(Round Table) 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 scrawl-a word or two, till there comes a pat hour.

Send us a few of your stanzas to read in “ Reynolds' Cove." Give my love and respects to your mother, and remember me kindly to all at home.

Yours faithfully,

JOHN KEATS.

I have left the doublings for Bailey, who is going

to say that he will write to you to-morrow.

From a letter to Haydon.

"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 of 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 summer. Rome was not

built in a day, and all the good I expect from my employment this summer is the fruit of experience, which I hope to gather in my next Poem.

"Yours eternally,

"JOHN KEATS."

The three first books of "Endymion" were finished in September, and portions of the Poem had come to be seen and canvassed by literary friends. With a singular anticipation of the injustice and calumny he should be subject to as belonging to "the Cockney School," Keats stood up most stoutly for the independence of all personal association with which the poem has been composed, and admiring as he did the talents and spirit of his friend Hunt, he expresses himself almost indignantly, in his correspondence, at the thought that his originality, whatever it was, should be suffered to have been marred by the

assistance, influence, or counsel of Hunt, or any one else, "I refused," he writes to Mr. Bailey, (Oct. 8th), "to visit Shelley, that I might have my own unfettered scope;" and proceeds to transcribe some reflections on his undertaking, which he says he wrote to his brother George in the spring, and which are well worth the repetition,

'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's work at most,

Besides, a long poem is a test of invention, which I take to be the polar star of poetry, as Fancy is the sails, and Imagination the rudder. Did our great poets ever write short pieces? I mean, in the shape of Tales. This same invention seems indeed of late years to have been forgotten in a partial excellence. But enough of this-I put on no laurels till I shall have finished Endymion,' and I hope Apollo is not enraged at my having made mockery of him at Hunt's."

The conclusion of this letter has now a more melancholy meaning than it had when written. "The little mercury I have taken has corrected the poison and improved my health-though I feel from my employment that I shall never again be secure in robustness. Would that you were as well as

"Your sincere friend and brother,

66

Brothers" they were in affection and in thought -brothers also in destiny. Mr. Bailey died soon.

after Keats. 2.

1852 f

[Post-mark, 22 Nov. 1817. LEATHERHEAD.]

MY DEAR BAILEY,

I will get over the first part of this (unpaid) letter as soon as possible, for it relates to the affairs of poor To a man of your nature such a letter as -'s must have been extremely cutting. What occasions the greater part of the world's quarrels ? Simply this: two minds meet, and do not understand each other time enough to prevent any shock or surprise at the conduct of either party. As soon as I had known three days, I had got enough of his character not to have been surprised at such a letter as he has hurt you with. Nor, when I knew it, was it a principle with me to drop his acquaintance; although with you it would have been an imperious feeling. I wish you knew all that I think about Genius and the Heart. And yet I think that you are thoroughly acquainted with my innermost breast in that respect, or you would not have known me even thus long, and still hold me worthy to be your dear friend. In passing, however, I must say of one thing that has pressed upon me lately, and increased my humility and capability of submission-and that is this truthMen of genius are great as certain ethereal chemicals operating on the mass of neutral intellect—but they