these parts as you look upon a splash in your country. There must be something to support this-aye, fog, hail, snow, rain, mist blanketing up three parts of the year. This Devonshire is like Lydia Languish, very entertaining when it smiles, but cursedly subject to sympathetic moisture. You have the sensation of walking under one great Lamp-lighter and you can't go on the other side of the ladder to keep your frock clean. Buy a girdle, put a pebble in your mouth, loosen your braces—for I am going among scenery whence I intend to tip you the Damosel Radcliffe.1 I'll cavern you, and grotto you, and water-fall you, and wood you, and water you, and immense-rock you, and tremendous-sound you, and solitude you. I'll make a lodgment on your glacis by a row of pines, and storm your covered way with bramblebushes. I'll have at you with hip-and-haw small-shot, and cannonade you with shingles. I'll be witty upon salt-fish, and impede your cavalry with clotted-cream. But ah, Coward! to talk at this rate to a sick man, or, I hope, to one that was sick-for I hope by this you stand on your right foot. If you are not-that's all -I intend to cut all sick people if they do not make up their minds to cut Sickness-a fellow to whom I have a complete aversion, and who, strange to say, is harboured and countenanced in several houses where I visit: he is sitting now, quite impudent, between me and Tom; he

2

1 Why Mrs. Radcliffe should be thus shorn of her matronly dignity one cannot guess: in another place Keats scarcely magnifies the dignity of maternity by alluding to her as "Mother Radcliffe." The stock in trade of The Romance of the Forest looks curious beside the ensuing reminiscence of Uncle Toby and Corporal Trim.

2 Teignmouth used to have a considerable trade in salt cod from Newfoundland.

insults me at poor Jem Rice's; and you have seated him, before now, between us at the Theatre, when I thought he looked with a longing eye at poor Kean. I shall say, once for all, to my friends, generally and severally, cut that fellow, or I cut you.

I went to the Theatre here the other night, which I forgot to tell George, and got insulted, which I ought to remember to forget to tell anybody; for I did not fight, and as yet have had no redress-" Lie thou there, sweetheart!" I wrote to Bailey yesterday, obliged to speak in a high way, and a damme who's afraid? for I had owed him so long: however, he shall see I will be better in future. Is he in town yet? I have directed to Oxford as the better chance.

I have copied my Fourth Book, and shall write the Preface soon. I wish it was all done; for I want to forget it, and make my mind free for something new. Atkins the coachman, Bartlet[t] the surgeon, Simmons' the barber, and the girls over at the bonnet-shop, say we shall now have a month of seasonable weather-warm, witty, and full of invention.

Write to me and tell me that you are well, or thereabouts; or, by the holy Beaucœur, which I suppose is the Virgin Mary, or the repented Magdalen (beautiful name, that Magdalen), I'll take to my wings and fly away to anywhere, but old or Nova Scotia."

I wish I had a little innocent bit of metaphysic in my head, to criss-cross the letter: but you know a favourite tune is hardest to be remembered when one wants it most; and you, I know, have, long ere this, taken it for

1 Probably these are all the names of real inhabitants. Mr. Bartlett, at all events, I well remember as the senior medical practitioner of the place in 1850 and onwards.

granted that I never have any speculations without associating you in them, where they are of a pleasant nature: and you know enough of me to tell the places where I haunt most, so that if you think for five minutes after having read this, you will find it a long letter, and see written in the air before you,

In sooth, I hope you are not too sanguine about that seal-in sooth I hope it is not Brumidgeumin double sooth I hope it is his—and in triple sooth I hope I shall have an impression. Such a piece of intelligence came doubly welcome to me while in your own County and in your own hand—not but I have blown up the said County for its urinal qualifications—the six first days I was here it did nothing but rain; and at that time having to write to a friend I gave Devonshire a good blowing up-it has been fine for almost three days,

(XXXVII) On the 4th of March 1818 Haydon appears to have written the following letter, still preserved in his journal:

My dear Keats,

I shall certainly go mad!—In a field at Stratford-uponAvon, in a field that belonged to Shakespeare, they have found a gold ring and seal, with the initial thus-a true Lover's knot be

and I was coming round a bit; but to day it rains again -with me the County is yet upon its good behaviour. I have enjoyed the most delightful Walks these three fine days beautiful enough to make me content here all the summer could I stay.1

I know not of this rhyming fit has done anythingit will be safe with you if worthy to put among my Lyrics.

How does the work go on? I should like to bring out my Dentatus at the time your Epic makes its appearance. I expect to have my Mind soon clear for something new. Tom has been much worse: but is now getting better-his remembrances to you. I think of seeing the Dart and Plymouth-but I don't know. It has as yet been a Mystery to me how and where Wordsworth went. I can't help thinking he has returned to his Shell —with his beautiful Wife and his enchanting Sister. It is a great Pity that People should by associating themselves with the finest things, spoil them. Hunt has damned Hampstead a[nd] masks and sonnets and Italian tales. Wordsworth has damned the lakes-Milman has

tween W. S.; if this is not Shakespeare who is it?-a true-Lover's knot!!—I saw an impression to-day, and am to have one as soon as possible. As sure as you breathe, and that he was the first of beings, the seal belonged to him.

Oh Lord!

B. R. Haydon.

At pages 260-2 of Volume II, I have shown that Keats's reply to this letter, above, was written on the 14th of March; and I presume from the Postmark, a London one, that it was either detained by Keats or delayed in the post.

1 At this point Keats goes off without further ceremony into the verses headed Teignmouth, Volume II, pages 260-3, which done, he remarks" Here's some dogrel for you-Perhaps you would like a bit of B―hrell"—and proceeds to give The Devon Maid, Volume II, pages 264-5.

damned the old drama-West has damned-wholesale. Peacock has damned satire-Ollier has damn'd MusicHazlitt has damned the bigoted and the blue-stockin[g]ed; how durst the Man?! he is your only good damner, and if ever I am damn'd-damn me if I

Haydon's reply to Keats has been mainly given by Mr. F. W. Haydon in the Correspondence &c., Volume II; but I now give it entire from the actual copy sent through the post, and subsequently recovered and wafered into the journal: it is dated the 25th of March 1818

My dear Keats,

Your bi―ell as you call it is beautiful and I take it as a great friendly kindness to remember me in that way-as often as you feel inclined to give vent remember I am always ready with pleasure to receive the result.—Surely you will not leave Devonshire without going to Plymouth, the country round which is most exquisite. I will give you letters, and promise you a kind and a welcome reception. Do go, my dear Keats; and if you consent, let me know, and I will write my Friends immediately; and go round by the Totness road, which is very fine, and come home by Ashburton and then by Bridgewater, where I have a sister, who will be most happy to see you.-I am getting on well, and have got my Christ better than I have ever had it yet-and in a good state to complete it. I am most happy to hear your Poem is advancing to publication, God grant it the most complete success, and may its reputation equal your genius. Devonshire has somehow or other the character of being rainy, but I must own to you I do not think it more so than any other County, and pray remember the time of year; it has rained in Town almost incessantly ever since you went away, the fact is, you dog, you carried the rain with you as Ulysses did the Winds, and then opening your rain bags you look round with a knowing wink and say curse this Devonshire, how it rains!" Stay till the Summer, and then look into its deep blue summer Sky, and lush grass, and tawny banks, and silver bubbling rivers—you must not leave Devonshire without seeing some of its wild Scenery, rocky, mossy, craggy, with roaring rivers and as clear as crystalit will do your mind good.

Shakespeare in speaking of somebody who is gradually dying makes some one say-"how is he?”—“Still ill-Nature and sickness debate it at their leisure”—is this not exquisite? When I die I'll