10th July, 1817. MY DEAR SIR, A couple of Duns that I thought would be silent till the beginning, at least, of next month, (when I am certain to be on my legs, for certain sure,) have opened upon me with a cry most "untunable;" never did you hear such "ungallant chiding." Now, you must know, I am not desolate, but have, thank God, twenty-five good notes in my fob. But then, you know, I laid them by to write. with, and would stand at bay a fortnight ere they should quit me. In a month's time I must pay, but it would relieve my mind if I owed you, instead of these pelican duns. I am afraid you will say I have "wound about with circumstance," when I should have asked plainly. However, as I said, I am a little maidenish or so, and I feel my virginity come strong upon me, the while I request the loan of a 201, and a 101., which, if you would enclose to me, I would acknowledge and save myself a hot forehead. I am sure you are confident of my responsibility, and in the sense of squareness that is always in me. Your obliged friend, JOHN KEATS. VOL. I. E In September he visited his friend Bailey at Oxford, and wrote thus : 66 Believe me, my dear it is a great happi ness to see that you are, in this finest part of the year, winning a little enjoyment from the hard world. In truth, the great Elements we know of, are no mean comforters: the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown; the air is our robe of state; the earth is our throne; and the sea a mighty minstrel playing before it-able, like David's harp, to make such a one as you forget almost the tempest cares of life. I have found in the ocean's music,varying (the self-same) more than the passion of Timotheus, an enjoyment not to be put into words; and, though inland far I be,' I now hear the voice most audibly while pleasing myself in the idea of your sensations. 66 I'll is getting well apace, and if you have a few trees, and a little harvesting about you, snap my fingers in Lucifer's eye. I hope you bathe too; if you do not, I earnestly recommend it. Bathe thrice a week, and let us have no more sitting up next winter. Which is the best of Shakspeare's plays? I mean in what mood and with what accompaniment do you like the sea best? It is very fine in the morning, when the sun, 'Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, and superb when 6 The Sun from meridian height it how hot we shall be;' and gorgeous, when the fair planet hastens 'To his home Within the Western foam.' But don't you think there is something extremely fine after sunset, when there are a few white clouds about, and a few stars blinking; when the waters are ebbing, and the horizon a mystery? This state of things has been so fulfilling to me that I am anxious to hear whether it is a favourite with you. So when you and club your letter to me put in a word or two about it. Tell Dilke that it would be perhaps as well if he left a pheasant or partridge alive here and there to keep up a supply of game for next season; tell him to rein in, if possible, all the Nimrod of his disposition, he being a mighty hunter before the Lord of the manor. Tell him to shoot fair, and not to have at the poor devils in a furrow: when they are flying, he may fire, and nobody will be the wiser. "Give my sincerest respects to Mrs. Dilke, saying that I have not forgiven myself for not having got her the little box of medicine I promised, and that, had I remained at Hampstean, I would have made precious havoc with her house and furniture-drawn a great harrow over her garden-poisoned Boxer-eaten her clothes-pegsfried her cabbages-fricaseed (how is it spelt?) her radishes-ragouted her onions-belaboured her beatroot-outstripped her scarlet-runners-parlez-vous'd with her french-beans devoured her mignon or mignionette metamorphosed her bell-handles splintered her looking-glasses-bullocked at her cups and saucers—agonized her decanters-put old Pto pickle in the brine-tub-disorganized her pianodislocated her candlesticks-emptied her wine-bins in a fit of despair-turned out her maid to grass-and astonished B—; whose letter to her on these events I would rather see than the original copy of the Book of Genesis. "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, 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 sea-side; 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 |