meant you would like to pro and con about those Honeycombs — no, I had no such idea, or, if I had, 't would be only to tease you a little for love. So now let me put down in black and white briefly my sentiments thereon. - Imprimis - I sincerely believe that Imogen is the finest creature, and that I should have been disappointed at hearing you prefer Juliet - Item - Yet I feel such a yearning towards Juliet that I would rather follow her into Pandemonium than Imogen into Paradise — heartily wishing myself a Romeo to be worthy of her, and to hear the Devils quote the old proverb, 'Birds of a feather flock together' Amen.

Now let us turn to the Seashore. Believe me, my dear Jane, it is a great happiness 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 (tho 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.

is getting well apace, and if you have a few trees, and a little harvesting about you, I'll 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, Turns into yellow gold his salt sea streams,'

and superb when

"The sun from meridian height Illumines the depth of the sea, And the fishes, beginning to sweat, Cry dit! 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 Marianne club your letter to me put in a word or two about it. Tell Dilke 18 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 Hampstead I would have made precious havoc with her house and furniture - drawn a great harrow over her garden - poisoned Boxer-eaten her clothes-pegs-fried her cabbages - fricaseed (how is it spelt?) her radishes ragout'd her Onions belaboured her beat-root — outstripped her scarlet-runners parlez-vous'd with her french-beans devoured her mignon or mignionette metamorphosed her bellhandles splintered her looking-glassesbullocked at her cups and saucers agonised her decanters- put old Phillips to pickle in the brine-tub-disorganised her piano dislocated her candlesticks - emptied her wine-bins in a fit of despair

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. Το 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

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, 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

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 summerRome 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 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.