world; and that world, on our coming here, I almost forgot. The first time I sat down to write, I could scarcely believe in the necessity for so doing. It struck me as a great oddity. Yet the very corn which is now so beautiful, as if it had only took to ripening yesterday, is for the market; so, why should I be delicate?1

CIII.

To CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE.

Shanklin, Saturday Evening

My dear Dilke,

[Postmark, 2 August 1819].

I will not make my diligence an excuse for not writing to you sooner-because I consider idleness a much better plea. A Man in the hurry of business of any sort is expected and ought to be expected to look to every thing-his mind is in a whirl, and what matters it-what whirl? But to require a Letter of a Man lost in idleness is the utmost cruelty; you cut the thread of his existence, you beat, you pummel him, you sell his goods and chattels, you put him in prison; you impale

'Lord Houghton says at this point "Sir James Mackintosh, who had openly protested against the mode of criticism employed against Endymion, and had said, in a letter still extant, that 'such attacks will interest every liberal mind in the author's success,' writing to Messrs. Taylor, on the 19th of July in this year, enquires, 'Have you any other literary novelties in verse? I very much admire your young poet, with all his singularities. Where is he? and what high design does he meditate?"" Between this fragment to Reynolds and the following letter to Dilke stand, chronologically speaking, Numbers III and IV to Fanny Brawne.

him; you crucify him. If I had not put pen to paper since I saw you this would be to me a vi et armis taking up before the Judge; but having got over my darling lounging habits a little, it is with scarcely any pain I come to this dating from Shanklin and D[ea]r Dilke. The Isle of Wight is but so so &c. Rice and I passed rather a dull time of it.' I hope he will not repent coming with me. He was unwell, and I was not in very good health and I am afraid we made each other worse by acting upon each other's spirits. We would grow as melancholy as need be. I confess I cannot bear a sick person in a House, especially alone-it weighs upon me day and night-and more so when perhaps the Case is irretrievable. Indeed I think Rice is in a dangerous state. I have had a Letter from him which speaks favourably of his health at present. Brown and I are pretty well harnessed again to our dog-cart. I mean the Tragedy, which goes on sinkingly. We are thinking of introducing an Elephant, but have not historical reference within reach to determine us as to Otho's Menagerie. When Brown first mentioned this I took it for a joke; however he brings such plausible reasons, and discourses so eloquently on the dramatic effect that I am giving it a serious consideration. The Art of Poetry is not sufficient for us, and if we get on in that as well as we do in painting, we shall by next winter crush the Reviews and the Royal Academy. Indeed, if Brown would take a little of my advice, he could not fail to be first pallet[te] of his day. But odd as it may appear, he says plainly that he cannot see any force in my plea of putting skies in the background, and leaving Indian ink out of an ash

1 Rice had gone away by the 25th of July: see letter to Fanny Brawne of that date.

tree. The other day he was sketching Shanklin Church, and as I saw how the business was going on, I challenged him to a trial of skill-he lent me Pencil and Paperwe keep the Sketches to contend for the Prize at the Gallery. I will not say whose I think best-but really I do not think Brown's done to the top of the Art.

A word or two on the Isle of Wight. I have been no further than Steephill. If I may guess, I should [say] that there is no finer part in the Island than from this Place to Steephill. I do not hesitate to say it is fine. Bonchurch is the best. But I have been so many finer walks, with a back ground of lake and mountain instead of the sea, that I am not much touch'd with it, though I credit it for all the Surprise I should have felt if it had taken my cockney maidenhead. But I may call myself an old Stager in the picturesque, and unless it be something very large and overpowering, I cannot receive any extraordinary relish.

I am sorry to hear that Charles' is so much oppress'd at Westminster, though I am sure it will be the finest touchstone for his Metal in the world. His troubles will grow day by day less, as his age and strength increase. The very first Battle he wins will lift him from the Tribe of Manasseh. I do not know how I should feel were I a Father-but I hope I should strive with all my Power not to let the present trouble me. When your Boy shall be twenty, ask him about his childish troubles and he will have no more memory of them than you have of yours. Brown tells me Mrs. Dilke sets off today for Chichester. I am glad I was going to say she had a fine day-but there has been a great Thunder cloud muttering over

1 Afterwards Sir Charles Wentworth Dilke, the father of the present Baronet.

Hampshire all day—I hope she is now at supper with a good appetite.

So Reynolds's Piece' succeeded-that is all well. Papers have with thanks been duly received. We leave this place on the 13th, and will let you know where we may be a few days after-Brown says he will write when the fit comes on him. If you will stand law expenses I'll beat him into one before his time. When I come to town I shall have a little talk with you about Brown and one Jenny Jacobs. Open daylight! he don't care. I am afraid there will be some more feet for little stockings-[of Keats' making. (I mean the feet.)] Brown here tried at a piece of Wit but it failed him, as you see, though long a brewing.-[this is a 2. lie.] Men should never despair-you see he has tried again and succeeded to a miracle.-He wants to try again, but as I have a right to an inside place in my own Letter-I take possession.

Your sincere friend

John Keats

1

One, Two, Three, Four, Five: by Advertisement. See note on a reference to this play in Letter CXIII.

2 The patronymic recalls a passage in Keats's Spenserian stanzas on Brown written in the spring of 1819

Nor in obscured purlieus would he seek

For curled Jewesses with ankles neat,

Who, as they walk abroad, make tinkling with their feet.

The interpolations printed above in italics within brackets are of course by Brown. They stand in his writing in the original letter still in the collection of Sir Charles Dilke. Before reading the next letter in the present series, the student may like to turn to the fifth and sixth letters to Fanny Brawne, both written in August 1819.

We removed to Winchester for the convenience of a library, and find it an exceeding pleasant town, enriched with a beautiful cathedral, and surrounded by a fresh-looking country. We are in tolerably good and cheap lodgings. Within these two months I have written fifteen hundred lines, most of which, besides many more of prior composition, you will probably see by next winter. I have written two tales, one from Boccaccio, called the "Pot of Basil," and another called "St. Agnes' Eve," on a popular superstition, and a third called "Lamia" (half finished). I have also been writing parts of my "Hyperion," and completed four acts of a tragedy. It was the opinion of most of my friends that I should never be able to write a scene: I will endeavour to wipe away the prejudice. I sincerely hope you will be pleased when my labours, since we last saw each other, shall reach you. One of my ambitions is to make as great a v revolution in modern dramatic writing as Kean has done in acting. Another, to upset the drawling of the bluestocking literary world. If, in the course of a few years, I do these two things, I ought to die content, and my friends should drink a dozen of claret on my tomb. I am convinced more and more every day, that (excepting the human-friend philosopher), a fine writer is the most genuine being in the world. Shakspeare and the "Paradise Lost" every day become greater wonders to me. I look upon fine phrases like a lover.

I was glad to see, by a passage of one of Brown's letters,