MISCELLANEOUS LETTERS. CXIII. To GEORGE KEATS. My Dear George: Winchester, September, Friday. [17 September 1819.] I was closely employed in reading and composition in this place whither I had come from Shanklin for the convenience of a library, when I received your last, dated July 24. You will have seen by the short letter I wrote from Shanklin how matters stand between us and Mrs. Jennings. They had not at all moved, and I knew no way of overcoming the inveterate obstinacy of our This letter is given from the New York World of the 25th and 26th of June 1877, in which it was cut up and scattered about with a great deal of unnecessary mystification, not to mention numerous blunders arising from simple ignorance. It would seem as if the wish to make one letter appear like several, and magnify the material at command, had induced the correspondent of the paper in question to dismember the letter; and of course I cannot be certain that I have invariably put it together as it was written. As to the genuineness of the whole letter I have not the remotest doubt, nor as to the dates of its composition. It was begun on Friday the 17th of September 1819, a week after Keats had hurried to Town on receipt of George's letter of the 24th of July: this date we learn from the letter to Fanny Brawne of Monday the 13th of September 1819, in which he says he came by last Friday's coach. On Friday the 24th he was writing another part of the letter, after intervals; and there was no other Friday than the 17th on which he could have begun it. affairs. On receiving your last I immediately took a place in the same night's coach for London. Mr. Abbey behaved extremely well to me, appointed Monday evening at 7 to meet me, and observed that he should drink tea at that hour. I gave him the enclosed note and showed him the last leaf of yours to me. He really appeared anxious about it; promised he would forward your money as quickly as possible. I think I mentioned that Walton was dead. He will apply to Mr. Glidden, the partner, endeavor to get rid of Mrs. Jennings's claim, and be expeditious. He has received an answer to my letter to Fry-that is something. We are certainly in a very low estate. I say we, for I am in such a situation. that were it not for the assistance of Brown and Taylor I must be as badly off as a man can be. I could not raise any sum by the promise of any poem-no, not by the mortgage of my intellect. We must wait a little. while. I really have hopes of success. I have finished a tragedy,' which if it succeeds will enable me to sell what I may have in manuscript to a good advantage. I have 4 passed my time in reading, writing and fretting the last I intend to give up and stick to the other two. They are the only chances of benefit to us. Your wants will be a fresh spur to me. I assure you you shall more than share what I can get, whilst I am still young-the time may come when age will make me more selfish. I have not been well-treated by the world—and yet I have, capitally well. I do not know a person to whom so many purse-strings would fly open as to me-if I could possibly take advantage of them, which I cannot do, for none of the owners of these purses are rich. Your present situation I will not suffer myself to dwell upon 1 Otho the Great. when misfortunes are so real we are glad enough to escape them and the thought of them. I cannot help thinking Mr. Audubon' a dishonest man. Why did he make you believe that he was a man of property? How is it his circumstances have altered so suddenly? In truth I do not believe you fit to deal with the world, or at least the American world. But, good God, who can avoid these chances? You have done your best. Take matters as coolly as you can, and, confidently expecting help from England, act as if no help was nigh. Mine, I am sure, is a tolerable tragedy; it would have been a bank to me if, just as I had finished it, I had not heard of Kean's resolution to go to America. That was the worst news I could have had. There is no actor can do the principal character' besides Kean. At Covent Garden there is a great chance of its being damn'd. Were it to succeed even there, it would lift me out of the mire. I mean the mire of a bad reputation which is continually rising against me. My name with the literary fashionables is vulgar; I am a weaver-boy to them. A tragedy would lift me out of this mess. And mess it is, as far as regards our pockets. But be not cast down any more than I am. I feel I can bear real ills better than imaginary ones. Whenever I find myself growing vaporish I rouse myself, wash and put on a clean shirt, brush my hair and clothes, tie my shoestrings neatly, and, in fact, adonize as if I were going out-then, all clean and comfortable, I sit down to write. This I find the greatest relief. Besides, I am becoming accustomed 1 The naturalist. 2 It is worth noting how entirely Keats adopts this joint production-as if he had not let Brown have much hand in it. * The part of Ludolph, Otho's son. |