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destined to possess the sense of Identity. I can scarcely express what I but dimly perceive and yet I think I perceive it that you may judge the more clearly I will put it in the most homely form possible. I I will call the world a School instituted for the purpose of teaching little children to read- I will call the human heart the horn Book used in that School- and I will call the Child able to read, the Soul made from that School and its horn book. Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a soul? A Place where the heart must feel and suffer in a thousand diverse ways. Not merely is the Heart a Hornbook, It is the Mind's Bible, it is the Mind's experience, it is the text from which the Mind or Intelligence sucks its identity. As various as the Lives of Men are so various become their souls, and thus does God make individual beings, Souls, Identical Souls of the sparks of his own essence. This appears to me a faint sketch of a system of Salvation which does not offend our reason and humanity - I am convinced that many difficulties which Christians labour under would vanish before it there is one which even now strikes me - the salvation of Children. In them the spark or intelligence returns to God without any identity -it having had no time to learn of and be altered by the heart - or seat of the human Passions. It is pretty generally suspected that the Christian scheme has been copied from the ancient Persian and Greek Philosophers. Why may they not have made this simple thing even more simple for common apprehension by introducing Mediators and Personages, in the same manner as in the heathen mythology abstractions are personified? Seriously I think it probable that this system of Soul-making may have been the Parent of all the more palpable and personal schemes of Redemption among the Zoroastrians the Christians and the Hindoos. For as one part of the human species must have their carved Jupiter; so

another part must have the palpable and named Mediator and Saviour, their Christ, their Oromanes, and their Vishnu. If what I have said should not be plain enough, as I fear it may not be, I will put you in the place where I began in this series of thoughts- I mean I began by seeing how man was formed by circumstances — and what are circumstances but touchstones of his heart? and what are touchstones but provings of his heart, but fortifiers or alterers of his nature? and what is his altered nature but his Soul? - and what was his Soul before it came into the world and had these provings and alterations and perfectionings? An intelligence without Identity—and how is this Identity to be made? Through the medium of the Heart? and how is the heart to become this Medium but in a world of Circumstances?

There now I think what with Poetry and Theology, you may thank your stars that my pen is not very long-winded. Yesterday I received two Letters from your Mother and Henry, which I shall send by young Birkbeck with this.

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not embodied as a goddess before the time of Apuleius the Platonist who lived after the Augustan age, and consequently the Goddess was never worshipped or sacrificed to with any of the ancient fervour and perhaps never thought of in the old religion -I am more orthodox than to let a heathen Goddess be so neglected

[The Ode to Psyche, p. 142, here follows.]

Here endethe ye Ode to Psyche.

Incipit altera Sonneta

I have been endeavouring to discover a better Sonnet Stanza than we have. The legitimate does not suit the language over well from the pouncing rhymes -the other kind appears too elegiac and the couplet at the end of it has seldom a pleasing effect -I do not pretend to have succeeded — it will explain itself. [See p. 144.]

[May 3.]

This is the third of May, and everything is in delightful forwardness; the violets are not withered before the peeping of the first rose. You must let me know everything-how parcels go and come, what papers you have, and what newspapers you want, and other things. God bless you, my dear brother and sister.

Your ever affectionate Brother

JOHN KEATS.

95. TO FANNY KEATS Wentworth Place. Saturday Morn. [Postmark, February 27, 1819.] MY DEAR FANNY-I intended to have not failed to do as you requested, and write you as you say once a fortnight. On looking to your letter I find there is no date; and not knowing how long it is since I received it I do not precisely know how great a sinner I am. I am getting quite well, and Mrs. Dilke is getting on pretty well.

You must pay no attention to Mrs. Abbey's unfeeling and ignorant gabble. You can't stop an old woman's crying more than you can a Child's. The old woman is the greatest nuisance because she is too old for the rod. Many people live opposite a Blacksmith's till they cannot hear the hammer. I have been in Town for two or three days and came back last night. I have been a little concerned at not hearing from George -I continue in daily expectation. Keep on reading and play as much on the music and the grassplot as you can. I should like to take possession of those Grassplots for a Month or so; and send Mrs. A. to Town to count coffee berries instead of currant Bunches, for I want you to teach me a few common dancing steps — and I would buy a Watch box to practise them in by myself. I think I had better always pay the postage of these Letters. I shall send another book the first time I am in Town early enough to book it with one of the morning Walthamstow Coaches. You did not say a word about your Chillblains. Write me directly and let me know about them Your Letter shall be answered like an echo.

you

Your affectionate Brother JOHN

96.

TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON

Wentworth Place, [Postmark, March 8, 1819.]

MY DEAR HAYDON, — You must be wondering where I am and what I am about! I am mostly at Hampstead, and about nothing; being in a sort of qui bono temper, not exactly on the road to an epic poem. Nor must you think I have forgotten you. No, I have about every three days been to Abbey's and to the Law[y]ers. Do let me know how you have been getting cn, and in what spirits you are.

You got out gloriously in yesterday's Examiner. What a set of little people we live amongst! I went the other day into an ironmonger's shop without any change

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In this respect two most opposite men, Wordsworth and Hunt, are the same. friend of mine observed the other day that if Lord Bacon were to make any remark in a party of the present day, the conversation would stop on the sudden. I am convinced of this, and from this I have come to this resolution- never to write for the sake of writing or making a poem, but from running over with any little knowledge or experience which many years of reflection may perhaps give me ; otherwise I will be dumb. What imagination I have I shall enjoy, and greatly, for I have experienced the satisfaction of having great conceptions without the trouble of sonnetteering. I will not spoil my love of gloom by writing an Ode to Darkness !

With respect to my livelihood, I will not write for it, for I will not run with that most vulgar of all crowds, the literary. Such things I ratify by looking upon myself, and trying myself at lifting mental weights, as it were. I am three and twenty with little knowledge and middling intellect. It is true that in the height of enthusiasm I have been cheated into some fine passages; but that is not the thing.

I have not been to see you because all my going out has been to town, and that has been a great deal. Write soon. Yours constantly,

97.

JOHN KEATS.

TO FANNY KEATS

Wentworth Place, March 13 [1819]. MY DEAR FANNY-I have been employed lately in writing to George — I do not send him very short letters, but keep on day after day. There were some young Men I think I told you of who were going to the Settlement: they have changed their

minds, and I am disappointed in my expectation of sending Letters by them. — I went lately to the only dance I have been to these twelve months or shall go to for twelve months again—it was to our Brother in law's cousin's-She gave a dance for her Birthday and I went for the sake of Mrs. Wylie. I am waiting every day to hear from George I trust there is no harm in the silence: other people are in the same expectation as we are. On looking at your seal I cannot tell whether it is done or not with a Tassie it seems to me to be paste. As I went through Leicester Square lately I was going to call and buy you some, but not knowing but you might have some I would not run the chance of buying duplicates. Tell me if you have any or if you would like any — and whether you would rather have motto ones like that with which I seal this letter; or heads of great Men such as Shakspeare, Milton, etc. - or fancy pieces of Art; such as Fame, Adonis, etc. those gentry you read of at the end of the English Dictionary. Tell me also if you want any particular Book; or Pencils, or drawing paper—anything but live stock. Though I will not now be very severe on it, remembering how fond I used to be of Goldfinches, Tomtits, Minnows, Mice, Ticklebacks, Dace, Cock salmons and all the whole tribe of the Bushes and the Brooks: but verily they are better in the Trees and the water- though I must confess even now a partiality for a handsome Globe of gold-fish-then I would have it hold 10 pails of water and be fed continually fresh through a cool pipe with another pipe to let through the floor - well ventilated they would preserve all their beautiful silver and Crimson. Then I would put it before a handsome painted window and shade it all round with myrtles and Japonicas. I should like the window to open onto the Lake of Geneva-and there I'd sit and read all day like the picture of somebody reading. The weather now and then begins to feel like spring; and therefore I have

begun my walks on the heath again. Mrs. Dilke is getting better than she has been as she has at length taken a Physician's advice. She ever and anon asks after you and always bids me remember her in my Letters to you. She is going to leave Hampstead for the sake of educating their son Charles at the Westminster School. We (Mr. Brown and I) shall leave in the beginning of May; I do not know what I shall do or where be all the next summer. Mrs. Reynolds has had a sick house; but they are all well now. You see what news I can send you I do we all live one day like the other as well as you do - the only difference is being sick and well — with the variations of single and double knocks, and the story of a dreadful fire in the Newspapers. I mentioned Mr. Brown's name yet I do not think I ever said a word about him to you. He is a friend of mine of two years' standing, with whom I walked through Scotland: who has been very kind to me in many things when I most wanted his assistance and with whom I keep house till the first of May-you will know him some day. The name of the young Man who came with me is William Haslam. Ever your affectionate Brother JOHN.

98. TO THE SAME

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[Postmark, Hampstead, March 24, 1819.] MY DEAR FANNY-It is impossible for me to call on you to-day for I have particular Business at the other end of the Town this morning, and must be back to Hampstead with all speed to keep a long agreed on appointment. To-morrow I shall see you. Your affectionate Brother JOHN

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yours. Of course I should never suffer any petty vanity of mine to hinder you in any wise; and therefore I should say 'put the miniature in the exhibition' if only myself was to be hurt. But, will it not hurt you? What good can it do to any future picture. Even a large picture is lost in that canting place - what a drop of water in the ocean is a Miniature. Those who might chance to see it for the most part if they had ever heard of either of us and know what we were and of what years would laugh at the puff of the one and the vanity of the other. I am however in these matters a very bad judge- and would advise you to act in a way that appears to yourself the best for your interest. As your Hermia and Helena' is finished send that without the prologue of a Minia-ture. I shall see you soon, if you do not pay me a visit sooner - there's a Bull for you. Yours ever sincerely

JOHN KEATS.

100. TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON

Tuesday [April 13, 1819].

MY DEAR HAYDON When I offeredi you assistance I thought I had it in my hand; I thought I had nothing to do but to do. The difficulties I met with arose from the alertness and suspicion of Abbey and especially from the affairs. being still in a Lawyer's hand- who has. been draining our Property for the last six years of every charge he could make. I cannot do two things at once, and thus this affair has stopped my pursuits in every way from the first prospect I had of difficulty. I assure you I have harrassed myself ten times more than if I alone had been concerned in so much gain or loss. I have also ever told you the exact particulars as well as and as literally as any hopesor fear could translate them: for it was only by parcels that I found all those petty obstacles which for my own sake should not exist a moment—and yet why not

for from my own imprudence and neglect all my accounts are entirely in my Guardian's Power. This has taught me a Lesson. Hereafter I will be more correct. I find myself possessed of much less than I thought for and now if I had all on the table all I could do would be to take from it a moderate two years' subsistence and lend you the rest; but I cannot say how soon I could become possessed of it. This would be no sacrifice nor any matter worth thinking of much less than parting as 1 have more than once done with little sums which might have gradually formed a library to my taste. These sums amount

together to nearly £200, which I have but a chance of ever being repaid or paid at a very distant period. I am humble

enough to put this in writing from the sense I have of your struggling situation and the great desire that you should do me the justice to credit me the unostentatious and willing state of my nerves on all such occasions. It has not been my fault. I am doubly hurt at the slightly reproachful tone of your note and at the occasion of it, - for it must be some other disappointment; you seem'd so sure of some important help when I last saw you- now you have maimed me again; I was whole, I had began reading again — when your note came I was engaged in a Book. I dread as much as a Plague the idle fever of two months more without any fruit. I will walk over the first fine day: then see what aspect your affairs have taken, and if they should continue gloomy walk into the City to Abbey and get his consent for I am persuaded that to me alone he will not concede a jot.

101. TO FANNY KEATS

Wentworth Place [April 13, 1819]. MY DEAR FANNY-I have been expecting a Letter from you about what the Parson said to your answers. I have thought also of writing to you often, and I am sorry

to confess that my neglect of it has been but a small instance of my idleness of late - which has been growing upon me, so that it will require a great shake to get rid of it. I have written nothing and almost read nothing but I must turn over a new leaf. One most discouraging thing hinders me—we have no news yet from George so that I cannot with any confidence continue the Letter I have been preparing for him. Many are in the same state with us and many have heard from the Settlement. They must be well however: and we must consider this silence as good news.

I or

dered some bulbous roots for you at the Gardener's, and they sent me some, but they were all in bud—and could not be sent so I put them in our Garden. There are some beautiful heaths now in bloom in Pots either heaths or some seasonable plants I will send you instead - perhaps some that are not yet in bloom that you may see them come out. To-morrow night I am going to a rout, a thing I am not at all in love with. Mr. Dilke and his Family have left Hampstead - I shall dine with them to-day in Westminster where I think I told you they were going to reside for the sake of sending their son Charles to the Westminster School. I think I mentioned the Death of Mr. Haslam's Father. Yesterday week the two Mr. Wylies dined with me. I hope you have good store of double violets-I think they are the Princesses of flowers, and in a shower of rain, almost as fine as barley sugar drops are to a schoolboy's tongue. I suppose this fine weather the lambs' tails give a frisk or two extraordinary - when a boy would cry huzzah and a Girl O my! a little Lamb frisks its tail. I have not been lately through Leicester Square the first time I do I will remember your Seals. I have thought it best to live in Town this Summer, chiefly for the sake of books, which cannot be had with any comfort in the Country-besides my Scotch journey gave me a dose of the Picturesque with which I

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