Letters of John Keats to His Family and Friends
written. This is the word I shall be tempted to write at the end of most
modern poems. Every American book ought to have it. It would be a good
distinction in society. My Lords Wellington and Castlereagh, and Canning,
and many more, would do well to wear Twang-dillo-dee on their backs
instead of Ribbons at their button-holes; how many people would go
sideways along walls and quickset hedges to keep their "Twang-dillo-dee"
out of sight, or wear large pig-tails to hide it. However there would be
so many that the Twang-dillo-dees would keep one another in
countenance--which Brown cannot do for me--I have fallen away lately.
Thieves and murderers would gain rank in the world, for would any of them
have the poorness of spirit to condescend to be a Twang-dillo-dee? "I have
robbed many a dwelling house; I have killed many a fowl, many a goose,
and many a Man (would such a gentleman say) but, thank Heaven, I was never
yet a Twang-dillo-dee." Some philosophers in the moon, who spy at our
globe as we do at theirs, say that Twang-dillo-dee is written in large
letters on our globe of earth; they say the beginning of the "T" is just
on the spot where London stands, London being built within the flourish;
"wan" reaches downward and slants as far as Timbuctoo in Africa; the tail
of the "g" goes slap across the Atlantic into the Rio della Plata; the
remainder of the letters wrap around New Holland, and the last "e"
terminates in land we have not yet discovered. However, I must be silent;
these are dangerous times to libel a man in--much more a world.
Friday 27 [for 28th January 1820].
I wish you would call me names: I deserve them so much. I have only
written two sheets for you, to carry by George, and those I forgot to
bring to town and have therefore to forward them to Liverpool. George went
this morning at 6 o'clock by the Liverpool coach. His being on his journey
to you prevents my regretting his short stay. I have no news of any sort
to tell you. Henry is wife bound in Camden Town; there is no getting him
out. I am sorry he has not a prettier wife: indeed 'tis a shame: she is
not half a wife. I think I could find some of her relations in Buffon, or
Capt{n} Cook's voyages or the hie_rogue_glyphics in Moor's Almanack, or
upon a Chinese clock door, the shepherdesses on her own mantelpiece, or in
a _cruel_ sampler in which she may find herself worsted, or in a Dutch
toyshop window, or one of the daughters in the ark, or any picture shop
window. As I intend to retire into the country where there will be no sort
of news, I shall not be able to write you very long letters. Besides I am
afraid the postage comes to too much; which till now I have not been aware
of.
People in military bands are generally seriously occupied. None may or
can laugh at their work but the Kettle Drum, Long Drum, Do. Triangle and
Cymbals. Thinking you might want a rat-catcher I put your mother's old
quaker-colour'd cat into the top of your bonnet. She's wi' kitten, so you
may expect to find a whole family. I hope the family will not grow too
large for its lodging. I shall send you a close written sheet on the first
of next month, but for fear of missing the Liverpool Post I must finish
here. God bless you and your little girl.
Your affectionate Brother
JOHN KEATS.
CXXXII.--TO FANNY KEATS.
Wentworth Place, Sunday Morning.
[February 6, 1820.]
My dear Sister--I should not have sent those Letters without some notice
if Mr. Brown had not persuaded me against it on account of an illness with
which I was attack'd on Thursday.[113] After that I was resolved not to
write till I should be on the mending hand; thank God, I am now so. From
imprudently leaving off my great coat in the thaw I caught cold which flew
to my Lungs. Every remedy that has been applied has taken the desired
effect, and I have nothing now to do but stay within doors for some time.
If I should be confined long I shall write to Mr. Abbey to ask permission
for you to visit me. George has been running great chance of a similar
attack, but I hope the sea air will be his Physician in case of
illness--the air out at sea is always more temperate than on land--George
mentioned, in his Letters to us, something of Mr. Abbey's regret
concerning the silence kept up in his house. It is entirely the fault of
his Manner. You must be careful always to wear warm clothing not only in
frost but in a Thaw.--I have no news to tell you. The half-built houses
opposite us stand just as they were and seem dying of old age before they
are brought up. The grass looks very dingy, the Celery is all gone, and
there is nothing to enliven one but a few Cabbage Stalks that seem fix'd
on the superannuated List. Mrs. Dilke has been ill but is better. Several
of my friends have been to see me. Mrs. Reynolds was here this morning and
the two Mr. Wylie's. Brown has been very alert about me, though a little
wheezy himself this weather. Everybody is ill. Yesterday evening Mr.
Davenport, a gentleman of Hampstead, sent me an invitation to supper,
instead of his coming to see us, having so bad a cold he could not stir
out--so you see 'tis the weather and I am among a thousand. Whenever you
have an inflammatory fever never mind about eating. The day on which I was
getting ill I felt this fever to a great height, and therefore almost
entirely abstained from food the whole day. I have no doubt experienced a
benefit from so doing--The Papers I see are full of anecdotes of the late
King: how he nodded to a Coal-heaver and laugh'd with a Quaker and lik'd
boiled Leg of Mutton. Old Peter Pindar is just dead: what will the old
King and he say to each other? Perhaps the King may confess that Peter was
in the right, and Peter maintain himself to have been wrong. You shall
hear from me again on Tuesday.
Your affectionate Brother
JOHN.
CXXXIII.--TO FANNY KEATS.
Wentworth Place, Tuesday Morn.
[February 8, 1820.]
My dear Fanny--I had a slight return of fever last night, which terminated
favourably, and I am now tolerably well, though weak from the small
quantity of food to which I am obliged to confine myself: I am sure a
mouse would starve upon it. Mrs. Wylie came yesterday. I have a very
pleasant room for a sick person. A Sofa bed is made up for me in the front
Parlour which looks on to the grass plot as you remember Mrs. Dilke's
does. How much more comfortable than a dull room up stairs, where one gets
tired of the pattern of the bed curtains. Besides I see all that
passes--for instance now, this morning--if I had been in my own room I
should not have seen the coals brought in. On Sunday between the hours of
twelve and one I descried a Pot boy. I conjectured it might be the one
o'Clock beer--Old women with bobbins and red cloaks and unpresuming
bonnets I see creeping about the heath. Gipsies after hare skins and
silver spoons. Then goes by a fellow with a wooden clock under his arm
that strikes a hundred and more. Then comes the old French emigrant (who
has been very well to do in France) with his hands joined behind on his
hips, and his face full of political schemes. Then passes Mr. David Lewis,
a very good-natured, good-looking old gentleman who has been very kind to
Tom and George and me. As for those fellows the Brickmakers they are
always passing to and fro. I mus'n't forget the two old maiden Ladies in
Well Walk who have a Lap dog between them that they are very anxious
about. It is a corpulent Little beast whom it is necessary to coax along
with an ivory-tipp'd cane. Carlo our Neighbour Mrs. Brawne's dog and it
meet sometimes. Lappy thinks Carlo a devil of a fellow and so do his
Mistresses. Well they may--he would sweep 'em all down at a run; all for
the Joke of it. I shall desire him to peruse the fable of the Boys and the
frogs: though he prefers the tongues and the Bones. You shall hear from me
again the day after to-morrow.
Your affectionate Brother
JOHN KEATS.
CXXXIV.--TO FANNY KEATS.
Wentworth Place [February 11, 1820].
My dear Fanny--I am much the same as when I last wrote. I hope a little
more verging towards improvement. Yesterday morning being very fine, I
took a walk for a quarter of an hour in the garden and was very much
refresh'd by it. You must consider no news, good news--if you do not hear
from me the day after to-morrow.
Your affectionate Brother
JOHN.
CXXXV.--TO FANNY KEATS.
Wentworth Place, Monday Morn.
[February 14, 1820.]
My dear Fanny--I am improving but very gradually and suspect it will be a
long while before I shall be able to walk six miles--The Sun appears half
inclined to shine; if he obliges us I shall take a turn in the garden this
morning. No one from Town has visited me since my last. I have had so many
presents of jam and jellies that they would reach side by side the length
of the sideboard. I hope I shall be well before it is all consumed. I am
vexed that Mr. Abbey will not allow you pocket money sufficient. He has
not behaved well--By detaining money from me and George when we most
wanted it he has increased our expenses. In consequence of such delay
George was obliged to take his voyage to England which will be L150 out of
his pocket. I enclose you a note--You shall hear from me again the day
after to-morrow.
Your affectionate Brother
JOHN.
CXXXVI.--TO JAMES RICE.
Wentworth Place, February 16, 1820.
My dear Rice--I have not been well enough to make any tolerable rejoinder
to your kind letter. I will, as you advise, be very chary of my health
and spirits. I am sorry to hear of your relapse and hypochondriac symptoms
attending it. Let us hope for the best, as you say. I shall follow your
example in looking to the future good rather than brooding upon the
present ill. I have not been so worn with lengthened illnesses as you
have, therefore cannot answer you on your own ground with respect to those
haunting and deformed thoughts and feelings you speak of. When I have
been, or supposed myself in health, I have had my share of them,
especially within the last year. I may say, that for six months before I
was taken ill I had not passed a tranquil day. Either that gloom
overspread me, or I was suffering under some passionate feeling, or if I
turned to versify, that acerbated the poison of either sensation. The
beauties of nature had lost their power over me. How astonishingly (here I
must premise that illness, as far as I can judge in so short a time, has
relieved my mind of a load of deceptive thoughts and images, and makes me
perceive things in a truer light),--how astonishingly does the chance of
leaving the world impress a sense of its natural beauties upon us! Like
poor Falstaff, though I do not "babble," I think of green fields; I muse
with the greatest affection on every flower I have known from my
infancy--their shapes and colours are as new to me as if I had just
created them with a superhuman fancy. It is because they are connected
with the most thoughtless and the happiest moments of our lives. I have
seen foreign flowers in hothouses, of the most beautiful nature, but I do
not care a straw for them. The simple flowers of our Spring are what I
want to see again.
Brown has left the inventive and taken to the imitative art. He is doing
his forte, which is copying Hogarth's heads. He has just made a purchase
of the Methodist Meeting picture, which gave me a horrid dream a few
nights ago. I hope I shall sit under the trees with you again in some such
place as the Isle of Wight. I do not mind a game of cards in a saw-pit or
waggon, but if ever you catch me on a stage-coach in the winter full
against the wind, bring me down with a brace of bullets, and I promise not
to 'peach. Remember me to Reynolds, and say how much I should like to hear