything in existence, but the eternal Being, the Principle of Beauty, and the Memory of great Men. When I am writing for myself for the mere sake of the moment's enjoyment, perhaps nature has its course with me— but a Preface is written to the Public; a thing I cannot help looking upon as an Enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of Hostility. If I write a Preface in a supple or subdued style, it will not be in character with me as a public speaker-I would be subdued before my friends, and thank them for subduing me-but among Multitudes of Men-I have no feel of stooping, I hate the idea of humility to them.

I never wrote one single Line of Poetry with the least Shadow of public thought.

Forgive me for vexing you and making a Trojan horse of such a Trifle, both with respect to the matter in Question, and myself-but it eases me to tell you-I could not live without the love of my friends—I would jump down Ætna for any great Public good—but I hate a Mawkish Popu

1 The first draught of the proposed preface to Endymion.

larity. I cannot be subdued before them-My glory would be to daunt and dazzle the thousand jabberers about Pictures and Books-I see swarms of Porcupines with their Quills erect “like lime-twigs set to catch my Winged Book," and I would fright them away with a torch. You will say my Preface is not much of a Torch. It would have been too insulting "to begin from Jove," and I could not set a golden head upon a thing of clay. If there is any fault in the Preface it is not affectation, but an undersong of disrespect to the Public-if I write another Preface it must be done without a thought of those people—I will think about it. If it should not reach you in four or five days, tell Taylor to publish it without a Preface, and let the Dedication simply stand"inscribed to the Memory of Thomas Chatterton."

I had resolved last night to write to you this morning -I wish it had been about something else something to greet you towards the close of your long illness. I have had one or two intimations of your going to Hampstead for a space; and I regret to see your confounded Rheumatism keeps you in Little Britain where I am sure the air is too confined. Devonshire continues rainy. As the drops beat against the window, they give me the same sensation as a quart of cold water offered to revive a half-drowned devil-no feel of the clouds dropping fatness; but as if the roots of the earth were rotten, cold, and drenched. I have not been able to go to Kent's cave at Babbicombe-however on one very beautiful day I had a fine Clamber over the rocks all along as far as that place. I shall be in Town in about Ten days-We go by way of Bath on purpose to call on Bailey. I hope soon to be writing to you about the things of the north, purposing to wayfare all over those parts. I have settled my accoutrements in my own mind, and will go to gorge wonders. However, we'll have some days together before

I set out

I have many reasons for going wonder-ways to make my winter chair free from spleen-to enlarge my vision—

H

to escape disquisitions on Poetry and Kingston Criticism ; to promote digestion and economise shoe-leather. I'll have leather buttons and belt; and, if Brown holds his mind, over the Hills we go. If my Books will help me to it, then will I take all Europe in turn, and see the Kingdoms of the Earth and the glory of them. Tom is getting better, he hopes you may meet him at the top o' the hill. My Love to your nurses. I am ever

Your affectionate Friend

JOHN KEATS.

XLIX. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS.

[Teignmouth,] Friday [April 10, 1818].

My dear Reynolds-I am anxious you should find this Preface tolerable. If there is an affectation in it 'tis natural to me. Do let the Printer's Devil cook it, and let me be as 66 the casing air."

You are too good in this Matter-were I in your state, I am certain I should have no thought but of discontent and illness-I might though be taught patience: I had an idea of giving no Preface; however, don't you think this had better go? O, let it one should not be too timid-of committing faults.

The climate here weighs us down completely; Tom is quite low-spirited. It is impossible to live in a country which is continually under hatches. Who would live in a region of Mists, Game Laws, indemnity Bills, etc., when there is such a place as Italy? It is said this England from its Clime produces a Spleen, able to engender the finest Sentiments, and cover the whole face of the isle with Green-so it ought, I'm sure.—I should still like the Dedication simply, as I said in my last.

I wanted to send you a few songs written in your favorite Devon-it cannot be-Rain! Rain! Rain! I am going this morning to take a facsimile of a Letter of Nelson's, very much to his honour-you will be greatly pleased when you see it-in about a week. What a spite