CHARIES ARMITAGE BROWN
an Introduction and Notes
DOROTHY HYDE BoDiraiftA
WlLLAED BlSSELL POPE
OXFOBD UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
To M. B. F.
THE following abbreviations are used in the intro-
duction and notes:
Colvin. Sidney Colvin, John Keats, His Life and
Poetry, His Friends, Critics, and After-
Fame. Third Edition. London, 1920.
Letters. The Letters of John Keats. Edited by
Maurice Buxton Forman. Second Edition.
Lowell. Amy Lowell, John Keats. Two volumes.
Milnes. Lord Houghton (Richard Monckton
Milnes), The Life and Letters of John Keats.
Everyman Edition. London, n.d.
Sharp. William Sharp, The Life and Letters of
Joseph Severn. London, 1892.
of John Keats has remained
unpublished for nearly a century. It is the Life of
John Keats, the first biography of the poet, written
by Charles Brown. Diligent scholars in the Keats
field have unearthed letters, fragments of poems,
source material, anecdotes, and relics of the most
minute nature. Numerous biographers have given
the best of their creative geniuses to an exposition
and interpretation of his life and poetry. Critics
have delved into the suggestion behind each allu-
sion, figure, and doubtful passage. Anything that
was or is John Keats has been made accessible by
publication. Yet, paradoxically, the story of his
life as written by the man who lived with him
during the creation of his greatest poetry has con-
tinued to remain in manuscript. Later writers may
have usurped Charles Brown's place as biographer
through their greater scholarship and literary
talent, but no biography can approach in freshness
and intimacy the account by that friend who
shared his home, his income, and his life with
Details concerning the meeting of Keats and
Brown are lacking; it occurred, according to
Brown, * in the latter part ' of the summer of 1817, 1
when the three Keats brothers, John, George, and
1 See p. 48, below.
Tom, were living in Well Walk, Hampstead. John
saw much of his friends Brown and Dilke, whose
double house ( Wentworth Place, the present Keats
Memorial House) he could reach by a ten-minute
walk along the heath. The intimacy of Keats and
Brown was strengthened during the following sum-
mer; they went to Liverpool with George Keats
and his bride, who were emigrating to America, and
then, for forty-three days, they walked in Scotland,
Ireland, and the Hebrides. They tramped together
through pouring rain, dried out together in the next
sunshine, ate and complained of the same coarse
oat-cakes, thrilled at each sudden view of a moun-
tain-surrounded lake, and, in short, enjoyed every
aspect of a congenial comradeship which needed no
further influence to ripen into deep friendship. A
few months after this memorable trip, when Keats
lost his beloved brother Tom and found himself
virtually alone in the world, it was inevitable that
he should turn to Charles Brown; he moved to
Brown's house almost immediately and lived there
for most of his remaining months in London.
This domestic arrangement was a particularly
happy one for Keats. While he worked, he had un-
interrupted hours of quiet in Brown's well-ordered
household, and when he had leisure for relaxation
during this period of his greatest productivity, he
found his host's companionship most congenial.
It was under Brown's roof that the great odes, 'The
Eve of St. Agnes 7 and 'La BeUe Dame sans Merci',
were composed; here, in fact, he wrote the lines
which he modestly believed would place him among
the English poets after his death.
But this happy period was short-lived ; the win-
ter of 1819-20 brought distressing problems for
Keats. Financial troubles loomed on the horizon,
for his poetry brought no profit and his inheritance
was hopelessly involved in litigation. Brown sug-
gested money-making schemes and flattered the
discouraged poet into a little hope. Then came
Keats's first haemorrhage and the desperate an-
guish of his love for Fanny Brawne. For weeks
Brown was the nurse who took care of him night
and day. When Keats had no more money, Brown
advanced the sums necessary to meet his current
expenses. During the previous September Keats
wrote to Brown, c I had got into a habit of mind of
looking towards you as a help in all difficulties ' ;*
and this daily dependence continued until May
1820, when Brown left once more for the north.
Nor was Keats unappreciative of the high character
of Brown's help ; he wrote to his friend during his
voyage to Italy, 6 1 should think of-you in my last
moments 5 . 2
The bare outline of this intimate friendship
makes even more curious the neglect by the press
of Brown's biography. Moreover, the writing of
this memoir, extending as it did over a number of
years, is a story in itself, a history of the disintegra-
tion of the Keats circle after the poet's death. For
ever loyal to Keats, his friends fell into quarrels
1 Letters, p. 396. 8 Ibid., p. 521.
with each other, and the Life of Keats was the chief
cause of the dissension.
When Keats died in Rome in February 1821
he left a circle of ardent friends, who mourned not
only his death but the fact that England had re-
fused to accept him as a great poet. Keats was
so little known and so slightly esteemed at this
time that his death passed almost unnoticed. To
establish his reputation became the ambition of
his friends. Every fragment of his work must be
collected and published, and, moreover, the vitality
of his dynamic personality must be saved from
oblivion, for to his friends both the man and his
poetry deserved recognition.
John Taylor took the lead in a movement to
issue a biography of Keats immediately after his
death. As the poet's publisher, he had won Keats's
warm friendship with sound advice, generous ad-
vances of money, and steady defences of his poetry
against critical attacks. Taylor thus knew inti-
mately the details of the poet's life and work. On
March 28, 1821, less than a month after news of
Keats's death reached London, Taylor wrote to his
brother James :
'Perhaps you have not heard of the death of poor
Keats. He died 3 days before his defender Scott. 1 This
1 John Scott (1783-1821), the editor of The London Magazine, sharply
attacked the series of articles on 'The Cockney School of poetry ', appear-
ing in BlackwoocTs Magazine under the signature *Z'. Keats had been
cruelly ridiculed by this anonymous author. John Gibson Lockhart, a
leading contributor to Blacfaoooffs, was the chief object of Scott's
attack; Lockhart's friend J. H. Christie challenged Scott to a duel,
which was fought at Chalk Farm, near London, on February 16, 1821.
Scott died on February 27 as the result of the wound he received.
ought to be another Blow to the Hearts of these Black-
wood's Men. I believe I shall try to write his life it is
the wish of his friends and was Keats's wish also in that
case I shall have Occasion to speak of the Treatment he
has met with from the Race of Critics and Lampooners.' 1
According to his granddaughter, Taylor wrote
a short account of Keats, which was advertised in
the press as soon to appear, but he later abandoned
the project, for he * thought it would give pain to
people then living '. Although Taylor's manuscript
was preserved for years among his papers, by 1925
it had 'been lost sight of 5 . 2
John Hamilton Reynolds, as intimate a friend
of Keats as Brown himself, assisted Taylor's en-
deavours and collected biographical material from
a number of Keats's friends. When Taylor gave up
his plan, Reynolds decided to write the biography
of his friend, but for twenty years he procrasti-
nated. George Keats, in hearty sympathy with the
project, desired to help Reynolds in every way.
George's residence in America was the chief factor
preventing his undertaking the biography himself;
he clearly realized that his intimate knowledge of
his brother's life and the long letters which John
had written him should be utilized, and he wished
Reynolds to take full advantage of his information
and documents. Many of the letters which George
Keats sent from America during the twenties and
1 Unpublished letter, in the Keats Museum, Hampstead. A sentence
from this letter is given in Edmund Blunden's Keats's Publisher (1936),
a Olive M. Taylor, 'John Taylor, Author and Publisher', The London
Mercury, xii (July 1925), 260.
thirties to Charles Wentworth Dilke refer to Rey-
nolds as Keats's biographer. 1
Even in 1846, when Richard Monckton Milnes
was preparing his Life, Letters, and Literary Re-
mains of John Keats, Reynolds clung to his long-
deferred intention of writing his own recollections
of his friend, and at first he refused to co-operate.
When he realized how admirably Milnes was con-
ducting the labour, however, he withdrew his ob-
jections, placed all his papers and information at
Milnes's service, and felt c the weight of an undone
work' lifted from him. 2
Of course both Taylor and Reynolds consulted
Brown concerning their proposed memoirs. His
assistance would have been invaluable, for he had
copies of Keats's unpublished poems and had re-
ceived from Joseph Severn, who had attended Keats
so faithfully during his insufferable last months, the
papers of the poet in Rome. 3 Brown was willing
to assist in these early plans, provided he might be
allowed c a sight of his [Taylor's] memoir before it
went to press' and the right 'to approve or con-
demn in particular passages 5 . 4
Charles Cowden Clarke, the friend of Keats's
schooldays, acted independently in this matter.
1 The letters, largely unpublished, are in the Amy Lowell Collection
at the Harvard College Library.
2 See two letters from Reynolds to Edward Moxon, November 27 and
December 15, 1846, and one to Milnes, December 22, 1846. John
Hamilton Reynolds, Poetry and Prose (ed. G. L. Marsh, 1928), pp.
8 Letter from Severn to Brown, 'before the end of July', 1821.
Sharp, pp. 106 and 109.
4 Letter from Brown to Severn, August 14, 1821. Sharp, p. 109.
While Taylor was still preparing his memoir,
Clarke appealed to Brown for assistance in writing
the biography. Collaboration between Clarke and
Brown would have been fortunate, for Clarke's
first-hand knowledge of Keats's early years, when
his poetic aspirations were born, would have ad-
mirably supplemented Brown's close observation
of the fruition of these aspirations. Unfortunately,
Brown felt * conditionally bound' to Taylor and
unable to co-operate with Clarke. 1
However, at the very outset Brown had been
shocked by Taylor's haste to write the biography.
Brown wrote to Severn late in August 1821 :
c Immediately on receipt of your letter announcing
poor Keats's death, almost in the same newspapers where
there was a notice of his death, even before Mrs. Brawne's
family and myself had got our mourning, in those very
newspapers was advertised " speedily will be published,
a biographical memoir of the late John Keats, &c.," 2 and
I, among others, was applied to by Reynolds to collect
with all haste, papers, letters, and so on, in order to assist
Mr. Taylor. This indecent bustle over (as it were) the
newly covered grave of my dear friend shocked me
excessively. I told Mr. Taylor it looked as if his friends
had been collecting information about his life in expecta-
tion of his death. This, indeed, was the fact. I believe
I spoke warmly, and probably gave offence. However,
as I was jealous of my own feelings upon such a subject,
I took the precaution to sound those of Hunt, Dilke, and
Richards, who were all equally hurt with myself at such
1 Sharp, p. 110.
a Mr. Edmund Blunden was unable *to trace this announcement to
a date earlier than June 4, 1821, in the Morning Chronicle' (Keats* s
Publisher, p. 98 n.)-
an indecorous haste. I then came to this conclusion, that
Messrs. Taylor and Reynolds, who could show such a
want of feeling at such a moment, ought not to be con-
fided in by me unreservedly, and since I came to that
conclusion, I have had cause to believe myself correct.
I will not consent to be a party in a bookseller's job.
Perhaps it may turn out otherwise, but in justice to the
memory of Keats, I dare not run a risk. Mr. Taylor ex-
pected to be trusted implicitly, and takes dudgeon. Now,
on such a point I know of none whom I could trust
implicitly. He says no one understood Keats's character
so well as himself; if so, I who knew him tolerably well,
and others of his friends, greatly mistook him, judging
from what has dropped from Mr. Taylor for he is one
from whom things drop he cannot utter them boldly
and honestly, at least he never did to me, and I have
heard Keats say the same of him. What I have written,
I have written, and I leave you to judge if you think me
right or wrong. I rejoice you sent me the papers, and
under the circumstances, I think you will rejoice like-
wise. He is welcome, according to my promise, to any
information I can afford, provided he, according to his
promise, allows me a voice on the occasion. In my
opinion, Taylor would rather decline the information.
If you differ from me in my claim of having a voice, still
I have Dilke, Richards, and Hunt on my side. Hunt
has some poems, &c., of Keats, and offers them unre-
servedly to me, stipulating, however, that Taylor must
not be possessed of them without the memoirs passing
under my eye. Why should it be denied to me ? Any sort
of hesitation will make the business suspicious.' 1
Thus the Keats circle was shattered -by mutual
distrust. Brown, Severn, Richards, and Hunt felt
that Taylor was not qualified to write the memoir ;
1 Sharp, pp. 1Z1-12.
Taylor, Reynolds, Woodhouse, and George Keats
opposed Brown's authorship, although Woodhouse
later endorsed it. Dilke seemed to fluctuate for a
time between the parties, but ultimately he cast
his lot against Brown. 1 Within six months of his
death, Keats's friends present a picture we should
gladly efface from the records : the unhappy spec-
tacle of heirs fighting over an estate in this case,
the manuscripts of the poems and letters and the
right to make them public. The amazing quality
of the performance is that Keats's friends put so
high a value on papers which the literary world
had deemed of no value. It was as though they
were fighting for the best seats in an empty, dark
The result of this discord among Keats's friends
was the silence of the next seven years. The com-
petitive race to collect had succeeded in scattering
the material so widely that not one of the group
could put together a volume of any completeness.
Leigh Hunt was the first in print. In 1828 he pub-
lished Lord Byron and Some of His Contemporaries,
which included his recollections of Keats. Hunt
scarcely intended this to be the life of Keats, yet
it brought down the criticism of the group upon his
head. Brown was annoyed : * Leigh Hunt's account
1 George Keats's letters to Dilke, in the Harvard College Library,
show that they both disliked and distrusted Brown, and Dilke violently
denied Brown's '-generous protection' of Keats in a manuscript note in
his copy of Milnes's Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of John Keats,
now in the J. Pierpont Morgan Library, New York. Dilke's note is
written on p. ix of the preface. The version of the note in Letters (p. U)
contains minor variants and suppresses Dilke's adjective* crack-brained'
describing 'Milnes's distinguished friend of Fiesole', i.e, Landor.
of him is worse than disappointing ; I cannot bear it ;
it seems as if Hunt was so impressed by his illness
that he had utterly forgotten him in health, 5 he
wrote to Fanny Brawne on December 17, 1829 ; 1
and the same day he wrote Dilke: C I hate Hunt's
account of him, though every sentence, I verily
believe, was intended to his honour and fame ; but
what does that matter when he manages to make
him a whining, puling boy ?' 2
During these seven years Charles Brown had
not considered himself as a possible biographer of
his friend. Perhaps his conviction that Keats's
brother George had mistreated the poet was in
part responsible for his silence. Certainly his ani-
mosity towards George cut him off from essential
material, and he firmly believed that Keats was
not sufficiently valued to warrant either a bio-
graphy or a monument in England, which Severn
repeatedly suggested. 3 Furthermore, Brown's grief
was an ever-present phantom which kept him
silent; his recollections of Keats were too vivid.
After the poet went to Italy, he wrote: 'He is
present to me everywhere and at all times he now
seems sitting by my side and looking hard in my
face ' ; 4 and when Severn sent him the Keats papers,
he replied: 'the sight of them will renew many
painful thoughts.' 5 He fled the responsibility for
1 Letters, p. Ixi.
a Fragmentary unpublished letter, Brewer Bequest, Keats Museum.
8 Letter from Brown to Severn, February 7, 1823. Sharp, pp. 134-5.
* Letter from Brown to Severn, 'some three weeks later' than
December 21, 1820. Sharp, p. 75.
* Letter from Brown to Severn, August 14, 1821. Sharp, p. 109.
the very human reason that he could not face the
sorrow it would bring him.
As early as September 1821, Severn had written
Brown that he was 'the only one to write Keats's
Memoir at least to describe his character'. 1 Simi-
lar remarks from other friends finally convinced
him of this duty, and at last, late in 1829, Brown
set about the task seriously. The immediate incen-
tive was a letter from Galignani in Paris asking
for a Keats's autograph. c I have answered them ',
wrote Brown, 'in a manner to make them wish for
my pen, and Keats's MSS 1 am resolved, seeing
that Keats is better valued, to write his life.' 2 To
Leigh Hunt he wrote :
'You must know I am employing myself in writing
Keats's Memoirs, at greater length than your's, and
Severn will ingrave his portrait from the miniature I
have. . . . What I stand in need of is an account of Keats
when a school boy; and if I knew C. C. Clarke's address,
I would write to him for information on that point. . . .
I really think you are bound to induce him to send one,
giving all he can of his boyish disposition, and of any
thing else while at school ; in one word, I want to make out
as far as I can, the development of his mind. Both he
and Tom have talked a little to me on this subject. . . .
Can Clarke tell me in what parish Keats was born ? for
1 Sharp, p. 110.
3 Fragmentary unpublished letter from Brown to Dilke, December 17,
1829, Brewer Bequest, Keats Museum. Brown supplied Galignani with
Keats's signature (Letters, p. Ixi), which was reproduced with an engrav-
ing of Severn's sketch of Keats, taken from Hunt's Lord Byron and Some
of his Contemporaries, on the frontispiece of The Poetical Works of Cole-
ndge, Shelley, and Keats (Paris, 1829). Galignani's memoir of Keats is
obviously based on Hunt's account in Lord Byron ; all of the biographical
facts are found in this source, and they are presented in approximately
the same order and sometimes almost verbatim.
I think you have given a wrong birth day, though you
have his authority.' 1
Brown also wrote to Severn, who at once pro-
mised him all the information in his possession,
together with the engraving of the miniature to
which Brown referred in the letter to Hunt.
To Dilke Brown gave the following reasons for
writing the biography, in a letter dated January 20,
c My motive for writing Keats' life is that he may not
continue to be represented as he was not; possibly I
ought to add another motive, that of revenge against
Gifford and Lockhart, aye, and Jeffrey.' 2
Some weeks later Brown further explained his de-
sire to present Keats as he actually was, and to
correct an error of Hunt's concerning his back-
Brown also wrote to Fanny Brawne, to whom
Keats had been engaged : * I am resolved to write
his life, persuaded that no one, except yourself,
knew him better.' 4 He asked her permission to use
letters and poems in which she figured importantly.
This letter brought disastrous consequences upon
Fanny Brawne. One sentence of her reply provided
the first sharp-edged weapon with which the critics
could attack her. Lifted from its context it became
a guillotine with which she was executed publicly
1 Unpublished letter, June l, 1830, British Museum. Hunt stated
that Keats was born on October 29, 1796 (Lord Byron and Some of his
Contemporaries, second edition, i. 409). Brown was also in ignorance
of the date of Keats's birth, repeating Hunt's error. See p. 40, below.
3 Unpublished letter, Brewer Bequest, Keats Museum.
8 See p. 95, below. * Letters, p. ba.
year after year, for she was quoted as saying that
6 the kindest act would be to let him rest for ever
in the obscurity to which circumstances have con-
demned him'. 1 A rough draft of the curiously
enigmatic reply, dated December 29, 1829, which
Fanny Brawne made to Brown's request has re-
cently come to light; her first reaction was un-
favourable, but with some reluctance she gave her
consent in the following words :
6 ... had I been his wife I should have felt my present
reluctance would have been so much stronger that I
think I must have made it my request that you would
, relinquish your intention. The only thing that saves me
. now is that so very few can know I am in any way impli-
cated and that of those few I may hope the greater
Jnumber may never see the book in Question. Do then
jentirely as you please and be assured that I comply with
\your wishes rather because they are yours than with
the expectation of any good that can be done. I fear
the kindest act would be to let him rest for ever in the
obscurity to which unhappy circumstances have con-
demned him. Will the writings that remain of his rescue
'him from it? You can tell better than I, and are more
'impartial on the subject for my wish has long been that
* his name, his very name could be forgotten by every one
-but myself, that I have often wished most intensely. 2
. To your publishing his poems addressed to me I do not see
1 Lowell, ii. 425. Miss Lowell's reference to this quotation is confused,
for she says first that it was a 'remark to Dilke ten years after Keats's
/death' (i.e. in 1831) and then that * Fanny Brawne was not referring to
"*Keats's poetry when she wrote this, she was thinking of, and replying to
a request made to her by Brown in 1829.*
3 At this point Fanny Brawne wrote the following statement, which
is legible, although she crossed it out, evidently feehng that she had not
f expressed what she meant : *I was more generous ten years ago, I should
v not now endure the odium of being connected with one who was working
up his way against poverty and evry sort of abuse.'
there can be any objection after the subject has been once
alluded to, if you think them worthy of him. I entirely
agree with you that if his life is to be published no part
ought to be kept back for all you can show is his charac-
ter, his life was too short and too unfortunate for any
thing else. I have no doubt that his talents would have
been great, not the less for their being developed rather
late which I believe they [were], all I fear is whether he
has left enough to make people believe that. If I could
think so I should consider it right to make that sacrifice
to his reputation that I now do to your kind motives.
Not that even the establishment of his fame would give
me the pleasure it ought.' 1
Thus Brown gained Fanny Brawne's unenthu-
siastic permission to use the material he wished,
little realizing that her reply would deeply pre-
judice succeeding generations against Keats's
The writing of the memoir immediately involved
Brown in a quarrel with Dilke. As early as 1824
there had been an exchange of correspondence
between these friends in regard to George Keats's
discharge of brotherly duties to John. Dilke cham-
pioned George. But in Brown there was no toler-
ance for any criticism of John not even for a
remark which reflected upon his ability to handle
accounts. Thus, in 1830, when Brown, preparatory
to writing his memoir, opened up his packet of
Keats's letters and found evidence which he
thought undeniable proof of George's unpaid debts
to the poet, he took up the issue once more. Im-
passioned arguments and refutations flew back and
1 Letters, p. bciiu
forth between Brown and Dilke, generating anger
and permanent bad feeling. Brown implied that
Dilke's attack was directed against Keats himself
and rushed to defend his dead friend with caustic
words, writing as follows :
'Respecting Keats himself, you must excuse me when
I say that I think you never rightly understood any
thing of him but his poetry. How could you say that,
after his illness, he sunk something from his high feelings
of generosity ? Why, from the moment he was taken ill,
he had not the means of proving his feelings of generosity
to the amount of a penny. 51
This quarrel gives a pathetic picture of loyalty gone
astray. It was the final rift which broke for ever
the friendship between Brown and Dilke, a friend-
ship which had endured since childhood.
In the midst of heated arguments about George,
Dilke insinuated that Brown was attempting to
capitalize upon his friendship with the poet,
in prematurely anticipating profits from the
memoir. Brown hastened to write Severn, early
e Dilke urges me, as a proof to the world of my friend-
ship for Keats, and as the only proof that I am not book-
making, to declare, from the first, that I will not accept
of one penny of the profits which may arise from the
Memoirs. I never thought of profit, rather of loss, as I
expected to pay a large sum for the engravings.' 2
He then asked Severn for suggestions concerning
the use of the profits, should any materialize.
1 Fragmentary unpublished letter, remarked February 9, 1830,
Brewer Bequest, Keats Museum. a Sharp, p. 161.
Severn's customary enthusiasm ran away with him
when he wrote as follows to Brown on April 15,
'You ask me what shall be done with the profits of our
work to poor Keats's memory. Now I have thought a
good deal of it, and am going to propose that we erect a
monument to his memory here in Rome to the full extent
of the money arising from the sale of the work. ... I
have a subject in my mind for the Basso Rilievo, which
I think I once mentioned to you before. It is Keats
sitting with his half-strung lyre the three Fates arrest
him one catches his arm another cuts the thread
and the third pronounces his end.' 1
The energetic diligence with which Brown set out
to write the memoirs in 1829 and 1830 seems to
have been short-lived. The quarrel with Dilke un-
doubtedly increased the obstacles in his path. His
friends grew impatient. In 1832 Woodhouse ex-
acted a promise from Brown to write the life of
Keats during that winter, 2 and Severn was equally
pressing, repeating time after time, in his letters to
Brown of the early thirties, the question c What are
you doing about Keats's Life ? ' In 1834 he wrote
Brown: 'The time has come, and I FEAK THE TIME
MAY PASS/ 3 He then threatened Brown with writ-
ing the memoirs himself. For two years more
Brown continued to procrastinate, but at last, on
November 26, 1836, he reported to Severn that he
was resolved to carry through the task, writing thus
from Plymouth :
* The memory of Keats has been one of my greatest
1 Sharp, p. 162. * Ibid., p. 170. 8 Ibid., p. 164.
pleasures, but lately it has been mixed with pain, for
I have been occupied in writing my life of him, and,
consequently, been turning over letters and papers, some
full of hope, others of despair, and my mind has been
compelled to trace one misfortune to another, all con-
nected with him. I knew this task was my duty, and,
from the beginning I had from time to time made, I found
it a painful one. Therefore to compel me to my duty, I
boldly put down my name at our Institution for a lecture,
on 27th December, on "The Life and Poems of John
Keats." Now that it is advertised, the card printed, the
members looking forward to it, there is no retreating:
it must be done.' 1
This lecture, delivered almost sixteen years after
Keats's death, was the first full-length biography of
the poet. At six in the evening, December 27, 1836,
the members took their places in the lecture hall of
the Plymouth Athenaeum. It was a solemn gather-
ing because the Athenaeum was dedicated to the
purpose of regulating the heart under the discipline
of religion, so that every accession of knowledge
would be an accession of happiness. 2 No random
audience awaited the address, for only those gentle-
men c who undertook to lecture 5 were eligible for
membership. 3 The published list of members con-
tains only unfamiliar names, except those of Brown
and Colonel Hamilton Smith, whom Brown and
Severn knew in Italy, but the Honorary List in-
cluded Benjamin Robert Haydon, the artist, who
had been an intimate friend of Keats and a former
1 Ibid., pp. 178-9.
2 Plymouth, Institution Transactions (London, 1830), p. 18.
8 Plymouth Institution, Annual Reports and Transactions (Plymouth,
1865), i. 8.
resident of Plymouth ; however, he was not present
on this noteworthy occasion. 1
Brown gives us a glimpse of the evening in a letter
to Leigh Hunt of June 1837 :
C I have the "Life" which was read at our own Ply-
mouth Institution in December last It had a remark-
able reception at our Institution ; but, I have been told,
less on his account as a poet than on account of its
interest as a piece of biography, read by the friend of a
young poet no matter who it was. It also exalted me
as his friend, a compliment which I had endeavoured
to avoid, but possibly the endeavour had directly the
opposite effect of what I intended. Among other parsons
Coleridge's son 2 was there, and he was the only person
(as well as parson) present who had read his poems, he
was enthusiastic in their praise. There were two parsons,
one a regular and the other a dissenter, who angered me
a little, but it was of no importance ; I paid one in his
own coin, and will pay the other by degrees ; you can
well imagine that an exposure of the Tory critics on
Keats must necessarily make many a person spiteful/ 3
Evidently the political discussion superseded the
poetical. It is curious that the reception of this
first Life of Keats should have been almost identical
with that accorded Endymion. Charles Brown did
not have sufficient detachment to see that he was
himself responsible ; he had raised the very ghosts
he wished to lay.
Brown's deep disappointment at this outcome is
1 Haydon's Autobiography and Memoirs contains no information of
a departure from London in December 1836.
3 The Rev. Derwent Coleridge (1800-63), second son of Samuel Taylor
Coleridge, Master of Helston School, Cornwall, 182&-41.
3 Unpublished letter, in the British Museum.
apparent in his comments to Severn and Hunt.
Before presenting the Life to the Plymouth Insti-
tution, he had written cheerfully to Severn, on
November 26, 1836 :
'Probably I shall afterwards print it in a Magazine,
there to rest as a voucher for his admirers ; possibly I may
print it in a small volume by itself; in either shape you
must have it.' 1
But, after the lecture, in his letter to Hunt of
June 1837, he wrote:
c As I conceived it my duty to write it [the Life of
Keats], I have pleasure in its existence ; but my intention
of publishing it is not so eager as it was. 1st I must not
give his unpublished works, nor can I refer to them
effectively till they shall be published ; this, however, is
not much. 2d By the experience I had at our Institution;
and by what I read in the works of the day, I fear that
his fame is not yet high enough. 3rd I had rather a cool
reply on the subject from Saunders and Otley. And 4th
I would almost rather it were published after my death
than it should disturb my tranquillity, from attacks,
whether against him from his revilers, or against me
for I know not what.' 2
Brown's allusion to the fact that he 'must not
give his [Keats's] unpublished works' refers to a
new turn of events in the quarrel with Dilke and
George Keats. Writing to Severn on August 23,
1838, he said:
6 1 enter heart and hand into all your good purposes
about Keats. You do me injustice in thinking I am
remiss or lukewarm. His memoir has been long ready,
and I am anxious it should be published. Here are the
1 Sharp, p. 179. 2 Unpublished letter, in the British Museum.
difficulties in publishing the whole of his poems. Moxon
told me that Taylor, like a dog in a manger, will neither
give a second edition, nor allow another to give one.
But now, I believe, his copyright is out. George Keats
threatened anyone with an injunction who should pub-
lish the posthumous poems; this indeed stopped me in
the intended publication of the Memoir. 91
As early as 1835 it was known to Brown that George
Keats had authorized Dilke to enjoin the publica-
tion of any of his deceased brother's works. Brown
consulted Richard Monckton Milnes, a Keats en-
thusiast, as to the legality of such an injunction.
Although Milnes at first questioned George's power,
upon investigation he found that George was act-
ing within his rights. 2 Brown proceeded with his
memoir ; but to Brown, as to most succeeding bio-
graphers, the memoir seemed incomplete without
For five years following the lecture, the com-
pleted Life of Keats., in manuscript form, continued
to present a problem to Brown : ' I cannot bear the
thought of its being printed and received as of little
interest except among a few ', he wrote to Severn
on October 26, 1837, 3 He considered, nevertheless,
several plans, such as printing a limited edition of his
biography and c not selling one' copy, or donating
the unpublished Life and his Keats manuscripts to
the British Museum, where they would be available
to those who desired them. In 1840 he once more
considered publication ; he offered the memoir to
the Morning Chronicle,, to be published a column
1 Sharp, pp. 18&-7. a Ibid., p. 17"T. s Ibid,, p. 184.
at a time. But the London proprietors claimed
that it would be a losing speculation, since few
readers were interested in poetry or in poets 5 lives. 1
Again Brown was compelled to realize that the
demand for Keats 5 s Life after his death was as
limited as the interest in Keats's poems during his
With 1841 came a new era for Brown and the
memoir. In the spring of that year George Keats,
waiving his legal rights, agreed to the publication
of a fi Memoir , and Literary Remains '. 2 The editor
of the Morning Chronicle reconsidered his decision
and offered to publish Brown's work. 3 But these
sudden shifts, ironically enough, came too late for
the author, who was on the eve of quitting England.
Allured by the glowing promises of the Plymouth
Company of New Zealand, Brown decided to emi-
grate to that remote colony. His son was sailing in
March, and Brown booked his own passage on the
following ship. 4
Brown had no intention of taking away from
England the Keats papers and manuscripts which
had been entrusted to his care. He was therefore
obliged to find the right person to carry out his
plans for placing Keats in the forefront of English
poets, and after lengthy deliberation he selected
Richard Monckton Milnes. Brown considered each
1 Unpublished letter, Brown to Milnes, October 25, 1840, Collection
of Lord Crewe.
3 Sharp, p. 191.
3 Unpublished letter, Brown to Milnes, March 14, 1841, Collection of
4 Plymouth and Devonport Weekly Journal, March 25, 1841.
of Keats's friends in turn for this office. He thought
seriously of sponsoring John Hamilton Reynolds 5 s
long-deferred biography; and he considered Leigh
Hunt, who had already dealt briefly with Keats in
Lord Byron and Some of His Contemporaries. He
dismissed Benjamin Bailey because of his residence
in Ceylon, where he had become the Archdeacon
of Colombo, and rejected as unqualified Edward
Holmes, Joseph Severn, and Richard Woodhouse. 1
Brown's animosity for Dilke removed him as the
possible author, as well as George Keats and John
Taylor. In the end Brown chose a man who had
never known Keats. He gave the reasons for his
choice in a few words written to Severn on March
21, 1841; 'Mr. Milnes is a poet himself, 5 he said,
6 an admirer of Keats and, in my mind, better able
to sit in judgment on a selection for publication
than any other man I know.' 2
Brown's knowledge of Milnes's qualification was
in no way superficial, for a friendship of some seven
or eight years had existed between these men.
Brown had been introduced to Milnes at Fiesole,
probably in 1833, by his friend Walter Savage
Landor. 3 Milnes had been a member of the distin-
guished circle at Trinity College, Cambridge, which
included Alfred Tennyson and Arthur Hallam;
apart from Keats's friends, this group of under-
1 Sharp, pp. 194r-5. * Ibid., p. 194.
3 The dedication of Milnes's Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of
John Keats is dated August 1, 1848. The first sentence of the preface is
as follows: 'It is now fifteen years ago that I met, at the villa of my
distinguished friend Mr. Landor, on the beautiful hill-side of Fiesole,
Mr. Charles Brown.'
graduates in the late 1820's was one of the first
to recognize his great genius. Milnes's enthusiasm
for Keats made his chance meeting with Brown
a momentous occasion. Brown responded readily
to the young man who held Keats in such high
esteem, and a friendship developed which streng-
thened with the years. Brown had turned to
Milnes for legal advice when he first heard of
George Keats's injunction against the publication
of Keats's poems, and Milnes had been among those
who encouraged Brown to finish his memoir and
to publish this life of the poet. Consequently, on
March 14, 1841, Brown wrote to Milnes that he
wished ' to confide in a true lover of Keats ' and to
entrust the publication of the Life and Poems
to him, c Such confidence I am ready to impose in
you,' he wrote, 'if you will undertake the task
the responsibility the gratification or whatever
you may be induced to call it. ... Should you
consent to accept of the trust, I will send you the
Milnes must have accepted the suggestion at
once, since four days later Brown wrote that he
was sending the Life and the manuscripts of the
poems. In the midst of his preparations for de-
parture, Brown seems to have revised the memoir ;
his letters to Milnes show the mental difficulties he
encountered in preparing his data for the new bio-
grapher. On March 19 he wrote:
e Yesterday and today I have been occupied on this
1 Unpublished letter, Collection of Lord Crewe.
subject, and became fevered and nervous. I feel myself
quite unable to fix my attention on these papers, whether
in my handwriting or in his, any longer.' 1
He soon wrote again in a similar vein, saying:
*As soon as I begin to be occupied with his [Keats's]
poems, or with the Life I have written, it forcibly seems
to me, against all reason (that is out of the question) that
he is sitting by my side, his eyes seriously wandering
from me to the papers by turns, and watching my doings.
Call it nervousness if you will; but with this nervous
impression I am unable to do justice to his fame. Could
he speak I would abide by his decision. 32
These statements are disarming. Any criticism of
the biographer who knew Keats so intimately must
be tempered by sympathy for the friend whose
affection remained at such high pitch twenty years
after the poet's death.
In spite of this mitigation, Charles Brown's Life
is a disappointment. Its weakness results from the
fact that Brown wrote not so much a biography of
Keats as an invective aimed at those whom he con-
sidered responsible for his friend's untimely end,
namely, at the critics and George Keats. He at-
tacked the critics openly, but denounced George
Keats only by implication as one of those who
failed Keats in the last period of his life. To make
these enemies suffer the more, Brown strongly felt
that Keats's long, painful illness * should not be
concealed, should not be less dwelt upon'. 3
Time seemed to crystallize rather than soften
1 Unpublished letter, Collection of Lord Crewe. a Ibid.
8 Ibid., March 19, 1841.
Brown's bitterness. In entrusting his Life to Milnes,
he chiefly requested him to 'allow my facts
and opinions to stand'. 1 His two obsessions were
still George Keats and the critics. He had spared
George Keats in his memoir, but he could not re-
frain from pouring out his contempt to Milnes. He
repeated several times George's words to Keats
upon leaving for America in 1820, after his brief
return to England: 'You, John, have so many
friends, they will be sure to take care of you 5 ,
together with Keats's comment: "That was not,
Brown, fair was it?' 2 He also emphasized to
Milnes the cruelty of ' brute public opinion ' which,
insidiously working itself into Keats's mind, be-
came the poet's final estimate of himself as he chose
his epitaph, 'Here lies one whose name was writ
in water.' Brown's indignation at the reviewers
who prompted this opinion knew no bounds ; he
was firm with Milnes, saying: C I would have no
words changed that would change their purport.' 3
It was the intensity of this single emotion which,
monopolizing Charles Brown's mind, drove out the
wealth of anecdotes and incidents which he must
have known about Keats.
And yet, in this late consideration of Brown's
memoir, we find no more important point than his
insistence upon the disastrous effects of unfair criti-
cism on Keats. Recent biographers have dismissed
the theory, widely popularized because it is the
key-note of Adonais, that Keats was killed by the
i Ibid., April 9, 1841. 3 Ibid. * Ibid., March 29, 1841.
critics, and have pointed to his own words to show
that he was untouched by the cruel pettiness of
his attackers* 'My own domestic criticism \ he
wrote to Hessey on October 9, 1818, 'has given me
pain without comparison beyond what Blackwood
or the Quarterly could possibly inflict, and also
when I feel I am right, no external praise can give
me such a glow as my own solitary reperception &
ratification of what is fine. 51
This statement was undoubtedly true in the
autumn of 1818, but the evidence of Brown -and
nine other friends of Keats shows that the poet
regarded his attackers very differently a his ad-
versities increased. Although the eighty critical
notices of Keats's works 'were preponderantly
friendly and encouraging rather than inimical', 2
the bitterest attacks were published in two of the
most influential periodicals, and the scoffing re-
marks of Blackwood and The Quarterly greatly cur-
tailed the sales of Keats's books, just at the time
when his inherited income disappeared. During his
illness of 1820, he undoubtedly brooded on this
injustice, which robbed him of revenue and forced
him to postpone all thoughts of marriage. The
mental anguish of this period reacted most un-
favourably on his physical condition and retarded
even the temporary recovery from his first tuber-
It was tuberculosis, of course, which killed
* Letters, p. 222.
2 G. L. Marsh and N. I. mite, 'Keats and the Periodicals of His
Tune*, Modern Philology, xxxii (August 1934), 51.
Keats. In any case he probably would have died
from it, as did his mother, brothers, and four nieces
and nephews, 1 for the debilitating treatment of
the disease was exactly counter to modern medical
practice. But his mental condition, irritated al-
most beyond endurance, must have hastened the
progress of his illness. The critical attacks were
the starting-point for his melancholia ; they there-
fore must be regarded, as Brown said, as important
contributory causes of his death.
Brown's opinion was shared by Fanny Brawne,
George Keats, Bailey, Reynolds, Haydon, Dilke,
Hunt, Taylor, and Woodhouse in short, by
all of Keats's intimate friends who expressed
an opinion on the subject except Clarke and
To his fiancee Keats probably opened his heart
during his illness. Fanny Brawne's testimony on
the subject is repeated in the letter of her acquain-
tance, Gerald Griffin, to his sister Lucy, of June 21,
1825; he wrote:
c Keats you must know was in love, and the lady whom
he was to have married had he survived Gifford's (the
butcher) review, attended him to the last. She is a beau-
tiful young creature, but now wasted away to a skeleton,
and will follow him shortly I believe. She and his sister
say they have oft found him on suddenly entering the
room, with that review in his hand, reading as if he would
devour it completely absorbed absent and drinking it
in like mortal poison. The instant he observed anybody
1 'Of George Keats's children, two became victims [of tuberculosis],
and two grandchildren also developed it.' Lowell, i. 514.
near him however, he would throw it by, and begin to
talk of some indifferent matter/ 1
Fanny Brawne's own statement of this opinion is
found in her letter to Fanny Keats of February 1,
1821, written on learning from Severn of Keats's
desperate plight in Rome a month before his death :
'Good God! is it to be borne that he [Keats], formed
for every thing good, and, I think I dare say it, for every
thing great, is to give up his hopes of life and happiness,
so young too, and to be murdered, for that is the case,
by the mere malignity of the world, joined to want of
feeling in those who ought above all to have felt for him. 92
In his letters to Dilke, George Keats (whom
Fanny Brawne, like Brown, included in her de-
nunciation) frequently referred to the tragic effect
of the critical attacks on his brother. On April 10,
1824, he wrote:
'Blackwood's magazine has fallen into my hands, I
could have walked 100 miles to have dirked him a
rAmericaine, for his cruelly associating John in the
Cockney school, and other blackguardisms, [whijch
paltry ridicule will have wounded deeper than the
severest] criticism particularly as he regarded what is
termed the Cockney of the coterie with so much disgust.
He either knew John well and touched him in the ten-
derest place purposely, or knew nothing of him and sup-
posed he went all lengths with the set in their festering
opinions and cockney affectations.' 3
1 Life of Gerald Griffin Esq. ty his Brother, [Daniel Griffin], London,
1843, p. 190. Edmund Blunden first commented on this passage in
'Keats Letters, 1931 ; Marginalia', Studies in English Literature, voL xi,
no. 4 (October 1931), Tokyo. It is quoted in Letters, p. Ix.
3 Letters of Fanny Brawne to fanny Keats (ed. F, Edgcumbe, 1936),
p. 15, * Unpublished letter, in the Harvard College Library.
He repeated the charge on April 20, 1825,
'After all Blackwood and the Quarterly associated
with our family desease Consumption were ministers of
death sufficiently venomous, cruel and deadly to have
consigned one of less sensibility to a premature grave,
I have consumed many many hours in devising means
to punish these literary gladiators, but am always brought
to the vexing conclusion that they are invulnerable to
one of my prowess.' 1
Again, on May 7, 1830, George wrote to Dilke:
C I do not see how a life of John can be written without
noticing the effect that severe reviews and abominable
personal reflections had upon his sensitive mind, it ought
to be done temperately not for the purpose of cutting at
those worthies and exciting their spleen, but as circum-
stances that surrounded and operated upon the mind
and body of the Poet.' 2
Bailey and Reynolds, like Fanny Brawne, felt
that Blackwood' s gibes were almost murderous. On
learning of Keats's death, Bailey wrote to Taylor,
on March 26, 1821 :
c Reynolds told me, when I was last in London, that
poor Keats attributed his approaching end to the poison-
ous pen of Lockhart. If it be so, here is one more victim
of that "insatiable ardor*" of the envenomed arrows of
awfully [illegible word] and unjust criticism. 53
On March 29, 1821, Haydon wrote:
'He [Keats] began life full of hopes, fiery impetuous
1 From the holograph, in the Harvard College Library. Most of the
letter was given by Milnes (p. 195), with certain inaccuracies.
2 Unpublished letter, in the Harvard College Library.
8 Unpublished letter, in the Woodhouse Commonplace Book, Morgan
and ungovernable, expecting the world to fall at once
beneath his powers. Poor fellow! his genius had no
sooner begun to bud than hatred and malice spat their
poison on its leaves, and sensitive and young it shrivelled
beneath their effusions.' 1
He added, with undoubted exaggeration, that
Keats 'flew to dissipation as a relief, but his
opinion on the effect of the unfair reviews sub-
stantially agrees with what other friends wrote.
Dilke also felt that the critical attacks hastened
Keats ? s death, but, unlike Brown, he chose to dis-
regard them, for he believed (erroneously, as it
developed) that a formal defence of Keats would
call forth more vilification. He wrote as follows to
Severn, in a letter dated ' Sunday Evening. 1841 * :
* To be sure, Brown promised further to vindicate John
from the attacks in the "Quarterly" and "Blackwood"
then [thus?} to drag his memory through the mire that
had poisoned his living existence. As if the fact that an
edition of his works were called for a quarter of a century
after he had been laid in his grave, was not vindication
enough. As if the monument to his fame would be more
genial in its influences if built up with the stones that
had been hurled at his living head. 52
Hunt reprimanded Byron for his couplet from
Don Juan on Keats :
Strange that the mind, that very fiery particle,
Should let itself be snuffed out by an article.
Byron refused to give up his rhyme, although Hunt
'told him he was mistaken in attributing Mr.
1 The Autobiography and Memoirs of Benjamin Robert Hay don, edited
from his journals by Tom Taylor, , i. 301.
3 Sharp, pp. 199-200.
Keats's death to the critics, though they had per-
haps hastened, and certainly embittered it *. 1 Hunt
described Keats's 6 constitutional tendency to con-
sumption \ which was greatly aggravated when
'the rascally critics came up, and roused an indig-
nation in him, both against them and himself,
which he could ill afford to endure 5 . Hunt's dis-
cussion of the 4 Cockney School' essays contains
further information on Keats's disastrous indigna-
tion. Hunt was at first inclined to treat the anony-
mous attacks with dignified silence, but later, he
said, he was forced to notice them.
'Circumstances then induced me to make a more
peremptory call: it was not answered; and the two
parties retreated, they to their meanness, and I into
my contempt. I have since regretted, on Mr. Keats's
account, that I did not take a more active part. The
scorn which the public and they would feel for one
another, before long, was evident enough; but, in the
meantime, an injury, in every point of view, was done
to a young and sensitive nature, to which I ought to have
been more alive. The truth was, I never thought about
it; nor, I believe, did he, with a view to my taking any
farther notice. I was in the habit, though a public man,
of living in a world of abstractions of my own, and I re-
garded him as a nature still more abstracted, and sure
of unsought renown. Though a politician, (such as I
was,) I had scarcely a political work in my library.
Spensers and Arabian Tales filled up the shelves, as they
do now; and Spenser himself was not a remoter spirit in
my eyes, from all the commonplaces of life, than my new
friend. Our whole talk was made up of idealisms. In the
1 Leigh Hunt, Lord Byron and Some of His Contemporaries, second
edition, London, 1828, i. 4S&-9.
streets we were in the thick of the old woods. I little
suspected at that time, as I did afterwards, that the
hunters had struck him; that a delicate organization,
which already anticipated a premature death, made him
feel his ambition thwarted by these fellows ; and that the
very impatience of being impatient was resented by him,
and preyed on his mind. Had he said but a word to me
on the subject, I would have kept no measures with
According to George Keats, his brother would
not have welcomed Hunt's active and public cham-
pionship. After he had read Lord Byron and Some
of His Contemporaries, George wrote to Dilke, on
May 12, 1828:
e Hunt's sketch is not altogether a failure but I should
be extremely sorry that poor John's name should go
down to posterity associated with the littleness of L. H.,
an association of which he was so impatient in his life-
time. He speaks of him patronizingly, that he would
have defended him against the Reviewers if he had
known his nervous irritation at this abuse of him ; and
says that on that point only he was reserved to him ; the
fact was he more dreaded Hunt's defence than their
abuse you know all this as well as I do. 32
Taylor's opinion on the question has already
been quoted. 3 He believed that the blow which
'Blackwood's Men' dealt Keats was as deadly as
the shot fired at John Scott in the duel which grew
from the c Cockney School' articles.
The final evidence on the deep effect of these
attacks is in Keats's own words, as recorded by
1 Leigh Hunt, op. cit., 1 426-6.
2 Unpublished letter, in the Harvard College Library.
3 See p. 5, above.
Woodhouse in his manuscript 'Notes by Keats 5 :
6 If I die you must ruin Lockhart.' 1
Shelley never knew Keats well, and his testi-
mony on the subject, incorporated in Adonais and
its preface, is not the same important first-hand
evidence as the opinions which have been quoted
from nine of Keats's intimate friends. Four of
these opinions were written no later than six weeks
after Keats died ; except for Dilke's, which dates
from 1841, all of the rest were written within ten
years of his death. Because they are the contem-
porary testimony of Keats's closest friends, they
must be accepted at their face value, for against
them can be placed only two bits of evidence,
written forty years after Keats's death by men
whose memories were frequently inaccurate.
Clarke, who saw little of Keats after 1818, 2 dis-
cussed the unfair attacks as follows :
c To say that these disgusting misrepresentations did
not affect the consciousness and self-respect of Keats
would be to underrate the sensitiveness of his nature.
He felt the insult, but more the injustice of the treatment
he had received; he told me so, as we lay awake one
night, when I slept in his brother's bed. They had in-
jured him in the most wanton manner; but if they, or
my Lord Byron, ever for one moment supposed that he
was crushed or even cowed in spirit by the treatment he
had received, never were they more deluded. " Snuffed
1 Woodhouse Commonplace Book, Morgan Library. Colvin (p. 521),
publishing this statement without indicating its source, said that Keats
addressed it to Reynolds.
3 Keats's last reference to Clarke is found in his letter to George and
Georgiana Keats of February 14, 1819, when he wrote: *I have not seen
. . . C. C. C. for God knows when.' (Letters, p. 298.)
out by an article/' indeed! He had infinitely more
magnanimity, in its fullest sense, than that very spoiled,
self-willed, and mean-souled man, and I have authority
for the last term. 51
Clarke's contradiction of the popular theory
lacks the definiteness of Severn's statement :
*In Italy he [Keats] always shrank from speaking
in direct terms of the actual things which were killing
him. Certainly the "Blackwood" attack was one of the
least of his miseries, for he never even mentioned it
to me.' 2
We see, therefore, that Brown's opinion, clearly
indicated in his letters to Milnes and throughout
his memoir, is the authenticated opinion of most
of Keats's friends rather than the unsubstantiated
belief of recent biographers. Brown felt the injus-
tice and the disaster of the attacks so deeply that
he returned to the subject time after time, empha-
sizing the point even to the exclusion of personal
An indication of the anecdotes Brown might
have written is found in his comment to Milnes
concerning Keats's unfinished poem 'The Cap and
1 'Recollections of Keats. By an Old School-Fellow', The Atlantic
Monthly, vii (January 1861), 96. Clarke paraphrased these remarks in
his Recollections of Writers (1878), p. 147.
2 Joseph Severn, *On the Vicissitudes of Keats's Fame', The Atlantic
Monthly, xi (April 1863), 1 402. Reprinted in Sharp, p. 66. Fanny
Brawne's statement, made in 1821 (see p. 28), contradicts Severn's of
1868. Further question of Severn's accuracy arises in the fact that he
authorized the inscription on Keats's tombstone: *This grave contains
all that was mortal of a young English poet who, on his death bed, in
the bitterness of his heart, at the malicious power of his enemies, desired
these words to be engraven on his tomb stone "Here lies one whose
name was writ in water." February 24th, 1821.'
Bells', for which the poet planned to use the pseu-
donym Lucy Vaughan Lloyd :
6 " Lucy Vaughan Lloyd " was written chiefly for amuse-
ment ; it appeared to be a relaxation ; and it was begun
without framing laws in his mind for the supernatural.
When I noticed certain startling contradictions, his
answer used to be "Never mind, Brown; all those
matters will be properly harmonized, before we divide
it into Cantos. 59 J1
Brown gave one other slight glimpse of Keats in
telling Milnes of his independent spirits :
'His absolute disgust, his horror at what he used to
call "shabby and glutinous cares" was joined to a firm
spirit of independence. My earnest offers pained him,
because he feared for me. When I have put it in this way
"I am certain, Keats, that it would prove a capital
speculation for me, if you will agree to let me go in your
boat ; I risk nothing, for we shall be sure to have a pros-
perous voyage," he would look serious, and pleased; but,
when it came to the point, he would more seriously refuse
to let me enter his boat with "No, that must not be;
you were very well before you knew me ; and so you must
remain you are not a bookseller!" 52
These fragments are sketchy, yet sufficient to touch
off our desire for still more. Had Charles Brown
been less a champion, he would have been more a
Leaving these few tantalizing impressions, to-
gether with his final requests of Milnes, Charles
Brown sailed away to New Zealand, where his own
untimely death occurred in June 1842. Richard
1 Unpublished letter, Brown to Milnes, March 29, 1841, Collection of
Lord Crewe. * Ibid,
Monckton Milnes, later Lord Houghton, became
sole heir not only to the Keats manuscripts and to
the Brown memoir, but to the responsibility of in-
troducing John Keats to the literary world. George
Keats died a few months after Brown. The pass-
ing of these two men gave Milnes the freedom to
rise above petty quarrels and personal animosities,
and to lift the detailed facts of a man's life into a
poet's biography. The result is the first published
biography of Keats, the Life, Letters, and Literary
Remains, edited by Milnes in 1848.
Milnes used the Brown memoir freely in writing
his life of Keats ; with discrimination and a sense
for dramatic narrative he disentangled the real
John Keats from Brown's impassioned diatribe on
the critics. Brown's manuscript remained with the
other Keatsiana (referred to by Sir Sidney Colvin
and Miss Amy Lowell as the Houghton Papers),
where it has always been available to students and
admirers of Keats. It came into the possession of
the Marquis of Crewe, by whose kind permission
we are enabled to publish it.
We take pleasure also in acknowledging the
kindness and assistance of Miss Ida Corbett, Lord
Crewe's secretary; of Mr. M. Buxton Forman, the
editor of Keats's letters ; of Mr. Edmund Blunden
and Mr. Fred Edgcumbe; of the officers of the
Harvard College Library, the J. Pierpont Morgan
Library, the British Museum, and the Keats
Museum; and of the authors to whom separate
acknowledgements are made in the notes.
Lord Crewe, like his father. Lord Houghton, has
always been most generous in placing his collec-
tion at the service of scholars. The information in
Brown's memoir has thus been widely known for
many years. Mr. H. Buxton Forman and Sir
Sidney Colvin (to mention only the two leading
English biographers of Keats) both had access to
the memoir. No new information on Keats, there-
fore, will be disclosed in this first publication of
Brown's Life of John Keats.
Nevertheless, the memoir, as a document in
itself, is of the first importance. It gives the only
complete picture of Keats written by an intimate
friend and greatly surpasses the reminiscences of
the poet written by Hunt, Clarke, and Severn,
none of whom was closely in touch with Keats
during his greatest period. Hunt and Clarke were
friends of his youth, and Severn was the magnifi-
cently loyal friend of his decline ; Brown, however,
was one of Keats's most intimate friends in the few
years of his prime. The fact that it is the first
biography of the poet increases the interest in
Brown's memoir, but its greatest importance to
Keats scholars and enthusiasts lies in its cogent
revelation of the author's character and his rela-
tionship with his friend. Finally, its unique quality
is derived from its value as a human experience ;
it throws us back into the personal jealousies and
the petty animosities of the poet's friends and
critics so that we live in the early nineteenth
century. To quarrel with Keats's 'revilers', even
to hate for a few moments with Charles Brown,
creates a proximity to Keats which no later bio-
grapher has recaptured. To quote Brown himself,
c When a silent man once begins to speak, he is
sometimes apt to make up for lost time 5 . 1
1 Charles Armitage Brown, Shakespeare* s Autobiographical Poems,
London, 1838, p. v.
LIFE AND POEMS OF
CHARLES ARMITAGE BROWN
'He is made one with Nature : there is heard
His voice in all her music ; from the moan
Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird ;
He is a presence to be felt and known
In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,
Spreading itself where'er that Power may move
Which has withdrawn his being to its own ;
Which wields the world with never wearied love,
Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
He is a portion of the loveliness
Which once he made more lovely : he doth bear
His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress
Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there
All new successions to the forms they wear.*
Shelley's 'Adonais', St- 42 & 43.
JLHESE lines are from 'Adonais*, an elegy by
Shelley on the death of Keats. When 'Adonais*
was sent to me from Italy, I recognized, in these
lines, my own every day, involuntary inevitable
reflections on the loss of my friend. I honoured
the genius that could embody them in language so
soothing and poetical; and I eagerly desired, when
on my road to Italy, to hold Shelley's hand in
inine, for I had never met him, but he too, a few
days before my arrival in the very city where he
had resided for years, was lost. 1
Often have I been urged to write a biography
of Keats, and almost as often have I urged a pro-
mise of every information in my power to others.
Earnestly wishing it done, I have myself recoiled
from the office ; for it is painful. He was dearly be-
loved, and honoured as a superior being by me. Now
that twenty years 2 have passed since I lost him, his
memory is still my chief happiness ; because I think
of him in the feeling of Shelley's lines. But, when
I must, while writing his life, recal, during our
intimate and unreserved friendship, his disappoint-
ment, his sorrows, and his death, each crowded
with images and circumstances, which force them-
selves on my mind, the pain well nigh overcomes
my duty. 3 For it is a duty ; and, since it seems to
devolve on me, I will perform it. His fame is part
of my life. Indignation at his enemies, with con-
tempt for their listeners, has been another cause
of my having deferred this task ; but now, it is true,
the best and the greater part of his literary country-
men have learnt to feel delight in his poetry. 4
John Keats was born in Moorfields on 29th Octo-
ber 1796*. 5 His father was a native of Devonshire,
* I cannot be certain of this date. While I was in Italy, and since
my return, friends have in vain endeavoured to discover the registry
of his baptism. One of his schoolfellows 6 informs me that he thinks
Keats must have been born a year earlier. The year of his birth I calcu-
late from what he himself casually said of his age ; but ,1 suspect that
his birthday, from his dislike to having it kept, is not correctly given,
though said to have been given by himself to a lady, 7 who asked him
the question, with an avowed purpose of keeping it.
and married a daughter of the proprietor of an inn. 8
At the age of eight or nine years Keats lost his
father; and, while he was yet a boy, his mother
also died. 9 He was the eldest of three sons and a
daughter. 10 Property in the funds to the amount
of about 10,000 was bequeathed among them;
2,000 to each of the brothers, and the remainder
to the sister. 11
He was educated at the Rev d 12 M p Clarke's school
at Enfield, and afterwards apprenticed to M r Ham-
mond, a surgeon, in Church Street, Edmonton. 13
Owing to his early removal from the school, he felt
a deficiency in the latin language ; and therefore,
during his apprenticeship, made and carefully
wrote out a literal prose translation of the whole of
VirgiPs ^Eneid. At that time also he studied his
own language with all the critical nicety in his
power, and made himself, for his age, learned in
history. After the usual term of years with M r
Hammond, he became a student at Guy's Hospital ;
where he was indefaticable in his application to
anatomy, medicine, and natural history.
Though born to be a poet, he was ignorant of his
birthright until he had completed his eighteenth
year. Before this period his leisure hours, which
were scanty few, had not been occupied in reading
works of imagination ; neither had he attempted,
nor thought of writing a single line. 14 In one whose
passions were vivid, whose imagination was un-
bounded, and who, not many months after, was
entirely absorbed in poetry, it is strange that no
indication of his powers should have appeared at
the first burst of youth. Other and opposite studies,
pursued with an eager temperament, may partly,
but, perhaps, not wholly account for it. From his
earliest boyhood he had an acute sense of beauty,
whether in a flower, a tree, the sky, or the animal
world ; how was it that his sense of beauty did not
naturally seek in his mind for images by which he
could best express his feelings ? It was the 'Faery
Queen' that awakened his genius. 15 In Spenser's
fairy land he was enchanted, breathed in a new
world, and became another being ; till, enamoured
of the stanza, he attempted to imitate it, and suc-
ceeded. This account of the sudden developement
of his poetic powers I first received from his
brothers, and afterwards from himself. This his
first earliest attempt, the ' Imitation of Spenser ',
is published in his first volume of Poems, and is
peculiarly interesting to those who are acquainted
with its history. 16
c Now morning from her orient chamber came,
And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill ; &c. '
If any youth, after repeated trials of his strength,
were to produce verses worthy to compete with
these, who would not hold forth his hand to him,
and whose heart would not throb with fear at what
he might endure ?
From this moment he began, deeply and fer-
vently, to read and ponder over our poets. Chaucer,
Spenser, and Shakespeare were his household gods.
When his soul arose into poetry, it was imbued
with our earliest authors. He at once relinquished
He did not immediately relinquish his profession ;
for this decisive step was not taken till about two
years afterwards, some time before May 1817,
when he wrote from Canterbury to one of his
brothers, 'I have forgotten all surgery.' 17 He
has assured me the muse had no influence over
him in his determination, he being compelled,
by conscientious motives alone, to quit the pro-
fession, upon discovering that he was unfit to
perform a surgical operation. He ascribed his ina-
bility to an overwrought apprehension of every
possible chance of doing evil in the wrong direction
of the instrument. * My last operation ', he told me,
c was the opening of a man's temporal artery. I did
it with the utmost nicety ; but, reflecting on what
passed through my mind at the time, my dexterity
seemed a miracle, and I never took up the lancet
Some of his poems were shown, by a friend, 19 to
M* Leigh Hunt, at that time editor of the 'Exami-
ner ', who was instantly aware of their great merit,
and their promise of excellence from the young
poet. 20 This, together with praise from many others,
induced him to prepare for the press a small volume,
which appeared in the spring of 1817 j 21 and, while
it was publishing, he had written the first book of
In the latter part of that year's summer I first
saw him. It was on the Hampstead road that
we were introduced to each other; the minutest
circumstances attending our first meeting are strong
in my memory, but they must be uninteresting to
others all except myself. Still, as in that interview of
a minute I inwardly desired his acquaintanceship, if
not his friendship, I will take this occasion of de-
scribing his personal appearance. He was small in
stature, well proportioned, compact in form, and,
though thin, rather muscular ; one of the many
who prove that manliness is distinct from height
and bulk. There is no magic equal to that of an
ingenuous countenance, and I never beheld any
human being's so ingenuous as his. His full fine
eyes were lustrously intellectual, and beaming
(at that time!) with hope and joy. It has been
remarked that the most faulty feature was his
mouth j 22 and, at intervals, it was so. But, when-
ever he spoke, or was, in any way, excited, the
expression of the lips was so varied and delicate,
that they might be called handsome.
He had taken lodgings for himself and his
brothers at Hampstead, and I was his neighbour.
I succeeded in making him come often to my house
by never asking him to come of tener ; and I let him
feel himself at perfect liberty there, chiefly by
avoiding to assure him of the fact. We quickly
Every one who met him sought for his society,
and he was surrounded by a little circle of hearty
friends. While 'Endymion 5 was in progress, as
some degree of solitude was necessary, he made
excursions to Box Hill, Hastings, the Isle of Wight,
Oxford, and lastly Teignmouth, 23 whither he went
to attend on his youngest brother, whose ill state
of health required a mild air, and whence the last
book of 'Endymion' was forwarded for the press.
At times he relieved himself from continued appli-
cation to this work by writing sonnets and other
short poems, most of which have been printed;
but among them is one, c Lines on seeing a lock
of Milton's hair ', which is yet unknown, and ought
not to be so. 24
Immediately on the appearance of his first
volume 'Blackwood's Magazine' commenced a
series of attacks upon him, month after month. 25
These attacks doubtless originated and were
carried on in unprincipled party spirit. 26 The inex-
perienced Keats, without a thought of the conse-
quence, in a political point of view, had addressed
his volume to his friend -M 8 - Leigh Hunt in a dedica-
tory sonnet ; and, still less to be forgiven, he had
written another sonnet on the day -M*- Leigh Hunt
left prison, where he had been confined for two years,
in expiation of what had been construed into a dis-
loyal libel. 27 There was no indication of criticism
in 'Blackwood's Magazine 3 on Keats's works;
there was nothing but abuse and ridicule to prevent
their sale. An author's person, however objection-
able, cannot have any thing to do with a question
on his literary merits. These hirelings, however,
pretended to think otherwise ; and, in order to hold
him up to public ridicule, they dealt unreservedly
in falsehood. They represented him as affected,
effeminate, and -alse- sauntering about without a
neckcloth, in imitation of the portrait of Spenser ; 28
every word of which was as far from the truth as
their jokes on ' pimply-faced Hazlitt ', 29 one whom
I never saw with a pimple on his face. Hazlitt
himself remarked to me, 'Of what use would
it be were I publicly to convict them of untruth
in this description of me? of none whatever.
They would then persuade their readers, far more
to blame than themselves, that in their misrepre-
sentation consisted the very marrow, the excellence
of the jest; nay, that the jest would be nothing
if it were true/ 30 The power of these writers, with
their unremitting ridicule was great, for they had
talent. M r Lockhart, the son in law of Sir Walter
Scott, was generally known as the editor of c Black-
wood's Magazine' at that time. 31 At a later period
indeed he denied he was the editor ; but he refused
to deny that he ever had been the editor.
As quickly as possible after the publication of
6 Endymion 9 an article appeared on it in the * Quar-
terly Review'. In this there was nothing but rage
and malice, too undisguised, I thought at the time,
to prove injurious, and utterly unrecommended by
talent of any kind. 32 Still the high reputation of
the work, in which it stood, carried it, in spite of
its demerits, safe into the public's ear. The public
could not suspect that M r Gifford 33 would com-
promise the character of the * Quarterly ' by an un-
tenable decided condemnation. How few are at
the trouble of forming their own judgment on a
book! in this exists the power of a reviewer.
Shelley, in his preface to 'Adonais', asks, As to
'Endymion, was it a poem, whatever might be its
'defects, to be treated contemptuously by those
' who had celebrated, with various degrees of com-
'placency and panegyric, Paris., and Woman, and
c a Syrian Tale, and M rs Lafanu and M r Barrett,
c and M r Howard Payne, and a long list of the illus-
6 trious obscure ? ' 34 This question from Shelley may
be unanswerable ; yet still the c Quarterly Review 5
is read with confidence by a large portion of the
public, those who cannot or will not exert their
faculties or their courage to form an opinion of
As an antidote to this poison we naturally looked
forward to the 'Edinburg Review'. M r Jeffrey, 35
however, remained and continued to remain silent ;
as if quietly watching whether the victim was
crushed, or could possibly survive. At length, too
late for a good purpose, not till August 1820, after
the publication of a third volume, 36 when Keats
had received his death-blow, 37 there appeared in
the 'Edinburg Review 3 a criticism on his poems,
from which criticism I select the following passages.
'Any one who would represent the whole poem*
(Endymiori) 6 as despicable, must either have no
' notion of poetry, or no regard to truth. 5 'He
6 who does not find -ia-ik a great deal in it to admire
'and to give delight, cannot in his heart see much
'beauty in the two exquisite dramas to which
*we have already alluded/ (Fletcher's Faithful
Shepherdess, an.d.Een3onsorf$SadShepherd), 'or find
' any great pleasure in some of the finest creations
' of Milton and Shakespeare '. * We are very much
'inclined indeed to add, that we do not know any
' book which we would sooner employ as a test to
'ascertain whether any one had in him a native
'relish for poetry, and a genuine sensibility to its
'intrinsic charm.' 38
M r Jeffrey, in apology for not having, during the
two previous years, noticed a young poet, whom he
at last so highly eulogized, chose to make use of
this assertion; 'We had never happened to see
either of these volumes till very lately/ 39 Re-
viewers are accustomed to say any thing at their
will and pleasure ; yet, unless we doubt the gentle-
man's assertion, we are compelled to accuse the
critic, (which would be irreparable disgrace), of
having neglected his self assumed duty as a careful
examiner into the literature of the day.
In the sumirx . of 1818 Keats offered to be my
companion in a walking visit to the English lakes
and the highlands of Scotland. 40 We first went by
coach to Liverpool, 41 as his brother George was
about to embark from that port for America, and
thence to Lancaster, from which town we com-
menced our walk, 42 each with a knapsack on his
back. I cannot forget the joy, the rapture of my
friend when he suddenly, and for the first time, be-
came sensible to the full effect of mountain scenery.
It was just before our descent to the village of Bow-
ness, at a turn of the road, when the lake of Winder-
mere at once came into view. 43 In the evening
he repeated to me his beautiful and pathetic poem
of ' Isabella ', which he had just written, before he
left Teignmouth. All was enchantment to us both.
He had been introduced to Wordsworth in Lon-
don, and, to show respect to that great poet, he
called on him at Rydale j 44 but it was at the time
of a general election, and therefore Wordsworth
was away from his quiet home, at Lowther Hall. 45
Tho young poet looked thoughtful at this exposure
of hiG elder.
After having made something like the usual
to[ur] 46 through Westmoreland and Cumberland,
we journied by coach from Carlisle to Dumfries,
where we stood before the grave of Burns. 47 Then, as
we walked, through by Solway Firth, through that
delightful part of Kirkudbrightshire, the scene of
6 Guy Mannering \ I talked of Meg Merrilies, while
Keats, who had not yet read that [nove]l, was much
interested in the character. T* J'was [a] little
spot, close to our path- way, ' There \ he said, in
an instant positively realizing a creation of the
novellist, 'in that very spot, without a shadow of
6 doubt, has old Meg Merrilies often boiled her
6 kettle ! * It was among pieces of rock, and brambles,
and broom, ornamented with a profusion of honey-
suckle, wild roses, and foxglove, all in the very
blush and fullness of blossom. While we sat at
breakfast, he was occupied in writing to his young
sister, and, for her amusement, he composed a
ballad on old Meg. I took a copy of it at the time.
It was for the amusement of a school-girl ; yet how
full of imagination!
Old Meg she was a gipsy &c. 48
Want of time to effect our numerous intentions,
with other circumstances, compelled us to forego
seeing the Giant's Cause-way, though we had pro-
ceeded towards it as far as Belfast. 49 On our re-
turn, walking northwards by the coast, Ailsa rock
attracted our continued notice. It seemed, at our
first view, the sun shining on it, like an enormous
transparent tortoise asleep upon calm water. Its
height is 940 feet, measured on its perpendicular
side, above the level of the sea. Walking onward,
we saw, as it were, the shoulders of this rock;
then, as we still walked on, we saw more and more,
with the mountains of Arran behind, the whole
extent of Cantire, and even Ireland like a little
dusky cloud in the horizon. At [ou]r inn in Girvan
he wrote this Sonnet on Ailsa rock. 50
Hearken, thou craggy ocean-pyramid &c.
We were now in Ayrshire, the country of Burns,
a region of quiet beauty, with much of the character
of England. We descended to the * banks and braes
of bonny Doon 5 , examined the ruin of Kirk Allo-
way, indebted to the poet's imagery alone for
its attraction, and saw the town of Ayr before
* Auld Ayr whom ne'er a town surpasses
'For honest men and bonny lasses.' 62
Not far from this side of the town stood the cottage
where Burns was born. Keats had predetermined
to write a sonnet under its roof; but its conversion
into a whiskey-shop, together with its drunken
landlord, went far towards the annihilation of his
poetic power. 53
This mortal body of a thousand days &C;
We found our way, through Glasgow, into the
highlands, where, soon quitting the carriage-roads,
we explored some unfrequented districts, which,
I had read, offered still grander scenery. At Oban
we crossed to Mull, and, with the assistance
of a guide, traversed, by no beaten track, the
whole extent of that island, until we came to the
celebrated island of lona. 54 Thence we had a gentle
sail to Staffa, where we had the good fortune to
arrive, at low water, and just as the sea was be-
calmed, so that our boat landed us close into the
mouth of FingaPs cave. Keats wrote some lines on
this cave, a fragment of a poem, which I never
could induce him to finish.
Not Aladdin magian &c.
Returned to Oban, 55 we passed by the romantic
mountains of Ballahulish to Fort William, and
mounted Ben Nevis. When on the summit of this
mountain, we were enveloped in a cloud, and, wait-
ing till it was slowly wafted away, he sat on the
stones, a few feet away from the edge of that fear-
ful precipice, fifteen hundred feet perpendicular
from the valley below, and wrote this sonnet. 56
Read me a lesson, Muse, and read it loud &c.
For some time he had been annoyed by a slight
inflammation in the throat, occasioned by rainy
days, fatigue, privation, and, I am afraid, in one
instance, by damp sheets. It was prudently re-
solved, with the assistance of medical advice, that
if, when we reached Inverness, he should not be
much better, he should part from me, and proceed
from the port of Cromarty to London by sea. He
was not recovered, and we parted there. 57 In my
solitary after- wanderings I much lamented the loss
of his beloved intelligence at my side. 58
Our original intention was, after visiting other
parts of the highlands, to return by Edinburg. This
somehow became known to M r Blackwood, who
sent, through a third party, an invitation to Keats. 59
Nothing could exceed the impudence of such an
invitation, nor the guilt of the person, through
whom it was forwarded, counselling the poet to
endeavour to soften the rancour of his enemies in
that quarter by attention to it.
Ihaveapoem which he composed, with more than
usual care, during our walks. I introduce it here.
There is a charm in footing slow across a silent plain &c.
It was well that he did leave me ; for not only
was he speedily reinstated in his usual good health,
but it was necessary he should be at Hampstead,
where he found his younger brother alarmingly
ill. 61 This youth, dear to him, [hi]s brother had
been, for some time, threatened by consumption ;
and now the disease had taken its most wasting
and rapid form. By the time I had finished my
lonely tour, and returned to my home, 62 it was not
expected he could live many days.
Early one morning 63 I was awakened in my bed
by a pressure on my hand. It was Keats, who came
to tell me his brother was no more. I said nothing,
and we both remained silent for awhile, my hand
fast locked in his. At length, my thoughts return-
ing from the dead to the living, I said 'Have
'nothing more to do with those lodgings, 64 and
c alone too. Had you not better live with me ?' He
paused, pressed my hand warmly, and replied,
* I think it would be better.' From that moment
he was my inmate.
When his grief was alleviated, to which effect his
many kind friends contributed their kind appli-
ances, his hours became gradually absorbed once
more in poetry. It was then he wrote Hyperion.*
At the beginning of the year we were on a visit in
Hampshire, where he began tho commencement
of where he wrote The eve of St. Agnes, and
finished it on our return. 66 On our return he
wrote * Lamia-. I observed that every short
poem, which he was tempted to compose, was
scrawled on the first piece of paper at hand, and
that it was afterwards used as a mark to a book, or
thrust any where aside. In the spring of 1819 a
nightingale had built her nest near my house.
Keats felt a tranquil and continual joy in her song ;
and one morning he took his chair from the break-
fast-table to the grass-plot under a plum-tree,
where he sat for two or three hours. When he came
into the house, I perceived he had some scraps
of paper in his hand, and these he was quietly
thrusting behind the books. 67 On inquiry, I found
those scraps, four or five in number, contained his
poetic feeling on the song of our nightingale. The
writing was not well legible ; and it was difficult to
arrange the stanzas on so many scraps. With his
assistance I succeeded, and this was his Ode to a
Nightingale, a poem which has been the delight of
every one. Immediately afterwards I searched for
more of his (in reality) fugitive pieces, in which
task, at my request, he again assisted me. Thus I
rescued that Ode and other valuable short poems,
which might otherwise have been lost. From that
day he gave me permission to copy any verses he
might write, and I fully availed myself of it. He
cared so little for them himself, when once, as it
appeared to me, his imagination was released from
their influence, that it required a friend at hand to
We passed much of this summer at Shanklin in
the Isle of Wight, and at Winchester. 68 He was
pleased with the quiet of that cathedral town, the
beauty of the cathedral itself, and the elm-tree
walks. We knew no one there. At Shanklin he
undertook a difficult task : I engaged to furnish him
with the fable, characters, and dramatic conduct
of a tragedy, and he was to embody it into poetry.
The progress of this work was curious ; for, while
I sat opposite to him, he caught my description
of each scene, entered into the characters to be
brought forward, the events, and every thing con-
nected with it. Thus he went on, scene after scene,
never knowing nor inquiring into the scene which
was to follow, until four acts were completed. It
was then he required to know, at once, all the
events which were to occupy the fifth act. I ex-
plained them to him ; but, after a patient hearing,
and some thought, he insisted on it that my inci-
dents were too numerous, and, as he termed them,
too melodramatic. He wrote the fifth act in accor-
dance with his own view ; and so enchanted was I
with his poetry, that, at the time, and for a long
time after, I thought he was in the right. This
tragedy, Otho the great, was sent to Drury Lane
Theatre, 69 not with his name, for (strange it now
appears!) his name was not a recommendation, so
utterly had it become a by- word of reproach in
literature. It was, however, accepted, with a pro-
mise on the part of Elliston to bring it forward
during that very season. From what I could learn,
by an inadvertence of Elliston, it was Kean, to
whom it was shown, who desired to play the prin-
cipal character. Afterwards I was told I had mis-
taken the promise, it was for the next season if
possible, or for the season after the next. This delay
did not suit my purpose, which was to make my
friend popular in spite of his detractors. 70 I there-
fore took it from that theatre, and sent it to Covent
Garden Theatre, whence it was speedily returned
with a note, in a boy's hand-writing, containing a
negative. I have since had reason to believe it
never was unrolled.
As soon as Keats had finished Otho the great, I
pointed out to him a subject for an english his-
torical tragedy in the reign of Stephen, beginning
with his defeat by the Empress Maud, and ending
with the death of his son Eustace, when Stephen
yielded the succession to the crown to the young
Henry. He was struck with the variety of events
and characters which must necessarily be intro-
duced ; and I offered to give, as before, their dra-
matic conduct. "The play must open', I began,
' with the field of battle, when Stephen's forces are
c retreating ' c Stop ! ' he said, c stop ! I have been
6 already too long in leading-strings. I will do all
4 this myself/ He immediately set about it, and
wrote two or three scenes, about 130 lines. 71
This second tragedy, never to be resumed, gave
place to * Lamia ', a poem which had been on hand
for some months. 72 He wrote it with great care,'
after much studying of Dryden's versification.
I left him alone in Winchester for about three
weeks, for he objected to accompany me. 73 His in-
tention was, though he by no means expressed it,
to make a trial of solitude. Just before he might
have expected my return, I was surprised by a
letter, dated 23 September 1819, from which the
following is an extract. There was a time when I
might have omitted some passages in this extract
respecting myself; but I have become, year after
year, more and more proud of his good opinion.
Besides, it must not be conjectured that he thought
of parting from me on any other ground than is
'Now I am going to enter on the subject of self.
It is quite time I should set myself doing something,
and live no longer i pon hopes. I have never yet
exerted myself. I anx getting into an idle minded,
vicious way of life, ahjost content to live upon
others. In no period of m>Jife have I acted with
any self will, but in throwing up the apothecary-
profession. That I do not repent of. Look at
x x x x x x : 74 if he was not in the law he would
be acquiring, by his abilities, something towards
his support. My occupation is entirely literary;
I will do so too. I will write, on the literal side of
the question, for whoever will pay me. I have not
known yet what it is to be diligent. I propose 75 liv-
ing in town in a cheap lodging, and endeavouifftsg,
for a beginning, to get the theatricals of soip^
paper. When I can afford to compose deliberaor,
poems I will. I shall be in expectation of an answer
to this. Look on my side of the question. lamreon-
vinced I am right. Suppose the Tragedy 76 should
succeed, there will be no harm done. And here I
will take an opportunity of making a remark or two
on our friendship, and all your good offices to me.
I have a natural timidity of mind in these matters :
liking better to take the feeling -fes between us for
granted, than to speak of it. But, good God ! what
a short while you have known me ! I feel it a sort of
duty thus thus to recapitulate, however unpleasant
it may be to you. You have been living for others
more than any man I know. This is>^vexatton^to
me ; because it has been depriving, you, in the very
prime of your life, of pleasures- which it was your
duty to procure. As I am speaking in general terms
this may appear nonsense ; you perhaps will not
understand it: but if you car go over, day by day,
any month of the last yea , you will know what
I mean. On the whole, however, this is a subject
that I cannot express myself upon. I speculate
upon it frequently ; and, believe me, the end of my
speculations is always an anxiety for your happi-
ness. This anxiety will not be one of the least in-
citements to he plan I purpose pursuing. I had got
into a habit of mind of looking towards you as a
help in all/difficulties. This very habit would be
the parep of idleness and difficulties. You will see
it v^ ^uty I owe myself to break the neck of it. I
<^ c ?othing for my subsistence make no exertion.
* or the end of another year, you shall applaud me,
iiot for verses, but for conduct. If you live at
Hampstead next winter I like x xxxxxxxx
and I cannot help it. 77 On that account I had better
not live there. While I have some immediate
cash, 78 1 had better settle myself quietly, and fag on
as others do. I shall apply to Hazlitt, 79 who knows
the market as well as any one, for something to
bring me in a few pounds as soon as possible. I
shall not suffer my pride to hinder me. The whisper
may go round ; I shall not hear it. If I can get an
article in the " Edinburg ", I will. One must not be
delicate. Nor let this disturb you longer than a
moment. I look forward, with a good hope, that we
shall be- one day be passing free, untrammelled,
unanxious time together. That can never be if I
continue a dead lump, xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I shall be expecting anxiously an answer from you.
If it does not arrive in a few days, this will have
miscarried, and I shall come straight to x x x x 80
before I go to town, which you, I am sure, will agree
had better be done while I still have some ready
cash. By the middle of October I shall expect you
in London. 81 We will then set at the Theatres. If
you have any thing to gainsay, I shall be even as
the deaf adder which stoppeth her ears.' 82
On the same day he wrote another letter, having
received one from me 83 between the writing of ^fefee
his two. He again spoke of his purpose.
c Do not suffer me to disturb you unpleasantly:
I do not mean that you should suffer me to occupy
your thoughts, but to occupy them pleasantly ; for,
I assure you, I am as far from being unhappy as
possible. Imaginary grievances have always been
-fiay more my torment than real ones. You knowthis
well. Real ones will never haveany other effect upon
me than to stimulate me to get out of or avoid
them. This is easily accounted for. Our imaginary
woes are conjured up by our passions, and are fos-
tered by passionate feeling ; our real ones come of
themselves, and are opposed by an abstract exer-
tion of mind. Real grievances are displacers of
passion. The imaginary nail a man down for a
sufferer, as on a cross ; the real spur him up into an
agent. I wish, at one view, you could see my heart
towards you. Tis only from a high tone of feel-
ing that I can put that word upon paper out of
poetry. I ought to have waited for your answer to
my last 84 before I -sestd- wrote this. I felt, however,
compelled to make a rejoinder to your's. I had
written to x x x x & on the subject of my last.
I scarcely know whether I shall send my letter
now. I think he would approve of my plan ; it is so
evident. Nay, I am convinced, out and out, that
by prosing for awhile in periodical works I may
maintain myself decently.'
I set off immediately to him, 86 and we returned
to town together. 87 Up to that period he had
always expressed himself averse to writing for any
periodical work. The only contribution he ever
made of this kind was to the * Champion ' news-
paper, in a short notice of Kean's performance of
Luke in 'The city madam'. 88 As his poems were,
to the disgrace of his contemporaries, unprofitable,
in which sense alone his time had been spent idly,
and as I was well acquainted with his independent
feeling, there was no part of his plan, but what met
with my concurrence, except the loss of his society*
On this subject he heard me patiently, but con-
cluded with insisting on the necessity of his living
in a lodging in town, and by himself. He actually
carried his plan into effect, not aware, as I was, of
his incapability of living in solitude, and distant
from the young lady in Hampstead who had won
his heart. 89 He remained in his new lodging two
days (I think no more) and lived again with me. 90
He appeared to have relinquished his intention of
writing in periodical works. Probably he found
his aversion to such a task insuperable.
It was evident from the letters he had sent me,
even in his self-deceived assurance that he was ' as
far from being unhappy as possible 9 , that he was
unhappy. I quickly perceived he was more so than
I had feared j 81 his abstraction, his occasional lassi-
tude of mind, and, frequently, his assumed tran-
quillity of countenance gave me great
LIFE OF JOHN KEATS
CHARLES ARMITAGE BROWN
me great uneasiness. He was unwilling to speak on
the subject ; and I could do no more than attempt,
indirectly, to cheer him with hope, avoiding that
word however. By chance our conversation turned
on the idea of a comic faery poem in the Spenser
stanza, and I was glad to encourage it. He had not
composed many stanzas before he proceeded in it
with spirit. It was to be published under the feigned
authorship of Lucy Vaughan Lloyd, and to bear
the title of The Cap and Bells, or, which he pre-
ferred, The Jealousies. This occupied his mornings
pleasantly. He wrote it with the greatest facility ;
in one instance I remember having copied (for I
copied as he wrote) as many as twelve stanzas before
dinner. In the evenings, at his own desire, he was
alone in a separate sitting-room, deeply engaged
in remodelling his poem of 'Hyperion' into a
6 Vision 'J The change in the conduct of this poem
has not, in the opinion of his friends, been regarded
as an improvement.
This morning and evening employment was
broken into by a circumstance which it is needless
to mention. 93 He could not resume that employ-
ment, and he became dreadfully unhappy. His
hopes of fame, and other more tender hopes 94 were
blighted. His patrimony, though much consumed
in a profession he was compelled to relinquish,
might have upheld him through the storm, had he
not imprudently lost a part of it in generous loans. 95
Prudence, in the vulgar acceptation of that virtue,
is the forbearance from leaving one vice for another
of economy ; or it is sheer selfishness. Now he had
no vice ; but he was as far removed from a selfish
being as can be imagined. Indeed he possessed the
noble virtues of friendship and generosity to excess ;
and they, in this world, may chance to spoil a man
of independent feeling, till he is destitute- Even the
c immediate cash ', of which he spoke in the extracts
I have given from his letters, was lent, with no hope
of its speedy repayment, and he was left worse than
pennyless. All that a friend could say, or offer, or
urge was not enough to heal his many wounds. He
listened, and, in kindness, or soothed by kindness,
showed tranquillity, but nothing from a friend
could relieve him, except on a matter of inferior
He was too thoughtful, or too unquiet ; and he
began to be reckless of health. Among other proofs
of recklessness, he was secretly taking, at times, a
few drops of laudanum to keep up his spirits. It
was discovered by accident, and, without delay,
revealed to me. He needed not to be warned of the
danger of such a habit ; but I rejoiced at his promise
never to take another drop without my knowledge ;
for nothing could induce him to break his word,
when once given, which was a difficulty. Still, at
the very moment of my being rejoiced, this was an
additional proof of his rooted misery.
Not long after this, one night (I have no record
of the date, but it was either at the end of December
or the beginning of January) 96 , one night, at eleven
o'clock, he came into the house in a state that
looked like fearful fierce intoxication. Such a state
in him, I knew, was impossible ; it therefore was the
more fearful. I asked hurriedly, "What is the mat-
ter, you are fevered?' 'Yes, yes,' he answered,
* I was on the outside of the stage this bitter day till
I was severely chilled, but now I don't feel it.
Fevered! of course, a little.' He mildly and in-
stantly yielded, a property in his nature towards
any friend, to my request that he should go to bed.
I followed with the best immediate remedy in my
power. I entered his chamber as he leapt into bed.
On entering the cold sheets, before his head was on
the pillow, he slightly coughed, and I heard him
say, c That is blood from my mouth. ' I went to-
wards him ; he was examining a single drop of blood
upon the sheet. * Bring me the candle, Brown ; and
let me see this blood.' After regarding it stead-
fastly, he looked up in my face, with a calmness of
countenance that I can never forget, and said,
6 1 know the colour of that blood; it is arterial
blood; I cannot be deceived in that colour;
that drop of blood is my death-warrant ; I must
die.' I ran for a surgeon ; my friend was bled ; and,
at five in the morning, I left him after he had been,
some time, in a quiet sleep.
His surgeon and physician both unhesitatingly
declared that his lungs were uninjured, 97 This
satisfied me, but not him: he could not reconcile
the colour of that blood with their favourable
opinion. He was long ill, and, at one period, unable
to bear the presence of any one except his medical
attendant 98 and myself. I am inclined to think
that nobleness of mind shows more gloriously in
receiving than in giving. While I waited on him,
day and night, his instinctive generosity, his ac-
ceptance of my offices, by a glance of his eye, a
motion of his hand, made me regard my mechanical
duty as absolutely nothing compared to his silent
acknowledgment. Something like this, Severn, his
last nurse, observed to me ; and I am convinced it
was an innate virtue in him to make those who most
obliged him the most obliged, without effort, with-
out a thought, well nigh magical. I recollect his once
saying, * If you would have me recover, flatter me
with a hope of happiness when I shall be well ; for I
am now so weak that I can be flattered into hope.'
With the spring his strength and, apparently,
his former health returned. So much so, that his
physician even recommended him to join me in
another walking tour to the highlands ; but neither
he nor I, knowing what privations and bad weather
he might endure there, was of the same opinion. I
went alone. It was his choice, during my absence,
to lodge at Kentish Town, 99 that he might be near
his friend, Leigh Hunt, in whose companionship he
was ever happy. He went with me in the scotch
smack as far as Gravesend. This was on the 7 th
May. I never saw him afterwards.
As evidence of his well being I had requested
him to send me some new stanzas to his comic faery
poem ; 100 for, since his illness, he had not dared
the exertion of composing. At the end of eight days
he wrote in good spirits, and began his letter thus :
'My dear Brown,
You must not expect me to date my letter
from such a place as this : you have heard the name ;
that is sufficient, except merely to tell you it is the
15 th instant. You know I was very well in the
smack ; I have continued much the same, and am
well enough to extract much more pleasure than
pain out of the summer, even though I should get
no better. I shall not say a word about the stanza
you promised yourself through my medium, and
will swear, at some future time, I promised. Let
us hope I may send you more than one in my
In June he wrote as follows ; and what I heard
from other quarters also tended to confirm my best
'My dear Brown,
I have only been to + + + 9 s 101 once since you
left, when x x x x could not find your letters.
Now this is bad of me. I should, in this instance,
conquer the great aversion to breaking up my
regular habits, which grows upon me more and
more. True I have an excuse in the weather, which
drives one from shelter to shelter in any little ex-
cursion. I have not heard from George. 102 Mybook*
is coming out with very low hopes, though not
spirits on my part. This shall be my last trial ; not
succeeding, I shall try what I can do in the Apothe-
cary line. When you hear from or see x x x x
x x 103 it is probable you will hear some complaints
against me, which this notice is not intended to
forestall. The fact is I did behave badly; 104 but it
is to be attributed to my health, spirits., and the
disadvantageous ground I stand on in society. I
would 105 go and accommodate matters, if I were
not too weary of the world. I know that they are
more happy and comfortable than I am ; therefore
why should I trouble myself about it ? I foresee I
shall know very few people in the course of a year
or two. Men get such difficult 106 habits, that they
become as oil and vinegar to one another. Thus far
I have a consciousness of having been pretty dull
and heavy, both in subject and phrase; I might
add, enigmatical. I am in the wrong, and the
world is in the right, I have no doubt. Fact is, I
have had so many kindnesses done me by so many
people, that I am cheveaux-de-frised with benefits,
which I must jump over or break down. I met
x x x 107 in town a few days ago, who invited me to
supper to meet Wordsworth, Southey, Lamb, Hay-
don, and some more ; I was too careful of my health
* Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of Saint Agnes, and other poems.
to risk being out at night. Talking of that, I con-
tinue to improve slowly, but, I think, surely. All
the talk at present xxxxxxxx There is a
famous exhibition 108 in Pall Mall of the old english
portraits by Vandyck and Holbein, Sir Peter Lely
and the great Sir Godfrey. Pleasant countenances
predominate ; so I will mention two or three un-
pleasant ones. There is James the first, whose
appearance would disgrace a " Society for the sup-
pression of women " ; so very squalid, and subdued
to nothing he looks. Then, there is old Lord Bur-
leigh, the high priest of economy; the political
save-all, who has the appearance of a Pharisee
just rebuffed by a gospel bon-mot. Then, there is
George the second, very like an unintellectual Vol-
taire, troubled with the gout and a bad temper.
Then, there is young Devereux, the favourite,
with every appearance of as slang a boxer as any
in the court ; his face is cast in the mould of black-
guardism with jockey-plaster, x x x x x I shall
soon begin -with upon Lucy Vaughan Lloyd ^ I do
not begin composition yet, being willing, in case of
a relapse, to have nothing to reproach myself with.
I hope the weather will give you the slip ; let it
show itself, and steal out of your company, x x x
xxx When I have sent off this, I shall write
another to some place about fifty miles in advance
Good morning to you.
Your's ever sincerely,
During a pedestrian tour, though every care
is beforehand taken for the direction of letters, at
particular times, and to particular places, somehow,
either by inattention or error, mistakes abound.
I walked on, disappointed from one post-office to
another, till 9 th September, when, at Dunkeld, I
received letters forwarded from various parts of the
Highlands, among which were two from Keats. 310
The first was written on 14 th August, 111 and the
second a few days after. On reading them, I turned
my steps undeviatingly homewards.
"My dear Brown,
You may not have heard from x x x x or
x x x x , or in any way, that an attack of spitting
of blood, and all its weakening consequences, has
prevented me from writing for so long a time. I
have matter now for a very long letter, but not
news; so I must cut every thing short. I shall
make some confession, which you will be the only
person, for many reasons, I shall trust with. A
winter in England would, I have not a doubt, kill
me ; so I have resolved to go to Italy, either by sea
or land. Not that I have any great hopes of that,
for, I think, there is a core of disease in me not easy
to pull out.* xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxlfl
should die x x x x x I shall be obliged to set off in
less than a month. Do not, my dear Brown, tease
yourself about me. You must fill up your time as
well as you can, and as happily. You must think
* The omitted passage contained the secret. 112 He went to Italy in
pursuance of his physician's urgent advice.
of my faults* as lightly as you can. When I have
health I will bring up the long arrears of letters I
owe you. x x x x x x My book has had good
success among literary people, 113 and, I believe,
has a moderate sale. I have seen very few people
we know, x x x has visited me more than any
one* I would go to x x x x x and make some
inquiries after you, if I could with any bearable
sensation; but a person I am not quite used to
causes an oppression on my chest. Last week I
received a letter from Shelley, at Pisa, of a very
kind nature, asking me to pass the winter with
him. Hunt has behaved very kindly to me. You
shall hear from me again shortly.
Your affectionate friend,
6 My dear Brown,
fxxxxxxxl ought to be off at the end
of this week, as the cold winds begin to blow to-
wards evening; but I will wait till I have your
answer to this. 114 I am to be introduced, before I
set out, to a D r Clarke, a physician settled at Rome,
who promises to befriend me in every way at
Rome. 115 The sale of my book is very slow, though
it has been very highly rated. One of the causes,
I understand from different quarters, of the un-
popularity of this new book, and the others also,
* Sixteen years 116 have not changed my opinion. I thought then,
and I think now,4feat he had no fault. On the faulty side he was scarcely
t The commencement is a continuation of the secret in his former
letter, ending with a request that I would accompany him to Italy.
is the offence the ladies take at me. On thinking
that matter over, I am certain that I have said
nothing in a spirit to displease any woman I would
care to please : but still there is a tendency to class
women in my books with roses and sweetmeats,
they never see themselves dominant.* If ever I
come to publish " Lucy Vaughan Lloyd ", there will
be some delicate picking for squeamish stomachs,
I will say no more, but, waiting in anxiety for your
answer, doff my hat, and make a purse as long
as I can.
Your affectionate friend,
On my arrival at Dundee, a smack was ready
to sail, and with a fair wind. Yet I was one day
too late. Unknown to each other at the time, our
vessels lay, side by side, at Gravesend ; U7 for he
had been recommended to go to Italy by sea, and
was then on the first night of his voyage.
In my absence, while the autumn was too far
advancing, a dear friend, Joseph Severn, almost
at a day's warning, 118 accompanied him. Severn
had gained the gold medal at the Royal Academy
for the best historical picture among the students,
and therefore was entitled to his expences to and
* On what grounds can this opinion rest ? Is not * Isabella* dominant
to an extreme, in affection and in heroism? Are not his other poetic
women mentally dominant, only in a minor degree ? As for what he says
respecting his poem by the supposed 'Lucy Vaughan Lloyd 9 , there is
nothing hi the fragment he has left, nothing in the intended construction
of the story, (for I knew all, and was to assist him in the machinery of
one part), but to the honour of women. Lord Byron, really popular
among women, reduced them, to the offence of some men, to * roses and
from Italy, as well as for three years of study
there. U9 Our Keats could not be in more affec-
tionate hands ; and I contented myself with pre-
paring to follow him very early in the spring, and
not return should he prefer to live there. 120 I
thought of nothing but his recovery; 121 for all the
medical men who attended him were constant in
their assertions that his lungs were uninjured;
and his mind, I hoped, by change of scene,
and renewed strength of body, would become
Again we were within ten miles of each other,
still without knowing it at the time. Contrary
winds had driven him back to Portsmouth, where
he landed for a day, while I chanced to be in the
neighbourhood. 122 I received this letter from him.
'Maria Crowther. Off Yarmouth, Isle of Wight.
Saturday, 28 September. 123
My dear Brown,
The time has not yet come for a pleasant
letter from me. I have delayed writing to you
from time to time, because I felt how impossible
it was to enliven you with one heartening hope of
my recovery. This morning in bed the matter
struck me in a different manner : I thought I would
write "while I was in some liking", 124 or I might
become too ill to write at all, and then, if the desire
to have written should become strong, it would
be a great affliction to me. I have many more
letters to write, and I bless my stars that I have
begun, for time seems to press, I may this may be
my last opportunity. We are in a calm, and I am easy
enough this morning. If my spirits seem too low,
you may, in some degree, impute it to our having
been at sea a fortnight 125 without making any
way. I was very disappointed at not meeting you
at Bedhampton, and am very provoked at the
thought of you being at Chichester to-day. I
should have delighted in setting off for London,
for the sensation merely, for what should I do
there ? I could not leave my stomach, or lungs, 126
or other worse things behind me. I wish to write
on subjects that will not agitate me much, there
is one I must mention, and have done with it.
Even if my body would recover of itself, this would
prevent it. The very thing 127 I want to live most
for will be a great occasion of my death. I cannot
help it. Who can help it ? Were I in health it would
make me ill, and how can I bear it in my state ?
I dare say you will be able to guess on what subject
I am harping. You know what was my greatest
pain during the first part of my illness at your
house. I wish for death every day and night to
deliver me from these pains, and then I wish death
away, for death would destroy even those pains
which are better than nothing. Land and sea,
weakness and decline are great separators, but
death is the great divorcer for ever. When the pang
of this thought has passed through my mind, I may
say the bitterness of death is passed. I often wish
for you, that you might flatter me with the best.
I think, without my mentioning it, for my sake
you would be a friend to x x x x 128 when I am
dead. If there is any thing you can do for her by
word or deed, I know you will do it. I am in a state
at present in which woman, merely as woman, can
have no more power over me than stocks and
stones, and yet the difference of my sensations
with respect to her 129 and my sister is amazing.
The one seems to absorb the other to a degree in-
credible. 130 The thought of leaving her 129 is beyond
every thing horrible the sense of darkness coming
over me ! I eternally see her figure eternally vanish-
ing. Some of the phrases she was in the habit of
using, during my last nursing, 131 ring in my ears.
Is there another life ? Shall I awake and find all
this a dream ? There must be : we cannot be created
for this sort of suffering ; the receiving this letter
is to be one of your's !
I will say nothing about our friendship, or rather
your's to me, more than that, as you deserve to
escape, you will never be so unhappy as I am. I
should think of you in my last moments. I shall
endeavour to write to her, 129 if possible to-day.
A sudden stop to my life in the middle of one of
these letters would be no bad thing, for it keeps
one in a sort of fever awhile. Though fatigued
with a letter longer than any I have written for a
long while, it would be better to go on for ever than
awake to a sense of contrary winds. We expect to
put into Portland roads to-night. The captain,
the crew, and the passengers are all ill tempered
and weary. I shall write to x x x 132 I feel as if I
was closing my last letter to you.
My dear Brown,
Your affectionate friend,
I make no comment on this, nor shall I on two
more letters from him; I cannot. Besides, what
have the admirers of his poems and his character
except to do except with him alone, and to sympa-
thise with his sufferings ? -alone? Another's would
be discordant. His next was written when he had
arrived at the end of his voyage.
'Naples. Wednesday first in November. 133
My dear Brown,
Yesterday we were let out of Quarantine,
during which my health suffered more from bad
air and a stifled cabin than it had done the whole
voyage. The fresh air revived me a little, and I
hope I am well enough this morning to write to
you a short calm letter ; if that can be called one,
in which I am afraid to speak of what I would the
fainest dwell upon. As I have gone thus far into
it, I must go on a little ; perhaps it may relieve
the load of WRETCHEDNESS which presses upon
me. The persuasion that I shall see her no more
will kill me. I cannot q * My dear Brown, I
should have had her when I was in health, and
I should have remained well. I can bear to die I
* He could not go on. with this sentence^ nor even write the word
'quit', as I suppose. The word WRETCHEDNESS above he himself
wrote in large characters.
cannot bear to leave her. Oh, God! God! God!
Every thing I have in my trunks that reminds me
of her goes through me like a spear. The silk lining
she put in my travelling cap scalds my head. My
imagination is horribly vivid about her I see her
I hear her. There is nothing in the world of suffi-
cient interest to divert me from her a moment.
This was the case when I was in England ; I cannot
recollect, without shuddering, the time that I was
prisoner at Hunt's, and used to keep my eyes fixed
on Hampstead all day. Then there was a good hope
of seeing her again Now! that I could be
buried near where she lives ! I am afraid to write
to her to receive a letter from her to see her
hand writing would break my heart even to hear
of her any how, to see her name written would be
more than I can bear. 134 My dear Brown, what am
I to do ? Where can I look for consolation or ease ?
If I had any chance of recovery, this passion would
kill me. Indeed through the whole of my illness,
both at your house and at Kentish Town, this
fever has never ceased wearing me out. When you
write to me, which you will do immediately, write
to Rome (poste restante) if she is well and happy,
put a mark thus +, if Remember me to all. I
will endeavour to bear my miseries patiently. A
person in my state of health should not have such
miseries to bear. Write a short note to my sister,
saying you have heard from me. Severn "is very
well. If I were in better health I should 135 urge your
coining to Rome. I fear there is no one can give
me any comfort. Is there any news of George ? O,
that something fortunate had ever happened to me
or my brothers ! then I might hope, but despair
is forced upon me as a habit. My dear Brown,
for my sake, be her advocate for ever. I cannot
say a word about Naples ; I do not feel at all con-
cerned in the thousand novelties around me. I am
afraid to write to her. I should like her to know
that I do not forget her. Oh, Brown, I have coals
of fire in my breast. It surprises me that the human
heart is capable of containing and bearing so much
misery. Was I born for this end ? God bless her,
and her mother, and my sister, and George, and
his wife, and you, and all!
Your ever affectionate friend,
Thursday. I was a day too early for the courier.
He sets out now. I have been more calm to-day,
though in a half dread of not continuing so. I said
nothing of my health ; I know nothing of it ; you
will hear Severn's account from x x x x x x 136 I
must leave off. You bring my thoughts too near
God bless you ! *
The pain of this was relieved by the account
Severn sent, by the same post, of his usual tone of
mind, and of the opinion of the physicians there,
all positive there was no disease of the lungs. The
account, indeed, was cheering and hopeful. Then
I heard from Keats himself, when he had reached
Rome, in a comparitively happy mood.
'Rome. 30 November 1820.
My dear Brown,
Tis the most difficult thing in the world to
me to write a letter. My stomach continues so bad,
that I feel it worse on opening any book, yet I
am much better than I was in Quarantine. Then
I am afraid to encounter the proing and conning
of any thing interesting to me in England. I have
an habitual feeling of my real life having past, and
that I am leading a posthumous existence. God
knows how it would have been but it appears to
me however, I will not speak of that subject. I
must have been at Bedhampton nearly at the time
you were writing to me from Chichester how un-
fortunate and to pass on the river too! There
was my star predominant ! I cannot answer any
thing in your letter, which followed me from
Naples to Rome, because I am afraid to look it
over again. I am so weak (in mind) that I cannot
bear the sight of any hand writing of a friend I love
so much as I do you. Yet I ride the little horse,
and, at my worst, even in Quarantine, summoned
up more puns, in a sort of desperation, in one week
than in any year of my life. There is one thought
enough to kill me I have been well, healthy, alert
&c., walking with her and now the knowledge
of contrast, feeling for light and shade, all that
information (primitive sense) necessary for a poem
are great enemies to the recovery of the stomach.
There, you rogue, I put you to the torture, but
you must bring your philosophy to bear as I do
mine, really or how should I be able to live ? D*
Clarke is very attentive to me ; he says, there is
very little the matter with my lungs, but my
stomach, he says, is very bad. I am well dis-
appointed in hearing good news from George,
for it runs in my head we shall all die young. I have
not written to x x x x x 138 yet, which he must
think very neglectful ; being anxious to send him
a good account of my health, I have delayed it
from week to week. If I recover, I will do all in my
power to correct the mistakes made during sick-
ness ; and if I should not, all my faults will be for-
given. I shall write to x x x to-morrow, or next
day. 139 I will write to x x x x x in the middle of
next week. Severn is very well, though he leads
so dull a life with me. Remember me to all friends,
and tell x x x x 140 I should not have left London
without taking leave of him, but from being so
low in body and mind. Write to George as soon
as you receive this, and tell him how I am, as
far as you can guess; and also a note to my
sister who walks about my imagination like a
ghost she is so like Tom. I can scarcely bid you
good bye even in a letter. I always make an awk-
God bless you!
My hopes, strong till then, were lost on the re-
ceipt of the following letter from Severn. I per-
ceived that his physicians had been in error, and
that the words of Keats himself, spitting up that
one drop of blood, * That drop of blood is my
death-warrant ! ' were true.
'Rome. 14 December 1820.
My dear Brown, 141
I fear our 142 poor Keats is at his worst. A most
unlooked for relapse has confined him to his bed,
with every chance against him. It has been so
sudden upon what I thought 143 convalescence, and
without any seeming cause, that I cannot calculate
on the next change. I dread it ; for his suffering
is so great, so continued, and his fortitude so
completely gone, that any further change must
make him delirious. This is the fifth day, and I
see him get worse. But stop, I will tell you the
the manner of this relapse from the first. 144
17 December. 4 Morning. 145 Not a moment can
I be from him. I sit by his bed, and read all day,
and, at night, I humour him in all his wanderings.
He has just fallen asleep, the first 146 for eight
nights, and now from mere exhaustion. I hope he
will not wake until I have written this ; for I am
anxious, beyond measure, to have you know this
his worse and worse state, yet I dare not let him
see I think it dangerous. 147
I had seen him awake on the morning of this
attack, and, to all appearance, he was going on
merrily, and had unusial 148 good spirits; when,
in <an instant, a cough seized him, and he vomited
nearly 149 two cup-fulls of blood. 160 In a moment
I got D r Clarke, who saw the manner of it, and
immediately took away about eight ounces of blood
from the arm, it was black and thick in the ex-
treme. 151 Keats was much alarmed and dejected. Oh!
what an awful day I had with him! 152 He rushed out
of bed, and said, " This day shall be my last ! " and,
but for me, most certainly it would. At the risk
of losing his confidence, I took every destroying
mean 153 from his reach, nor did I let him be free
from my sight one minute. The blood broke forth 154
in like quantity the next morning, and the doctor
thought it expedient to take away the like quan-
tity of blood ; this was in the same dismal state,
and must have been so, 155 from the horrible state
of despair he was in. But I was so fortunate as
to talk him into a little calmness, and, with some
english newspapers, he became quite patient under
the necessary arrangements.
This is the ninth day, and no change for the
better. Five times the blood has come up in cough-
ing, in large quantities, generally in the morning,
and nearly the whole time his saliva has been
mixed with it. 156 But this is the less 167 evil com-
pared with his stomach. Not a single thing will
digest. The torture he suffers all and every night,
and best part of the day, is dreadful in the extreme.
The distended stomach keeps him in perpetual
hunger or craving; and this is augmented by
the little nourishment he takes to keep down the
blood. Then his mind is worse than all: despair
in every shape his imagination #,nd memory
present every thought 158 in horror so strong
that every 159 morning and night I tremble for his
intellect the recollection of England of his
"good friend Brown" and his "happy few weeks
inx x x x x ? s 160 care" his sister and brother. Oh!
he will mourn over every circumstance to me
whilst I cool his burning forehead until I tremble
through every vein concealing 161 my tears from
his staring glassy eyes. How he can be Keats
again from all this I have little hope but I may
see it too gloomily, 162 since each coming night I sit
up adds its dismal contents to my mind.
D r Clarke will not say so much. Although there
are 163 no bounds to his attention, yet with little
success can he "administer to a mind diseased".
Yet, all that can be done, most kindly he does ;
whilst his lady, like himself in refined feeling,
prepares and cooks all that poor Keats takes;
for in this wilderness of a place (for an invalid) there
was 163 no alternative. Yesterday D r Clarke went
all over Rome for 164 a certain kind of fish, and got
it; but, just as I received it from M rs Clarke, 165
delicately prepared, Keats was taken by the spit-
ting of blood and is now gone back all the eight 166
days. This was occasioned by disobeying the
doctor's commands. Keats is required to be kept
as low as possible, to check the blood ; so that he
is weak and gloomy. Every day he raves 167 he
will die from hunger, and I was obliged to give 168
more than allowed. You cannot think how dread-
ful this is for me. The doctor, on one 169 hand, tells
me I shall kill him to give 168 more than he allows,
and Keats raves for more till I am in a complete
tremble for him; but I have talked him over
now. We have the best opinion of D r Clarke's 170
skill ; he seems to understand the case, and comes
over four or five times 171 a day. He left word at
twelve this morning to call any time in case of
danger. 172 For myself, I am keeping up beyond my
most sanguine expectation. 173 Eight nights I have
been up, and, in the days, never a moment away
from my patient, unless 174 to run over to the doctor.
But I will confess my spirits have been quite 175
pulled down. These wretched Romans have no
idea of comfort. Here am I 176 obliged to wash up,
cook, and read to Keats all day. Added to this, I
have had no letters yet from my family. 177 x x x x
x x x x x x Will you, my dear Brown, write to
me, for a letter to Keats now would almost kill
him. Give x x x 178 this sad news. I am quite ex-
hausted. Farewell. I wish you were here, my dear
Your's 179 sincerely,
I have just looked at him this will be a good
The tragedy goes on to the last, still in the words
of kind hearted Severn.
'Rome. 8 February 1821. 180
My dear Brown,
I have just got your letter of 15 th January.
The contrast of your quiet friendly Hampstead
with this lonely place and our poor suffering Keats
brings the tears into my eyes. I wish many, many
times that he had never left you. His recovery
must have been impossible whilst he was in Eng-
land, and his excessive grief since has made it more
so. In your care he seemed to me like an infant
in its mother's arms ; 181 you would have smoothed
down his pain by varieties ; his death might have
been eased by the presence of his many friends.
But here, with one solitary friend, in a place savage
for an invalid, he has one more pang added to his
many ; for I have had the hardest task in keeping
from him my painful situations. I have kept him
alive by these means, week after week. He had
refused all food ; but I tried him every way. I left
him no excuse. Often I have prepared his meals
six times a day, and kept from him the trouble I
had in doing it. I have not been able to leave
him ; that is, I have not dared to do it, but when
he slept. Had he come here alone, he would have
plunged into the grave in secret ; we should never
have known one syllable about him. This re-
flection alone repays me for all I have done. It is
impossible to conceive what the sufferings of this
poor fellow have been. Now he is still alive, and
calm ; if I say more, I shall say too much. Yet,
at times, I have hoped he would recover, but
the doctor shook his head, and, as for Keats, he
would not hear that he was better. The thought
of recovery is beyond every thing dreadful to him.
We now dare not perceive any improvement ; for
the hope of death seems his only comfort. He
talks of the quiet grave as the first rest he can ever
have. I can believe and feel this most truly.
In the last week a great desire for books came
across his mind. I got him all the books at hand ;
and, for three days, this charm lasted on him,
but now it has gone. Yet he is very calm. He is
more and more reconciled to his horrible mis-
14 th February. Little or no change has taken
place since the commencement of this, except
this beautiful one, that his mind is growing to great
quietness and peace. I find this change has its rise
from the increasing weakness of his body; but it
seems like a delightful sleep to me, I have been
beating about in the tempest of his mind so long.
To-night he has talked very much to me, but so
easily, that he, at last, fell into a pleasant sleep.
He seems to have comfortable dreams, without
the night-mare. This will bring on some change,
it cannot be worse, it may be better. Among the
many things he has requested of me to-night, this
is the principal one, that on his grave-stone shall
HEBE LIES ONE WHOSE NAME WAS WETT IN WATEE.
LIFE OF JOHN KEATS
CHARLES ARMITAGE BROWN
You will understand this so well, that I need not
say a word about it. But, is it not dreadful that he
should, with all his misfortunes on his mind, and
perhaps wrought up to their climax, end his life
without one jot of human happiness ? When he
first came here, he purchased a copy of Alfleri,
but put it down at the second page,
"Misera me! sollievo a me non resta
" Altro che il pianto, ed il pianto e delitto." 182
He was much affected at this passage; and now
that I know so much more of his grief, I do not
wonder at it.
Such 183 a letter has come! I gave it to Keats,
supposing it to be one of your's, but it proved
sadly otherwise; the glance of that letter tore
him to pieces, the effects were on him for many
days ! he did not read it he could not but re-
quested me to place it in his coffin, together with
a purse and a letter (unopened) of his sister's
since which time he has requested me not to place
that letter in his coffin, but only his sister's purse
and letter, with some hair. Here 184 he found many
causes of his illness in the exciting and thwarting
of his passions, but I have persuaded him to feel
otherwise on this delicate point. In his most irri-
table state, he sees a friendless world, with every
thing that his life presents, particularly the kind-
ness of his friends, tending to his untimely death.
I have got an English nurse to come two hours
every other day, so that I have quite recovered my
health ; but my nurse, after coming five 185 times,
has been taken ill to-day ; this is a little unfortunate
as Keats seemed to like her. Another and greater
misfortune is the cursed rumpus betwixt the Nea-
politans and the Austrians. We are daily fearing
that the thievish Neapolitans will arrive and ran-
sack Rome. They are on their way hither; and,
from the grudge betwixt them and the Romans,
we have little to hope for. Rome might be taken
with a straw it is only defended by its relics. At
twelve last night they rumbled all their artillery
by here to the Porta Santa Giovanna. The Pope
was on his legs all night, trusting any thing rather
than heaven. If the Austrians do not arrive in
time, our P's and Q's are likely to be altered. The
English are very numerous here. Farewell.
In a little back-room I get chalking out a picture.
This, with swallowing a little Italian every day,
helps to keep me up. The Doctor was delighted
with your kindness to Keats. He is a most worthy
man ; we must ever respect him for his unremitting
kindness to Keats.
P.S. The post does not go for another two hours.
To my great astonishment, I found it half past
three this morning when I had done writing. You
see I cannot do any thing until poor Keats is asleep.
This morning he has waked very calm. I think he
seems somewhat better. He has taken half a pint
of fresh milk. The milk here is beautiful to all
the senses it is delicious for three weeks he has
lived on it, sometimes taking a pint and a half in
You astonish me about x x x x x x x 186
The Doctor has been; he thinks Keats worse.
He says the expectoration is the most dreadful he
ever saw. Keats's inward grief must have been
beyond limit. His lungs are in a dreadful state.
His stomach has lost all its power. Keats himself
says he has fretted to death from the first little
drop of blood he knew he must die he says no
common chance of living was for him. 5
'Rome. 27 February 1821. 187
My dear Brown,
He is gone he died with the most perfect
ease he seemed to go to sleep. On the 23 rd , about
4, the approaches of death came on. "Severn
I lift me up I am dying I shall die easy don't
be frightened be firm, and thank God it has
come ! " I lifted him up in my arms. The phlegm
seemed boiling in his throat, and increased until
11, when he gradually sunk into death so quiet -
that I still thought he slept. I cannot say now
I am broken down from four nights 5 watching, and
no sleep since, and my poor Keats gone. Three
days since, the body was opened ; the lungs were
completely gone. The Doctors could not conceive
by what means he had lived these two months. I
followed his poor body to the grave on Monday,
with many English. They take such care of me
here that I must, else, have gone into a fever.
I am better now but still quite disabled.
The Police have been. The furniture, the walls,
the floor, every thing must be destroyed by order
of the law. But this is well looked to by D r C.
The letters I put into the coffin with my own
I must leave off.
This goes by the first post. Some of my kind friends
would have written else. I will try to write you
every thing next post ; or the Doctor will.
They had a mask and hand and foot done
I cannot get on *
These details of suffering and death may be
called by the public an infliction of unnecessary
pain. Not so ; the public, the countrymen of a poet,
whose merit, either from ignorance or credulity,
carelessness or caprice, they did not choose to
acknowledge, cannot be too minutely made ac-
quainted with the consequences of their neglect.
After twenty years, 188 with all the charity of
pvhich my nature is capable, my belief continues
;o be that he was destroyed by hirelings, under
the imposing name of Reviewers. Consumption,
it may be urged, was in the family ; his father 189 and
his younger brother had both died of it ; therefore,
his fate was inevitable. Perhaps it was so ; perhaps
not. The brother who died was very tall and
narrow chested ; our Keats was short, with well-
proportioned limbs, and with a chest remarkably
well-formed for strength. At the most, it comes to
this : if an hereditary predisposition existed, that
predisposition might not have been called into
action, except by an outrageous denial of his now
acknowledged claim to be ranked as a poet of
England. Month after month, an accumulation of
ridicule and scoffs against his character and person,
did worse than tear food from the mouth of a starv-
ing wretch, for it tore honour from the poet's brow.
Could he have been less sensitive, could he have
been less independent, could he have truckled to
his self-constituted judges, could he have flattered
the taste of the public, and pandered to their will
and pleasure in fact, could he have ceased to be
John Keats, he might have existed at this moment,
happy as one of the inferior animals of the creation.
As a critic on his poems, I confess myself incap-
able. I have purposely refrained from the task.
While alive to their beauties, I am conscious of not
being so to their faults. Time has not allayed my
admiration. To dwell alone upon the beauties of
his works is ample joy, and I seek not to have it
diminished. Upon this subject I have but one
observation to offer: he was, from the first day he
became a poet, in progressive improvement, To
this his poems bear witness. How high, had he not
been destroyed by hirelings or disease, his genius
might have soared, is a thought that at once exalts
and depresses me.
"Following the memoir are the following poems, copied in
Ode on a Grecian Urn, Stanzas i-iv.
To John Reynolds in answer to his Robin Hood
Lines to the Mermaid Tavern.
Song, 1818 ('Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port').
Song, 1818 ('0 blush not so').
Ode on Melancholy.
Ode to Autumn, stanza 8.
Fragment, 1818 ('Where's the Poet? Show him!
Ode to Psyche,
Ode to Fancy.
'Welcome Joy, and welcome Sorrow.'
Sonnet to the Nile.
King Stephen, part of Act 1, Scene 1, and Scene 2,
1. Brown was inaccurate in stating that he missed seeing Shelley
in Pisa by only a few days. Shelley lived in Pisa from January
1820 till April 1822, when he moved to San Terenzo, near Lerici.
He was drowned on July 8, 1822, while returning from Leghorn
to Lierici. His body was recovered on July 18 and cremated,
after a temporary burial, on August 15. Brown reached Pisa
on August 30, 1822, and wrote to Severn of these events on
September 5 as if they had just occurred, saying: 'Here I am at
last. I arrived here six days ago. . . . You have heard, I suppose,
of Shelley being drowned near Lerici. . . . His body has been
burnt, and I understand his ashes are to be deposited near his
child at Rome.' (Sharp, p. 129.)
2. Brown made some revisions of his Life of John Keats in 1841
before sending his Keatsiana to Milnes on the eve of his emigra-
to New Zealand. This sentence was undoubtedly written at
that time, twenty years after Keats's death. See Introduction,
3. Elsewhere Brown referred to the writing of this memoir as a
painful duty. See Introduction, p. 17.
4. This sentence must have been added in 1841, for in 1836,
when Brown was writing his Life, he did not consider Keats's
fame great enough to warrant the erection of a monument to
his memory. See his letter to Severn, November 26, 1836,
Sharp, p. 178. Even in 1841, Keats's reputation was not high,
if we may judge from the re-publications of his poems during
the twenty years since his death. Galignani issued his poetry
in 1829, in Paris, with that of Shelley and Coleridge. Keats was
issued separately in Buffalo, New York, in 1834. The first
English reprint, taken from Galignani, was W. Smith's * Standard
Library' edition of Keats, published in 1840. Doubtless this
publication caused Brown to remark, with some exaggeration,
'the best and the greater part of his literary countrymen have
learnt to feel delight in his poetry*.
5. Milnes detected t."M error, correcting the year from 1796 to
1795. Keats's friends, strangely enough, were in ignorance
concerning his birthday and birthplace. Two years after Hunt
had erroneously said that Keats was born on October 29, 1796
(Lord Byron and Some of His Contemporaries, second edition,
1828, i. 409), Brown wrote to him on June 1, 1830, saying: * Can
Clarke tell me in what parish Keats was born ? for I think you
have given a wrong birth day, though you have his authority. I
have written about this to London, but, for want of a clue to his
parish, I am unanswered.' (Unpublished letter, in the British
Museum.) Brown never received satisfactory information and
repeated Hunt's error. Keats was born in Moorfields, but, to be
precise, Brown should have said that he was born in his parents'
quarters in the livery stable, 'at the sign of the Swan and Hoop,
Finsbury Pavement, facing the then open space of Lower Moor-
fields. 9 (Colvin, p. 3.)
Keats's baptismal record, in St. Botolph's Church, Bishops-
gate, shows that he was born on October 81, 1795. The evidence
for October 29 as his birthday, accepted definitely by Miss Amy
Lowell (i. 5) and partially by Sir Sidney Colvin (who wrote that
Keats was born *on either the 29th or 31st of October, 1795')
rests on the statements in Brown's memoir and Hunt's book,
on an affidavit of Ann Burch, and on a remark by Keats in his
journal letter to George and Georgiana Keats of October 1818.
Brown's own footnote on the date of Keats's birth shows his
uncertainty, and Ann Burch was far from positive on the date.
According to the transcripts of the Chancery proceedings of
Rowlings v. Jennings prepared for Sir Sidney Colvin by Ralph
Thomas, solicitor (now among the Colvin papers in the Keats
Museum at Hampstead), * Ann Burch, of Upper Clapton, widow, '
swore to an affidavit on June 29, 1825, that she was intimately
acquainted with Thomas and Frances Keats before and after
the birth of John Keats, and 'that s d J. K. was born in the year
1795, viz*, on or about the 29th Oct. 5 The evidence of Keats
himself is even less conclusive for October 29. He interrupted
his journal letter of October 1818 at many clearly indicated
points, and it is utterly impossible to ascertain on what date
he concluded the letter with the statement, "This day is my
Birth day.' (Letters, p. 243.)
The case for October 29, then 3 rests on most unsatisfactory
evidence, which cannot discredit the grounds for assuming that
Keats was born on October 81. H. Buxton Forman first dis-
covered the entry in the baptismal records^of St. Botolph's,
Bishopsgate, which shows that Keats was christened on Decem-
ber 18, 1795, and which states that he was born on October 31.
Miss Lowell (i. 5) wrote that this birth date is recorded in *a
marginal note, said to be in the handwriting of the rector, Dr.
Conybeare*. As a matter of fact, the date is not relegated to the
margin, and the form of the entry is precisely that of others on
the same page. It reads: 'Dec. 18, 1795. John Keats. Son of
Thomas & Frances. Oct. 31.* William Conybeare, the rector of
St. Botolph's from 1776 to 1815, certified the accuracy of records
on this and other sheets of the register by signing his name at
the foot of the page. As Miss Lowell said, 'the rector could know
nothing of the matter except what he was told and may very
possibly have mistaken what was said', but at least he recorded
the date he believed correct some six weeks after the birth of
Keats instead of almost thirty years later, as Ann Burch did,
and he relied upon the parents themselves instead of upon
the hearsay of a lady to whom Keats had mentioned his
6. The schoolfellow was probably Clarke, who recorded in his
Recollections of Writers (London, 1878, p. 120) that Keats was
born on October 29, 1795.
7. Fanny Brawne, of course, is the lady to whom Keats would
most probably have told his birthday. Her copy of Leigh Hunt's
Literary Pocket Book, 1819, is preserved in the Keats Museum
at Hampstead; opposite the date, August 9, she wrote 'my
birthday', but she made no note on October 29 or 31.
8. Milnes corrected this statement, recording that Keats's father
married the daughter of 'Mr. Jennings, the proprietor of large
livery-stables on the Pavement in Moorfields, nearly opposite
the entrance into Finsbury Circus'. (Milnes, p. 10.)
9. Keats was eight when his father died, in April 1804, and four-
teen at his mother's death, in March 1810. The date seems to
have been reported wrongly in the Chancery proceedings of
Rowlings v. Jennings as February 1810, for the records of St.
Stephen's, Coleman Street, show that she was buried in that
church on March 20, 1810.
10. Brown's statement on the Keats children is correct, but Milnes
disregarded it, -writing c he [John] had two brothers, George,
older than himself, Thomas, younger, and a sister much
younger'. (Everyman edition [a reprint of the first edition,
of 1848], p. 11.) Milnes corrected his error in his revised edition
of 1867, with the statement, 'he had two younger brothers,
George and Thomas, and a sister much younger*. (1867 edition,
p. 4.) As a matter of fact, there were five Keats children,
including Edward, who died in infancy.
11. Brown wrote to Dilke asking him to confirm this statement
concerning the Keats children's inheritance. His letter, post-
marked February 9, 1830, says: 'In writing Keats's Me, in
order to salve over his "low origin" as Hunt calls it, as a good
patrimony is the next best thing (even in the eyes of aristocrats,)
to a good parentage, I wish to know if I am correct in saying
this.' He then quoted the sentence from the memoir. (Un-
published letter, in the Brewer Bequest, Keats Museum.) Appar-
ently Dilke did not reply. In the notes which he made in his
copy of MHnes's Keats, now in the J. P. Morgan Library, New
York (ii. 40), is found Dilke's statement : 'Milnes says they [the
four Keats children] had about 8000 & would perhaps quote
me as authority But my impression [is] that I said Mrs. Llanos
\nee Fanny Keats] had about or above 2200 She had I think
a special legacy, & this 2200 included her share of Tom's
property. Take John's property at 1500.' Dilke, therefore,
believed that Brown over-estimated Keats's inheritance by 500
and Fanny Keats's by some 1,800.
Milnes stated (p. 13) : 'About eight thousand pounds were left
to be equally divided among the four children.'
12. John Clarke, headmaster of the Enfield school and father of
Keats's friend Charles Cowden Clarke, was never a clergyman.
He was a lawyer before becoming a schoolmaster.
13. Church Street, Edmonton, was the address of Thomas Ham-
mond, the surgeon, and of Mrs. Jennings, Keats's grandmother.
(Lowell, i. 47.)
14. Brown probably derived this opinion from both John Keats
and his brother Tom. On June 1, 1830, he wrote to Leigh Hunt :
*I want to make out as far as I can, the development of his
[Keats's] mind. Both he and Tom have talked to me a little on
this subject.' (Unpublished letter, in the British Museum.)
Clarke, on the other hand, believed that Keats wrote his first
poem, the 'Imitation of Spenser', at the age of sixteen, not
eighteen. (Recollections of Writers, p. 125.)
15. Milnes quotes Clarke as his authority for the early influence
of Spenser's Faery Queen on Keats (p. 14).
16. Omitting four sentences and with minor variants, Colvin
quoted this paragraph from Brown. Concerning the date of this
first poem, he wrote: 'Clarke places the attempt two years
earlier, but his memory for dates was, as he owns, the vaguest.
We may fairly take Brown to be on this point the better in-
formed of the two, and may assume that it was some time in
the second year after he left school [i.e. 1813] that the Spenser
fever took hold on Keats, and with it the longing to be himself
a poet.' (Colvin, pp. 20-1.)
17. This letter is lost. It must have been written to George, since
Tom accompanied Keats to Canterbury, shortly after May 16,
1817. In writing to Bailey on October 8, 1817, Keats referred
to 'a Letter I wrote to George in the Spring % from which he
copied a long passage (Letters, pp. 52-3). It is possible that the
phrase Brown quotes was in this letter, which seems to have
come into Brown's hands because it was among the papers of
John mstead of George Keats.
18. Milnes (p. 26) and Lowell (i. 186) give slightly different ver-
sions of this quotation. Colvin (p. 29) quotes it verbatim from
Brown, but without naming him.
19. Clarke showed Hunt some of Keats's poems, probably in 1816.
(Lowell, i. 133.)
20. Hunt wrote: 'I shall never forget the impression made upon
me by the exuberant specimens of genuine though young poetry
that were laid before me, and the promise of which was seconded
by the fine fervid countenance of the writer.' (Lord Byron and
Some of His Contemporaries, second edition, i. 409-10.)
21. Poems, by John Keats. London: Printed for C. & J. Oilier,
3, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square. 1817.
22. Brown refers to Hunt's description of Keats: 'If there was
any faulty expression, it was in the mouth, which was not
without something of a character of pugnacity.' (Op. cit. i.
407.) Milnes followed Hunt's description of Keats instead of
Brown's (p. 12).
23. Brown made no attempt to summarize in chronological order
Keats's travelling during the writing of Endymion. Miss Lowell
listed his excursions of 1817 as follows: on April 14 he left
London for Southampton (i. 295) ; on the 15th he went to New-
port, Isle of Wight, and took lodgings at near-by Carisbrooke
(i. 301). Here he probably began Endymion. After about a week,
he went to Margate, where Tom joined him (i. 306), to stay
until May 16, when the brothers left for Canterbury (i. 316).
Keats seems to have gone alone to Bo Peep, near Hastings, before
he returned to Hampstead early in June (i. 462-4). Probably
on September 2 or 3, he and Bailey went to Oxford (i. 485), and
on October 2, according to evidence which no longer exists,
they visited Stratford-on-Avon (i. 510; see also Letters, pp.
175-6 n.). Keats returned to Hampstead from Oxford on
October 5 (i. 511). He remained until November 20, when he
went to Burford Bridge, at the foot of Box Hill (i. 522), finishing
Endymion there on November 28 (i. 530). We do not know the
date of his return to Hampstead, but it was no later than
December 15 (i. 537). Probably on or about March 1, 1818, he
left to join Tom in Teignmouth (i. 597), where he finished his
work on Endymion and saw it through the press. By the middle
of May, John and Tom returned to Hampstead (i. 631).
24. Milnes (p. 53) published this poem, with Keats's letter to
Bailey of January 23, 1818, in which it was included. The poem
is not among the twelve which Brown copied at the end of his
25. Brown's statement is incorrect. As Miss Lowell wrote of
Blacktvood's at this time, it 'was in its pre-Lockhart, pre-Wilson,
stage, being merely, at the moment, an unsuccessful bantling
struggling for existence. Its days of influence were a half a year
away', (i. 273.) Of the six contemporary reviews of Poems
(1817), four were distinctly favourable and two were not un-
friendly. (G. L. Marsh and N. I. White, 'Keats and the Periodi-
cals of His Time', Modern Philology, xxxii, August 1934,
Brown also exaggerated the extent of Blacktvood's attacks on
Keats. Hunt was the chief victim of the amazingly violent
attacks, signed *Z% on 'The Cockney School of Poetry'. The
fourth of this series of essays (Blackwootfs Magazine, iii, August
1818, 519-24) flays Endymion, with subordinate detraction of
Keats's first volume, but in the other five essays of the series
the contemptuous allusions to Keats were only incidental.
26. The leading reviews of the period were strongly political
organs. The Edinburgh Review was Whig, The Quarterly Review
and Blacfavood's Magazine were Tory.
27. Hunt said that the libel for which he was imprisoned 'origin-
ated in my sympathy with the sufferings of the people of Ire-
land', and was precipitated 'by my indignation at the Regent's
breaking his promises to the Irish'* (E. Blunden, Leigh Hunt,
1930, p. 69 n.) The libellous article, 'Princely Qualities', was
published in The Examiner, March 22, 1812, but numerous
delays postponed the imprisonment of Leigh and John Hunt
until February 3, 1813. They were released on February 2,
28. Blackwood's Magazine did not thus describe Keats in the
essays * On the Cockney School of Poetry '. The reviewer (prob-
ably John Wilson) of Hunt's Literary Pocket-Book wrote of
Keats in the manner to which Brown so justly objected; after
quoting Keats's sonnets, 'The Human Seasons' and 'To Ailsa
Rock* , the reviewer wrote : ' But who but himself could form such
portentous folly as in the second ? Mister John Keates standing
on the sea-shore at Dunbar, without a neckcloth, according to
custom of Cockaigne, and cross-questioning the Craig of Ailsa 1
. . . He is at present a very amiable, silly, lisping, and prag-
matical young gentleman but we hope to cure him of all
that and should have much pleasure in introducing him to
our readers in a year or two speaking the language of this
country, counting his fingers correctly, and condescending to a
neckcloth.' (Blacfavood*s Magazine, vi, December 1819, 239-40.)
29. The 'Notices' of Blackwooffs Magazine for March 1818 com-
inenting on articles sent to the editor. Brown recalled the
following reference from these 'Notices' to Hazlitt:
4 Of pimpled Hazhtt's coxcomb lectures writing,
Our friend with moderate pleasure we peruse.*
Although the editors of Blackt&ood wished to insult Hazlitt, the
author of the reviews on his 'Lectures on English Poetry', Peter
George Patmore, gave Hazlitt serious and favourable criticism.
In his concluding review, he wrote: 'By the bye, what can our
Editor's facetious friend mean by "pimpled Hazlitt"? If he
knows that gentleman's person, he cannot intend the epithet to
apply to that; and how * k pimpled" may be interpreted with
reference to mind, we are not able to divine.' (Blackwood's
Magazine, iii, April 1818, 75.) The epithet was applied to Hazhtt
in Blackwootfs for August 1818 (iii. 599), hi a review of The Works
of Charles Lamb, and in September 1820 (vii. 675), in William
Maginn's 'The Building of the Palace of the Lamp, from the
Danish of Oehlensehlaeger'.
30. Hazlitt, however, wrote a vigorous 'Reply to Z ', answering all
the impudent charges of 'Hazlitt Cross-Questioned' in Black-
wood's for August 1818 (iii. 550-2), and including the following
remark on his complexion: 'Finally, Sir, you call me as a nick-
name "pimpled Hazlitt". And I am not pimpled, but remark-
ably pale and sallow.' (A Reply to Z, 1923, p. 38.) Hazhtt
planned to publish his 'Reply to Z' in Constable's Edinburgh
Magazine, the rival of Blackwood's, but instead he instituted
successful proceedings against the libellous magazine. (The Com-
plete Works of William Hazhtt, ed. P. P. Howe, 1932, ix. 249.)
Part of Hazhtt's reply was published in 'Hazlitt v. Blackwood's
Magazine', by Charles Whibley, in Blackwood's Magazine^ cciv
(September, 1918), 388-98, and it was first published completely
by The First Edition Club of London in 1923, with an introduc-
tion by Mr. Whibley.
31. John Gibson Lockhart, only twenty-three at the time of
Z's essays, in 1818, married Sir Walter Scott's daughter in
32. Brown accurately described the completely uncritical spite-
fulness of The Quarterlies review of Endymion, which used the
following method of attack:
4 It is not that Mr. Keats, (if that be his real name, for we
almost doubt that any man in his senses would put his real name
to such a rhapsody,) it is not, we say, that the author has not
powers of language, rays of fancy, and gleams of genius he has
all these ; but he is unhappily a disciple of the new school of
what has been somewhere called Cockney poetry ; which may be
defined to consist of the most incongruous ideas in the most
uncouth language. . . .
'This author [Keats] is a copyist of Mr. Hunt ; but he is more
unintelligible, almost as rugged, twice as diffuse, and ten times
more tiresome and absurd than his prototype. . . .
'But enough of Mr. Leigh Hunt and his simple neophyte.
If any one should be bold enough to purchase this "Poetic
Romance", and so much more patient, than ourselves, as to get
beyond the first book, and so much more fortunate as to find
a meaning, we entreat him to make us acquainted with his
success ; we shall then return to the task which we now abandon
in despair, and endeavour to make all due amends to Mr. Keats
and to our readers.' (The Quarterly Review, six, April 1818,
33. William Gifford was the editor of The Quarterly. John Wilson
Croker wrote the review of Endymion.
34. 'In order to understand Shelley's allusion, I looked up the
Quarterly Review from April 1817 to April 1828, and have ascer-
tained as follows. (1) The Quarterly of April 1817 contains a
notice of Paris in 181 5, a Poem. The author was the Rev. George
Croly, but the title page does not give his name. ... (2) Woman
is a poem by the Mr. Barrett whom Shelley names, termed on
the title-page "the Author of The Heroine". It was noticed in
the Quarterly for April 1818, the very same number which con-
tained the sneering critique ofEndymion. ... (3) A Syrian Tale.
Of this book I have failed to find any trace in the Quarterly
Review 9 or in the Catalogue of the British Museum. (4) Mrs.
Lefanu. Neither can I trace this lady in the Quarterly. Mrs,
Alicia Lefanu, who is stated to have been a sister of Richard
Brinsley Sheridan, and also her daughter, Miss Alicia Lefanu,
published books during the lifetime of Shelley . (5) Mr. John
Howard Payne was author of Brutus^ or the Fall of Tarquin, an
Historical Tragedy, criticized in the Quarterly for April 1820. I
cannot understand why Shelley should have supposed this
criticism to be laudatory: it is in fact unmixed censure.' (P. B.
Shelley, Adonais, ed. W. M. Rossetti and A. O. Prickard, Oxford,
1903, pp. 98-100.)
35. Francis Jeffrey, the editor of The Edinburgh Review.
36. Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems, by
John Keats, author of Endymion. London: Printed for Taylor
and Hessey, Fleet-Street. 1820.
37. By this time Keats was fatally ill with tuberculosis.
38. The Edinburgh Review, xxxiv (August 1820), 205,
39. The Edinburgh Review* xxxiv. 203.
40. 'Severn was asked to join the party, and Haslam also; but
neither was able to go.' (Sharp, pp. 35-6.)
41. Keats, his brother George and his bride, Georgiana Wylie, and
Brown arrived in Liverpool June 23, 1818.
42. Keats and Brown reached Lancaster the following day,
June 24. On June 25 they began their walk.
43. Keats described the view thus to his brother George, in his
letter of June 26, 1818: 'We have passed . . * from Kendal to
Bownesfs] on turning down to which place there burst upon us
the most beautiful and rich view of Winander mere and the
surrounding Mountains/ (Letters, p. 157.)
44. June 27.
45. Lord Brougham was the Whig candidate running against the
Tory Lord Lowther, for whom Wordsworth was electioneering,
to represent Westmorland in Parliament.
46. The manuscript is slightly torn at this point.
47. July 1.
48. Keats sent the poem on Meg Merrilies to his sister, Fanny, in
his letter of July 2-4, 1818. (Letters, pp. 165-6.)
49. July 7 and 8. Of their brief excursion in Ireland, Brown wrote
thus to Henry Snook on August 7, 1818: 'It was our intention
to see the Giant's Causeway in Ireland and we took the packet
from Port Patrick to Donaghadee, but did not proceed further
than Belfast and returned back again, for the Irish people did
not please us, and the expense was enormous.' (Keats, The
Poetical Works and Other Writings, ed. Harry Buxton Forman,
1883, iii. 356.)
50. Keats and Brown saw Ailsa Craig, which is approximately
eleven hundred feet high, on July 9. Keats described it thus
to his brother Tom on July 10, and copied his sonnet 'To Ailsa
Rock* into the letter : ' In a little time I descried in the Sea Ailsa
Rock 940 feet hight it was 15 Miles distant and seemed close
upon us The effect of ailsa with the peculiar perspective of
the Sea in connection with the ground we stood on, and the
misty rain then falling gave me a complete Idea of a deluge.
Ailsa struck me very suddenly reaUy I was a little alarmed.'
(Letters, p. 181.)
Mr. Nelson S. Bushnell has carefully retraced the walking
tour of Keats and Brown, checking each place mentioned by
the walkers in their letters and in Brown's account of part of
this tour, published as 'Walks in the North* in the Plymouth
and Devonport Weekly Journal of October 22, 1840. In comment-
ing on the specific details concerning Ailsa Craig given by both
Keats and Brown, Mr. Bushnell suggests that the walkers prob-
ably consulted Traveller's Guide through Scotland, sixth edition,
Edinburgh and London, 1814, which describes Ailsa as follows :
*No object of the scenery of this coast is more striking than the
stupendous rock of Ailsa, . . . which rises almost perpendicular
to the height of 940 feet. ... Its shape is somewhat conical, and
it is on all sides extremely precipitous. . . . This rock is inhabited
by immense flocks of birds.' (N, S. Bushnell, A Walk after John
Keats, New York, 1936, p. 285.)
Mr. Bushnell (p. 183) comments on the phonetic spelling used
by Keats and Brown for Scottish place names, such as ' Cantire'
51. July 11.
52. Burns, 'Tarn o' Shanter', lines 15-16.
53. Keats wrote to Bailey, July 18-22, 1818: *I had determined
to write a Sonnet m the Cottage [of Burns], I did but lauk it
was so wretched I destroyed it.* (Letters, p. 194.) Brown, how-
ever, had copied the poem before Keats destroyed it. On
July 13, in writing to Reynolds and to Tom, Keats had men-
tioned the sonnet but had refused to transcribe it. (Letters, pp.
177 and 183.)
54. July 24.
55. July 26.
56. August 2.
57. It has been argued that Keats embarked for London at Inver-
ness on a ship calling there after sailing from Cromarty, some
twenty miles to the north-east, for he wrote to George and
Georgiana Keats, 'I came by ship from Inverness and was nine
( 104 )
days at Sea' (Letters, p. 231), and to his sister Fanny, on August
18, 1818, b l did not intend to have returned to London so soon
but have a bad sore throat from a cold I caught in the island of
Mull: therefore I thought it best to get home as soon as possible
and went on board the Smack from Cromarty. We had a nine
days passage and were landed at London Bridge yesterday'
(Letters, pp. 212-13). The date of Keats's departure from Scot-
lAd, therefore, was August 8.
Brown's letters also pointed to Inverness instead of Cromarty
as the port of departure. Writing to Charles Wentworth Dilke,
senior, of Chichester, from Inverness on August 7, 1818, he said,
4 1 am waiting here to see him [Keats] off in the Smack for
London' (Letters, p. 211). At the same time, he also wrote to
Henry Snook, 'Mr. Keats will leave me here' (Keats, The
Poetical Works and Other Writings, ed. Harry Buxton Forman,
1883, iii. 359).
Mr. Nelson S. Bushnell, however, shows that the only ship
for London from the general port district of Inverness (which
included Cromarty) during the week in question was the smack
George, sailing from Cromarty on August 8 and not calling at
Inverness. Keats obviously was on board. (A Walk after John
Keats, pp. 297-9.)
58. We cannot determine Brown's route after Keats departed.
To Mr. Dilke, senior, he wrote, 'I shall have to travel thro*
Perthshire and all the Counties round in solitude', and to Henry
Snook he stated his plans in terms of distance: 'I have gone
642 miles, and shall have twice as much more to accomplish if
I can.' (See note 57.) He concluded this letter by giving an
Edinburgh address, which, we may infer from the time allowed
for letters to reach their destinations, he planned to reach about
September 1. From the time of Keats's departure to this date,
Brown could scarcely have walked more than five hundred
At some time during his walking trips, Brown visited Loch
Carron and Loch Tay, both of which lay within the range of this
distance, but there is no evidence that he went there in 1818,
for he spent the 'best months in three summers' in what he
termed the British mountains and walked 'as many thousand
miles', describing his tours in the New Monthly Magazine ('On
the Superstitions of Highlanders and Londoners', 1821, iii. 566,
and 'Mountain Scenery', 1822, iv. 247). We may safely assume
that by the time he reached Edinburgh he was returning to
London, and that his southern route took him through Carlisle.
(See note 103.)
59. To his paraphrase of Brown's statement, Milnes added this
footnote: 'I have stated this on the authority of Mr. Brown.
Mr. Robert Blackwood, son of the Mr. Blackwood of that time,
thinks the circumstance very improbable, and that Mr. Brown
must have been mistaken or misinformed. It does, however,
appear that in the July of 1818 Mr. Bailey met, at Bishop
Gleig's in Scotland, a leading contributor to "Blackwood's
Magazine", with whom he had much conversation respecting
Keats, especially about his relations with Leigh Hunt, and Mr.
Bailey thought his confidence had been abused.' (The Life and
Letters of John Keats, revised edition, 1867, p. 164.)
Milnes derived his information concerning Bailey from a long
letter, really a memoir of Keats, which Bailey sent him after
receiving a copy of Milnes's book. This unpublished letter
(collection of Lord Crewe) is dated Rutnapoora, Ceylon, May 7,
1849. In a short supplementary letter, dated Colombo, May 11,
1849, Bailey stated that the 'leading contributor to "Black-
wood's Magazine " * who had abused his confidence was Lockhart,
Bailey may have been the 'third party' whom Brown men-
tioned, as he had been introduced to Blackwood. He referred
to this meeting in a letter to John Taylor from Carlisle of Octo-
ber 5, 1818, now among the Woodhouse papers at the Morgan
Library. It is also possible that Oilier, Keats's first publisher,
was the 'third party'. In commenting on Milnes's account of
Blackwood? s attack on Keats, Dilke wrote: 'At the time Keats
& others believed thus that such particulars had been furnished
by "the enlightened publisher" Pref XI who "out of sheer
admiration" published Keats' first volume P 21 with whom
Keats quarreled P 25 with whom he would not be reconciled
P 99 Mr. Oilier!' (Dilke's copy of Milnes's Keats, L 198.
60. This is the poem, entitled 'Lines Written in the Highlands after
a Visit to Burns's Country', which Keats sent, in place of the
'Sonnet Written in the Cottage where Burns was Born' , in his letter
to Bailey begun at Inverary, July 18, 1818. (Letters, pp. 195-7.)
61. Mrs. Dilke, writing to her father-in-law, on August 16, 1818,
tells the story: 'John Keats' brother is extremely ill, and
the doctor begged that his brother might be sent for. Dilke
accordingly wrote off to him, which was a very unpleasant task*
However, from the journal received from Brown last Friday,
he says Keats has been so long ill with his sore throat, that he is
obliged to give up. I am rather glad of it, as he will not re-
ceive the letter, which might have frightened him very much,
as he is extremely fond of his brother. How poor Brown will
get on alone I know not, as he loses a cheerful, good-tempered,
clever companion.' (C. W. Dilke, The Papers of a Critic, London,
62. The only definite clue to the date of Brown's return from
Scotland in 1818 is contained in the records of the tenants of
Wentworth Place, now in the Keats Museum. They list Mrs.
Brawne's tenancy as June-September, 1818, and Brown's return
to his side of the house in September. However, if Brown carried
out his intention of walking twice 642 miles after Keats's de-
parture (see note 58), he must have spent most of September
completing this trip. The following year he did not return to
Hampstead until the middle of October (Letters, p. 396), which
seems to be a more consistent date with the mileage he had
planned for the 1818 trip. That this top had been planned to
last two months longer than Keats had been able to endure it
is confirmed by his letter to George and Georgiana Keats of
October 1818. (Letters, p. 229.) Keats's first mention of Brown
in Hampstead is in the portion of this letter written between
October 16 and October 21. (Letters, p. 238.)
63. December 1, 1818.
64. Keats and Tom had lodgings at the house of Bentley, the
Hampstead postman, in Well Walk.
65. Apparently Keats began 'Hyperion' in the autumn of 1818, but
he had difficulty in making progress with it. In a letter to his
brother George, he wrote on December 18, 1818: 'I think you
knew before you left England that my next subject would be
"the fall of Hyperion ". I went on a little with it last night but
it will take some time to get into the vein again,' (Letters 9
66. Brown had gone to Chichester to spend a few days with
Dilke's father. Keats joined Mm there about the middle of
January 1819. (Lowell, ii. 151.) From Chichester they went
to Bedhampton to visit Mrs. Snook, Dilke's sister. They prob-
ably returned to Hampstead about February 6. (Ibid. ii. 179.)
67. Concerning this information Dilke wrote in his copy of Milnes's
Keats (i. 245): 'We do not usually thrust waste paper behind
books But this is the tone in which the work was written.
Brown had slowly and doubtingly grown into a high admira-
tion of Keats, and began therefore to collect every scrap of his
68. Keats and his friend James Rice left London for the Isle of
Wight on June 27, 1819. (Lowell, ii. 268.) Brown arrived in
Shanklin some time during the week of July 19, and Rice left
before July 25. (Ibid. ii. 278.) On August 12 Brown and Keats
went to Winchester. (Ibid. ii. 287.)
69. Brown had an entree to Drury Lane. It was here that his
comic opera, Narensky, or The Road to Yaroslaf, had been per-
formed in 1814. The production had been a financial success,
gaining Brown 300 and free admission to the theatre for life.
(Letters, p. xlix.)
70. Apparently always anxious to detract from Brown's kind-
nesses to Keats, Dilke wrote the following note on 'Otho the
Great' in his copy of Milnes's Keats (i, p. x) : * He [Brown] furnished
the plots of the tragedy, Otho, on condition that he should have
half profits. There was no irony in this but why trick him out
in masquerade costume as a generous protector of the man or
talk of his affectionate care of the MSS.'
The profit-sharing agreement of the enterprise, however,
seems to be an example of Keats's high integrity rather than
Brown's pettiness. Brown probably found it difficult to per-
suade Keats to work with him, even on this basis, as is shown
in the passage from a letter he wrote to Milnes on March 29,
1841, quoted on p. 35.
71 . The fragment of 'King Stephen' consists of four scenes and 193
72. Miss Lowell dates 'Lamia' July-August 1819 (ii. 534). Colvin,
however, states that Keats began it in June 1819 (p. 358).
Brown, whose information concerning Keats during the period
they lived together is remarkably accurate, proves that Colvin
is correct, for 'Lamia' must have been begun before the Isle of
Wight sojourn (that is, before the middle of June) when Keats
and Brown separated, or Brown would have had no knowledge,
in August, that it b had been on hand for some months'.
73. Major Charles Brown (frequently called 'Carlino'), Brown's
son, states that when Brown left Keats alone in Winchester at
this time he went to Ireland, where he married a peasant, who *
is supposed to have been the servant at Wentworth Place.
Major Brown, in an unpublished memoir of his father, now in
the Keats Museum, wrote: 'In August [September] 1819, when
Brown left Keats at Winchester, he went over to Ireland, and
married Abigail Donohoo, a handsome woman of the peasant
class ; the marriage was performed by a Catholic priest, and was
therefore illegal, but as she was a bigoted Catholic, and Irish, she
was satisfied with the blessing of the priest, and cared not for
This explanation, undoubtedly the one Brown made to his
son, coupled with the fact that during the next weeks two letters
from Keats to Brown miscarried, has been the basis for accusing
Brown of deceiving Keats as to his whereabouts during this
time. But the following extract from Brown's letter to Keats
of December 21, 1820, proves that Keats was in no ignorance of
Brown's relationship with 'Abby' and that no deception was
at any time necessary: 'I must tell you Abby is living with me
again, but not in the same capacity, she keeps to her own bed,
& I keep myself continent. Any more nonsense of the former
kind would put me in an awkward predicament with her. One
child is very well.' (Letters, p. 529.)
The trip to Ireland, therefore, was an invention which Brown
made for 6 Carlino'. Keats's statement in a letter written
September 5, 1819, presents the facts: 'Brown is going to
Chi[che]ster and Bedhampton avisiting I shall be alone here for
three weeks.' (Letters, p. 382.) Keats's explanation of the mis-
carriage of the letters is thus equally correct: 'Brown who was
at Bedhampton, went thence to Chichester, and I still directing
my letters Bedhampton there arose a misunderstandpng]. . . .
However yesterday [September 23] Brown had four letters from
me all in a Lump.' (Letters, p. 425.) The practical joke, which
Keats described in his letter to George of September 25, shows
that Brown was in Chichester and Bedhampton during these
three weeks. (Letters, p. 428.)
74. As Mr. M. B. Forman notes (Letters, p, 395), the deleted name
is obviously Reynolds. On September 22, 1819, Keats wrote to
Dilke: 'If Reynolds had not taken to the law, would he not
be earning something?' (Letters, p. 393.) Only one holograph
letter from Keats to Brown is extant, that of September 28,
1820, in the Harvard College Library. All other letters from
Keats to Brown are derived from Milnes or from Brown's
memoir. Inconsequential variants are not noted.
75. Milnes reads 'purpose' for 'propose' (p. 186).
76. ; Otho the Great'.
77. Milnes omits this sentence and the following one. They are
present, however, in the editions of Keats's letters edited by
H. Buxton Forman (1901 edition, v. 98) and by M. B. Forman
(p. 396). Mr. H. Buxton Forman evidently supplied these sen-
tences from the memoir. Neither editor suggests whose name
Brown deleted; it was probably Fanny Brawne's. Although
Keats was engaged to her at this time, he had written her only
once since August 16, when, during a short visit from Win-
chester to London, he refused to go to Hampstead to see her,
writing: 'I love you too much to venture to Hampstead, I feel
it is not paying a visit, but venturing into a fire.' (Letters* p.
383.) When he wrote to Brown, Keats anticipated a Spartan
existence devoted almost solely to earning, and he felt that he
could not carry out this determination if he lived with Brown,
next door to his fiancee.
78. '"The cash," observes Dilke, "borrowed from Taylor 30 a
fortnight before on the 5th."* (Letters, p. 396, n.) Dilke's
note is found in his annotated copy of Milnes's Keats, ii. 29.
79. It was through Hazlitt that Reynolds became a contributor
to the Edinburgh Review. (W. C. Hazlitt, Four Generations of a
Literary Family, 1897, i. 133.) According to Keats, Constable,
the publisher of the Edinburgh Review, 'offered Reynolds ten
guineas a sheet to write for his Magazine'. (Letters, p. 90.)
80. Mr. M. B. Forman suggests Bedhampton, with a query.
(Letters, p. 396.) The suggestion is probably correct, for Keats
was addressing Brown at Bedhampton (see note 73), although
Keats may have written Chichester.
81. The date of Brown's return to Hampstead in the autumn de-
pended upon the terms of his summer tenant's lease. Nathan
Benjamin had rented Brown's side of Wentworth Place until
the middle of October 1819. (Letters, p. 400.)
82. Psalm Iviii. 4.
83. Keats referred to this letter when he wrote to George on
September 24, 1819, saying: 'Brown complained very much in
his Letter to me of yesterday of the great alteration the Dis-
position of Dilke has undergone. He thinks of nothing hut
[Godwin's] " Political Justice " and his Boy.' (Letters, pp. 425-6.)
84. i.e* the letter which Brown quoted immediately before this one*
85. The name is obviously Dilke, to whom Keats wrote on Sep-
tember 22. Milnes left the name blank (p. 187), but H. Buxton
Forman (v. 99) and M. B, Fonnan (p. 397) printed Dilke without
indication of Brown's deletion.
86. Brown's return to Winchester is not definitely indicated, but
Keats's remark to Dilke in his letter of October 1, 'Brown bids
me remind you not to send the Examiners after the third'
(Letters, p. 431), sounds more like a spoken than a written
message. However it may be interpreted, Brown had returned
by October 3, for on that date he added a note to Keats's letter
to Haydon. (Letters, p. 434.)
87. Note 86 clearly indicates that Keats and Brown expected to
be in Hampstead in time to receive their Sunday Examiner of
October 10. Keats's request to Dilke to find him a room by
'next Friday', i.e. October 8 (Letters, p. 431), probably shows
that October 8 was the date of their return.
88. Brown is in error here. Keats wrote four dramatic criticisms
for The Champion. The first, entitled 'On Edmund Kean as a
Shakespearian Actor', appeared on December 21, 1817, and
criticized Kean's performance as Richard III and as Luke in
a play called Riches, adapted from Massinger's The City Madam.
The second, a criticism of Kean in Richard Duke of York, com-
piled from the three parts of Shakespeare's Henry VI, was
published December 28, 1817. The last two both appeared in
The Champion for January 4, 1818: c On "Retribution, or The
Chieftain's Daughter,'" with Macready, and 'On "Don Gio-
vanni", a Pantomime, 9 the Christinas pantomime at Drury
89. Fanny Brawne was living at this time with her mother, her
sister Margaret, and her brother Sam in Dilke's half of Went-
worth Place, Hampstead.
90. 'It would seem to have been at No. 25 College Street that
Dilke obtained for Keats the rooms which the poet asked hi
to find. . . . How long Keats remained in those rooms I have
been unable to determine, to a day; but in [the] letter . . .
headed "Wentworth Place", and postmarked the 16th of
October 1819 . . . , he speaks of having "returned to Hampstead '%
after lodging "two or three days ... in the neighbourhood of
Mrs. Dilke". In [his letter to Fanny Brawne of October 19,
1819] he writes from Great Smith Street (the address of the
Dilkes) of his purpose to live at Hampstead. I suppose the
"three days dream" there referred to was a visit to Mrs.
Brawne's house, from which he proceeded to Mrs. Dilke's
there to come to a final resolution of living at Hampstead.'
(Letters, pp. 434-5, n.)
91. Dilke was also aware of Keats's state of mind at this time, for
which he blamed Fanny Brawne. The unpublished draft of a
letter from Dilke to Milnes, headed 'Mimes M. P. Bedhampton.
June 2% contains this sentence: 'His [Keats's] mind was then
all in a ferment he was in love & saw the impossibility of main-
taining a wife, and as I suspect, for the first time the consequent
impossibility of maintaining himself.' (Keats Museum.)
92. Brown's definite statement that 'The Fall of Hyperion, a
Vision' was remodelled from 'Hyperion* , and the internal evidence
noted by Sir Sidney Colvin (in the London Times Literary
Supplement, March 3, 1921, p. 143} led to the abandonment of
Milnes's theory, expressed in his 1867 edition, that 'The Fall of
Hyperion* was the first draft. Professor de Selincourt accepts
Brown's evidence (The Poems of John Keats, ed. E. de Selincourt,
London, 1926, fifth edition, pp. 515-19). Miss Lowell (ii. 389-46)
was unwilling to accept the evidence that 'The Fall of Hyperion*
was revised from 'Hyperion' . She argued that Keats worked first
on 'The Fall', then on 'Hyperion', and, after abandoning it and
tinder the influence of Dante, once more on 'The Fall'. Miss
Lowell's theory, however, has not been widely adopted, and
most scholars accept Brown's statement as correct.
93. Brown probably refers here to the financial difficulties of
George Keats, whom he distrusted. George needed further
capital to establish himself in Kentucky, but the proceedings
in Chancery made it very difficult for him to obtain full settle-
ment of his inherited property. Keats undertook the trouble-
some negotiations for him, and, as Brown says, wrote with
little success or pleasure during the depression of his financial
labours. (See his letter to George of November 19, 1819, Letters,
p. 442.) During November he went frequently to town on
George's business (Letters, p. 439), but his letter to Taylor of
November 17 (Letters, pp. 439-40) shows that Brown exaggerated
his unhappy inertia of this period.
94. This, of course, is a veiled reference to Fanny Brawne. Brown
makes no mention whatsoever of Keats's engagement to her
nor to the Brawne family.
95. Brown believed that George Keats borrowed from his brother
700 in stock, 425 in cash, and about 175 to which John was
entitled from the estate of Tom Keats. (Unpublished letter from
Brown to Dilke, January 20, 1830, in the Brewer Bequest, Keats
Museum.) These loans, according to Brown, exhausted most of
96. Miss Lowell (ii. 389) dates the event on February 3, 1820. Her
evidence is the letter from Keats to Fanny Brawne of February 4
(Letters, p. 457), written while he was ill. The letter immediately
before this, to Georgiana Keats, ending January 28, showed
no evidences of illness. Brown, therefore, placed Keats's first
haemorrhage too early.
Letters from Brown corroborate Miss Lowell's date. A note
of Dilke in his copy of Milnes's IAfe, Letters, and Literary Re-
mains of John Keats (ii. 53) states : ' In Brown's letter at Belmont
Castle I find "Hampstead, 11 Feb. 1820. Mr. Keats fell very
ill yesterday week [i.e. February 3]: he is somewhat better, but
I am in a very anxious state about him." ' From the same source
we find (ii. 59) : ' 24 Mar, 1820, Brown's letter at Belmont Castle
"I have been nurse night and day to Mr. Keats for seven
weeks.'" Seven weeks would also place the date exactly at
97. Even in November 1820, after Keats had reached Rome, his
illness was not definitely diagnosed as pulmonary. Dr. Clark,
who attended him in Rome, wrote to a friend on November 27,
1820: "The chief part of his [Keats's] disease, as far as I can yet
see seems seated in his Stomach. I have some suspicion of
disease of the heart and it may be of the lungs.* (Lowell, ii. 502.)
And yet, three months later, Severn stated that the autopsy on
Keats showed that 'the lungs were completely gone, the doctors
could not conceive how he had lived in the last two months*.
(Sharp, p. 94.)
98. Dr. Robert Bree was Keats's physician during the spring of
1820. (Lowell, ii. 401.) An unpublished letter from Brown to
Dilke, dated May 2, 1826, contains a copy of the accounts
between Brown and Keats of 1820, and shows that Dr. Bree
was paid four guineas for his professional services in March.
(Brewer Bequest, Keats Museum.)
99. Miss Lowell (ii. 411) says that Keats moved to 2 Wesleyan
Place, Kentish Town, on Brown's departure. The account,
referred to in note 98, shows that Brown paid one guinea on
May 4 as 6 one week's rent in advance at Kentish Town*.
100. 'The Cap and Bells'.
101. * Dilke V is a reasonable conjecture for the deletion, for
Brown corresponded with Dilke more regularly than with other
members of the Keats circle.
102. Keats reported to his sister on June 23, 1820, that he had
received a letter from George. (Letters, p. 496.) The letter to
Brown, therefore, is of an earlier date.
103. Brown made no practice of supplying a x for each letter of
the names he omitted. The fact, therefore, that 'Bailey' exactly
fits this space does not argue that Keats wrote 'Bailey* here.
In 1819 he had moved from Carlisle and become Vicar of Dal-
ington, Northamptonshire. (Letters, p. xlvi.) Brown had visited
Bailey in Carlisle in 1818, after Keats had returned to England
(unpublished letter, collection of Lord Crewe, Bailey to Milnes,
May 7, 1849), and he may have planned to stop in Dallington to
see him during his journey in 1820. But Keats's friendship for
Bailey seems to have cooled by this time, since the last extant
letter from Keats to Bailey is dated August 14, 1819.
104. No explanation can be offered of Keats's bad behaviour. It
may, however, concern the disapproval which Keats felt for
Bailey's marriage to Hamilton Gleig after his courtship of
Mariane Reynolds. (See Letters, pp. 304-5 and 368 n.)
105. Milnes (p. 205) reads 'could', as does Letters (p. 492).
106. Milnes and Letters read * different*.
107. Mr. M. B. Forman (p. 493 n.) suggests that this may have
been Thomas Monkhouse, as Crabb Robinson recorded in his
diary for June 21, 1820, that he spent that evening at Monk-
house's with Lamb, Wordsworth, and TaJfourd.
108. Mr. M. B. Forman (p. 493 n.) identifies the exhibition as that
of the British Institution. He also identifies the portraits which
109. 'Lucy Vaughan Lloyd* was the pseudonym under which
Keats planned to issue 'The Cap and Bells'.
110. Brown included a visit to the Hebrides on his long walking
tour in Scotland. He was in Skye about July 1, as Keats men-
tioned receiving a letter from hmi 'dated Dunvegan Castle,
Island of Skye' when he wrote to his sister on July 5, 1820.
(Letters, p. 498.)
111. Mr. M. B. Forman (p. 514) conjecturally dated this letter
about August 20, since Milnes (p. 206) did not give Brown's
date. Brown's evidence is based on the document itself and
should be accepted, even though Keats was frequently inaccu-
rate concerning dates. If this letter to Brown was written on
August 14, Keats's letter to his sister postmarked August 14
(Letters, p. 504) must have been written a day or two earlier, for
to his sister Keats wrote: * Yesterday I received an invitation
from M r Shelley ... to spend the Winter with him.* To Brown,
Keats wrote: 'Last week I received a letter from Shelley . . .
asking me to spend the winter with him.' Shelley's letter
(Letters, pp. 505-6) is dated Pisa, July 27, 1820. The Italian
postmark is simply 'Livorno' and the English postmark is
' rpo 10 AU 1 820 ' . This means that the letter arrived in England on
August 10 and should have reached Keats within a day or two.
112. Keats doubtless confided in Brown that he was engaged to
Fanny Brawne. The secret, which Brown refers to so mysteri-
ously, became known to other members of the Keats circle after
he went to Italy. One of Reynolds's sisters wrote to Mrs. Dilke :
*I hear that Keats is going to Rome, which must please all his
friends on every account. I sincerely hope it will benefit his
health, poor fellow. His mind and spirits must be bettered by
it ; and absence may probably weaken, if not break off, a con-
nexion that has been a most unhappy one for him.* (C. W.
Dilke, The Papers of a Critic, 1875, i. 11.)
In moments of anguish during the summer of 1820 Keats
charged his fiancee with 'the habit of flirting with Brown*
(Letters, p. 496) and showed the bitterest jealousy of his friend.
In a letter, probably of August 1820, he wrote to Fanny Brawne :
'I see nothing but thorns for the future wherever I may be
next winter in Italy or nowhere Brown will be living near you
with his indecencies I see no prospect of any rest.' (Letters,
p. 503.) Keats's illness and despondency, rather than any act
of Brown and Fanny, undoubtedly caused this jealous agitation.
113. Milnes (p. 206) and Letters (p. 514) read 'among the literary
114. Brown said that this letter was written * a few days after* the
one he had just quoted. It should be dated, therefore, about
August 16 or 18. Keats actually left Hampstead for Italy on
115. Milnes (p. 207) and Letters (p. 516) read 'in every way there'*
116. Elsewhere Brown referred to Keats's death as twenty years
before he wrote. This passage must have been in his original
version, which he prepared as a lecture at the Plymouth
Athenaeum on December 27, 1837 (see Introduction, p. 17).
117. The Maria Crowther, on which Keats and Severn sailed to
Naples, left London Docks on September 17 and anchored during
that night at Gravesend. It was here that Brown might possibly
have seen his friend. (Letters, p. 519 n.)
118. Severn left different accounts of his preparations to accom-
pany Keats. In one he said that he had only one day's warning,
in the other 'three or four days'. (Sharp, p. 48.)
119. On December 10, 1819, Severn received the Royal Academy's
gold medal for his painting 'The Cave of Despair', based on an
episode in The Faery Queen. (Sharp, p. 27.) The award, how-
ever, did not include, as Brown says, 'his expences to and from
Italy, as wefl as for three years of study there'. Sharp wrote
(p. 49): 'With his sanguine temperament, it is quite likely, as
he [Severn] says, that, as soon as the suggestion [to accompany
Keats] was made to him and he realised its significance, he fore-
saw the possibility of his gaining at Rome the Royal Academy's
travelling studentship, as a sequence to the bestowal of the gold
120. Milnes paraphrased this statement of Brown's in the follow-
ing sentence (p. 210) : 'Nothing was left to him [Brown] but to
make his preparations for following Keats as speedily as possible,
and remaining with him in Italy, if it turned out that a southern
climate was necessary for the preservation of his life.'
On this passage, Dilke noted in his copy of Milnes (ii. 71) :
*This Mir. Milnes must have stated on the authority of Brown &
no other. What are the facts ? Keats embarked in Septr 1820
& Brown was then in the River Keats died Feby 1821 and
Brown started for Italy in July or August 1822 ! fifteen or sixteen
months after he was deadl*
121. There is no reason to doubt Brown's word, since even Keats's
physicians completely misjudged the seriousness of his illness.
122. In the sentence preceding that quoted firom Milnes in Note
120, he wrote: 'By an additional irony of fate, when Keats's
ship was driven back into Portsmouth by stress of weather,
Mr* Brown was staying in the neighbourhood within ten miles
when Keats landed and spent a day on shore.' Dilke wrote the
following note on this passage: 'When Keats landed and went
to my Sisters at Bedhampton Brown was staying at my
father's at Chichester.' Dilke's sister was Mrs. John Snook of
123. Mr. M. B. Forman (p. 519) dates this letter Saturday, Sep-
tember 30, 1820, since September 28 was a Thursday. This is
the only letter from Keats to Brown of which the holograph is
now extant. -Mr. Forman's version, printed from the holograph
in the Harvard College Library, shows variants in punctuation
and capitalization from Brown's version.
124. 1 Henry IV, in. in. 6.
Page Seventy -three
125. This statement supports the date September 30, as the Maria
Crowther sailed September 17.
126. Keats wrote 'my lungs or stomach'. (Letters, p. 520.)
127. Keats wrote 'The very thing which I want to live most for'.
(Letters, p. 520.)
128. The holograph has 'Miss Brawne'. Brown also deleted the
first part of the following sentence : ' You think she has many
faults but, for my sake, think she has not one if there is
any thing you can do for her by word or deed I know you will
do it.' (Letters, p. 520.) Milnes (p. 211), evidently copying the
holograph of the letter instead of Brown's inaccurate transcript
of it, restored the deletions, but wrote 'Miss % for he never
mentioned Fanny Brawne by name.
129. The holograph has 'Miss Brawne'. (Letters, p. 520.)
130. Brown omitted another sentence: *I seldom think of my
Brother and Sister in america.'
181. The holograph has 'during my last nursing at Wentworth
132. The holograph has 'dilke'.
133. November 1, 1820, was Wednesday.
134. Although Brown punctiliously deleted references to Keats's
engagement in the earlier letters, he lifted the veil of his mystery
here, although he did not reveal Fanny Brawne's name.
135. Milnes (p. 214) and Letters (p. 524) read 'would'.
136. Letters (p. 525) reads: 'you will hear Severn's account, from
[Haslam].' Colvin (pp. 498-9) quotes from Severn's letter to
Haslam of November 1-2.
137. Milnes (p. 214) followed Brown in deleting the name of
Keats's fiancee. In his edition of 1883, H. Buxton Forman
wrote '[Fanny]' (iv. 112), but in the 1901 edition he removed
the square brackets (v. 201). Letters (p. 525) also reads 'Fanny'
138. Milnes (p. 217) and Letters (p. 527) read 'Reynolds'.
139. Both Milnes and Letters omit this sentence and the following
140. Milnes and Letters read 'Haslam*. The reading can scarcely
be correct, however, since Haslam remained on the Maria
Crowtfier from London Docks to Gravesend (Lowell, ii. 463).
Miss Lowell's statement is corroborated by a letter from Taylor
to Fanny Keats, postmarked September 19, 1820, first published
by Mrs. Marie Adami in 'Fanny Keats and her Letters', The
Cornhitt Magazine, cliii (February 1936), 138.
141. Two versions of this letter are extant : one is found in Milnes
(pp. 218-19) and Sharp (pp. 69-70), and the other is given here
by Brown and in Lowell (ii. 508-10). Sharp stated that the
letter was addressed to Mrs. Brawne and began 'My dear
Madam'; Milnes did not name the recipient nor include the
salutation; the versions of Sharp and Milnes, however, are
almost identical, since the source undoubtedly was a draft or
copy of the letter in Severn's possession.
It seems most probable, however, that the letter which he
actually sent is given more accurately in the Brown and Lowell
versions. Miss Lowell owned a contemporary copy of this letter
(now in the Amy Lowell Collection of the Harvard College
Library), which begins 'My dear Brown', Although the copy
does not exactly coincide with Brown's version, it agrees very
closely and differs from the Mflnes-Sharp version in several
important passages. The sentences concerning Mrs. Brawne
(see notes 160, 172, and 177) show that the letter from which
the Lowell copy was made could not have been addressed to her.
The Brawnes, living in Dilke's side of Wentworth Place in 1820
and 1821, were Brown's closest neighbours. Severn might con-
ceivably have sent the same letter to two correspondents who
saw each other rarely, but one letter would have amply sufficed
for Brown and the Brawne family.
142. Milnes and Sharp delete 'our'.
143. Milnes, Sharp, and Brown agree. Lowell reads 'what I almost
144. Milnes and Sharp omit this sentence.
145. Milnes and Sharp read ''Dec. 17th, 4 a.m.'
146. Milnes and Sharp read 'the first sleep'.
147. For this sentence, Milnes and Sharp read: 6 I hope he will not
wake till I have written, for I am anxious [that] you should
know the truth; yet I dare not let him see I think his state
148. Lowell reads 'unusual'.
149. Lowell reads 'near'.
150. For this sentence, Milnes and Sharp read: 'On the morning
of this attack he was going on in good spirits, quite merrily,
when, in an instant, a cough seized him, and he vomited two
cupfulls of blood.'
151. For this sentence, Milnes and Sharp read: 'In a moment I
got Dr. Clark, who took eight ounces of blood from his arm it
was black and thick.'
152. For this sentence, Milnes and Sharp read: 'What a sorrowful
day I had with him!'
153. Lowell reads 'means'. Milnes and Sharp omit the entire
154. Lowell reads 'broke forth again'. From this point to the end
of the letter, the variants in Milnes and Sharp are too numerous
to be noted. The Brown and Lowell versions are much more
complete, since in Milnes and Sharp many sentences and phrases
are transposed or omitted.
( 120 )
155. Lowell omits 'so'.
156. Lowell suppressed this clause, but it is present in the Harvard
College copy of the letter.
157. Lowell reads 'lesser'.
1 58 . Lowell reads ' image ' .
159. Lowell omits 'every'.
160. Lowell reads 'Mrs. BrawneV.
161. Lowell reads 'in concealing'.
162. Lowell reads 'gloomy'.
163. Lowell reads 4 is'.
164. Lowell reads 'after'.
165. Lowell reads 'Mrs. C.'
166. Lowell reads '9'.
167. Lowell reads 'raves that he'.
168. Lowell reads 'to give him more'.
169. Lowell reads 'on the one hand',
170. Lowell reads 'Dr. CV.
171. Lowell reads '4 & 5 times'.
172. Lowell shows that Brown omitted the next sentence: 'I
heard Keats say how he should like Mrs. Brawne and Mrs.
Dilk[e] to visit his sister at Walthamstow will you say this for
me and to Mr. Taylor that Keats was about to write favorably
on the very time of his relapse.'
173. Lowell reads 'expectations'.
174. Lowell reads 'but'.
175. Lowell reads 'have been sometimes quite pulled down for
176. Lowell reads 'Here I am'.
177. Lowell omits this sentence, but it is present in the Harvard
College copy of the letter, which continues as follows, with the
passage deleted by both Brown and Lowell: 'This is a damp to
me for I never knew how dear they were to me I think of my
Mother & I think of Keats for they are something the same in this
tormenting Indigestion But if Keats recovers and their letters
bring good news why I shall take upon myself to be myself
again.*' Lowell continues with Brown's deletion; 'I wrote last
to my good friend Haslam it will tell you all the events up to
the relapse of Keats I had put the letters in post on the same
morning it was my custom to walk until Keats awoke we
did breakfast about 9 o'clock.' The Harvard College copy sup-
plies the next sentences, deleted in both Brown and Lowell : 'My
head begins to sally round so much that I cannot recollect I
will write to Mr. Taylor on the next change in my Mend, and
the kind Mrs. Brawn[e] when I have any good news. Will you
remember me to this lady little did I dream on THIS when I
saw her last in London.'
178. Lowell reads 'Haslam'.
179. Lowell omits 'YourV.
180. Variants in this letter are confusing. Milnes (pp. 220-2)
follows Brown, with certain changes and deletions, but Sharp
(pp. 89-90) differs from both Brown and Milnes and yet gives
fundamentally the same letter. He says it was addressed to
Mrs. Brawne, however, and that it was dated February 12.
Milnes dates it February 18. It is possible that Severn wrote
substantially the same letters to Brown and Mrs. Brawne,
although he would more likely have asked one to show his letter
to the other by simply going next door. If he did write the same
letter to Brown and Mrs. Brawne, the date must have been the
same, for he could not have repeated himself so closely after
four days. Either Sharp or Brown must be mistaken in his date,
and Milnes probably was guilty of carelessness in writing
February 18 for February 8, since, like Brown and Sharp, he
dates the second section of the letter February 14.
181. The simile is not necessarily preposterous in a letter to
Brown, but it fits better into one to Mrs. Brawne, who had
nursed Keats after he left Hunt's house.
182. The lines are from Vittorio Alnerfs Filippo, x. i. 19-20. They
may be translated :
* O wretched me ! Of solace have I none
Other than ray weeping and the weeping crime indeed.*
183. Milnes follows Brown exactly at this point. Sharp deletes the
sentence following the quotation from Alfieri, and then reads
4 Since, a letter has come '. The letter was obviously from Fanny
184. Milnes omits this sentence. Sharp reads: 'Then (?) he found
many causes of his illness. . . .*
185. Sharp reads 'three times'. Milnes reads: 6 I have got an
English nurse to come two hours every other day, so that I am
quite recovering my health. Keats seems to like her, but she
has been taken ill to-day and cannot come. 1 Sharp and Milnes
omit the rest of this paragraph after this sentence.
186. The deleted passage may be partially supplied from Sharp,
who printed this portion of the letter as follows : 'You astonish
me about . . .poor Keats is a martyr to the tricks of these
infernal scoundrels, others besides G. . . his is rather the fault
of his [head] than hfs heart. I can understand him but the
others ten thousand curses light upon them. Not only our
friend's life, but his very nature has been torn to pieces by them
that he is here a thousand miles from his dear home, dying
without one comfort but me when I cannot bear to think of
it.' The 'scoundrel G.' is obviously George Keats, whom Brown
and Severn both accused of dishonesty. The reference to these
business matters strongly suggests that the letter was addressed
to Brown, instead of to Mrs. Brawne.
187. Milnes (pp. 222-3) gives this letter with minor variants.
Sharp (p. 94) quotes only part of the first paragraph, with
variants, from an unfinished draft of the letter found among
188. This paragraph dates from Brown's revision of 1841. It is
important to recognize the fact that Brown, like many other
friends of Keats, attributed his decline as much to unfavourable
reviews as to tuberculosis.
189. Brown's error is obvious. Keats's mother died from tubercu-
losis in 1810, but his father was killed in a riding accident in
Adami, Mrs. Marie, 118.
Adona&s, 25, 33, 39, 47.
Mneld, The, 41.
Ailsa Craig, 50, 99, 102, 103.
Alfieri, Vittorio, 86, 121, 122.
Arabian Nights, The, 31.
Atlantic Monthly, The, 34.
Bailey, Archdeacon Benjamin, 22,
27, 29, 97, 98, 103, 105, 113, 114,
Barrett, Mr., 47, 101.
Bedhampton, 73, 78, 106, 108, 109,
110, 111, 116, 117.
Belfast, 50, 102.
* Belle Dame sans Merei, La,' 2.
Belmont Castle, 112.
Benjamin, Nathan, 110.
Ben Nevis, 51.
Bentley, Benjamin, 106.
Blaekwood, Robert, 52, 105.
Blackwood's Magazine, 4, 5, 26, 28,
29, 30, 32, 34, 45, 46, 98, 99,
Blunden, Edmund, 5, 7, 28, 36, 99.
Bo Peep, 98.
Bowness, 48, 102.
Box Hffl, 44, 98. J,
Brawne, Fanny, 3, 10, 12, 13, 14,
27, 28, 29, 34, 4&, 60, 74, 75, 76,
77, 78, 86, 96, 109, 111, 112,
115, 117, 118, 122.
Brawne, Margaret, 111.
Brawne, Mrs. Samuel, 7, 77, 106,
111, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122.
Brawne, Sam, 111.
Bree, Dr. Robert, 113.
Brewer Bequest, Keats Museum,
10, 11, 12, 15, 96, 112, 113.
British Institution, 114.
British Museum, 12, 18, 20, 36, 94,
Brougham, Lord, 102.
meets Keats, 1, 43, 44.
K. moves to his house, 2, 53, 60.
travels in Scotland, 2, 3, 48, 49,
50, 51, 52, 65, 69, 71, 102, 103,
104, 105, 106, 114.
advances money to K., 3, 35.
nurses K., 3, 64, 65, 112.
plans concerning biography of
K., 3, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15,
16, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25,
objects to Taylor's proposed
Biography of K., 6, 7, 8.
collects K.*s poems, 6, 53, 54,
objects to Hunt's account of K.,
his lecture on K., 17, 18, 19.
opinion on K.'s critics, 19, 24, 25,
26, 27, 30, 84, 89, 90, 91, 122.
emigration to New Zealand, 21.
death, 85, 36.
collaborates with K., 54, 55, 56,
Brown, Major Charles, Jr. ( fc Car-
lino'), 21, 108.
Buffalo, New York, 93.
Burch, Ann, 94, 95.
Burford Bridge, 98.
Burleigh, Lord, 68.
Burns, Robert, 49, 50, 103, 1O5.
Bushnell, Nelson S., 103, 104.
Byron, Lord, 30, 33, 71.
Canterbury, 43, 97, 98.
Cantire, 5O, 103.
'Cap and Bells, The% 34, 35, 62,
66, 68, 71, 118, 114.
Carlisle, 49, 105, 114.
'Cave of Despair, The*, 116.
Chalk Farm, 4.
Champion, The, 60, 110, 111.
Chaucer, Geoffrey, 42.
Chichester, 73, 78, 104, 106, 108,
Christie, J. H., 4.
City Madam, The, 60, 110.
Clark, Dr. James, 70, 79, 80, 82,
83, 87, 88, 89, 113, 119, 120.
Clark, Mrs. James, 82, 120.
Clarke, Charles Cowden, 6, 7, 11,
27, 33, 34, 37, 40, 43, 94, 96, 97.
Clarke, John, 41, 96.
* Cockney School, The', 4, 28, 31,
32, 98, 99.
Coleridge, Derwent, 18.
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 11, 93.
Colombo, 22, 105.
Colvin, Sir Sidney, 33, 36, 37, 94,
97, 107, 108, 111, 118.
Constable, Archibald, 109.
Constable's Edinburgh Magazine,
Conybeare, William, 95.
Corbett, Miss Ida, 36.
Cornhill Magazine, The, 118.
Covent Garden Theatre, 55.
Crewe, Lord, 21, 23-5, 35, 36, 37,
Croker, John Wilson, 101.
Croly, George, 101.
Cromarty, 52, 103, 104.
Devereux, Robert, 68.
Dilke, Charles Wentworth, 2, 6, 7,
8-10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 19, 20,
22, 27, 28, 29, 30, 32, 33, 95,
96, 105, 106, 107, 109, 110, 111,
112, 113, 115, 116, 117, H9.
Dilke, Charles Wentworth, Jr., 110.
Dilke, Charles Wentworth, Sr., of
Chichester, 104, 105, 106, 117.
Dilke, Mrs. Charles Wentworth,
105, 111, 115, 120.
Dilke's copy of Milnes's Life,
Letters, and Literary Remains, 9,
96, 105, 107, 109, 112, 116.
Don Giovanni, 111.
Don Juan, 30.
Donohoo, Abigail, 108.
Drury Lane Theatre, 55, 107, 111.
Dryden, John, 56.
Dunvegan Castle, 114.
Edgcumbe, Fred, 28, 36.
Edinburgh, 52, 104.
Edinburgh Review, The, 47, 58, 99,
101, 102, 109.
Edmonton, 41, 96.
Elliston, Robert William, 55.
Endymion, 18, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47,
48, 98, 100, 101.
Enfield, 41, 96.
'Eve of St. Agnes, The', 2, 53.
Examiner, The, 43, 99, 110.
Faery Queen, The, 42, 97, 116,
Faithful Shepherdess, The, 47.
'Fall of Hyperion, The, a Vision',
62, 111, 112.
Fingal's Cave, 51.
Finsbury, 94, 95.
Fletcher, John, 47.
Forman, H. Buxton, 37, 94, 102,
104, 109, 110, 118.
Forman, M. Buxton, 36, 109, 110,
Fort William, 51.
Galignani, 11, 93.
George II, 68.
Giant's Causeway, 50, 102.
Gifford, William, 12, 27, 46, 101.
Gleig, Bishop George, 105.
Gleig, Hamilton, 114.
Godwin, William, 110.
Gravesend, 66, 71, 116, 118.
Griffin, Gerald, 27, 28.
Gnffin, Lucy, 27.
Guy Mannering, 49.
Guy's Hospital, 41.
Hallam, Arthur Henry, 22.
Hammond, Thomas, 41, 96.
Hampstead, 43, 44, 52, 58, 60, 76,
83, 98, 106, 109, 110, 111, 112,
Harvard College Library, 6, 9, 28,
29, 32,36, 109, 117, 118, 120, 121.
Haslam, William, 102, 118, 121.
Hastings, 44, 98.
Haydon, Benjamin Robert, 17,
27, 29, 67, 110.
Hazlitt, William, 46, 58, 99, 100,
Hazktt, William Carew, 109.
Hebrides, 2, 114.
Helston School, 18.
Henry IV, 117.
Henry VI, 110.
Heroine, The, 101.
Hessey, James Augustus, 26, 101.
Holbein, Hans, 68.
Holmes, Edward, 22.
Houghton, Lord, see Milnes,
Houghton Papers, 86.
Howe, P. P., 100.
* Human Seasons, The', 99.
Hunt, John, 99.
Hunt, Leigh, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 18,
19, 22, 27, 30, 31, 82, 37, 43, 45,
66, 70, 76, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99,
10O, 101, 105, 121.
'Hyperion*, 53, 62, 106, 111, 112.
'Imitation of Spenser', 42, 96.
Inverness, 52, 103, 104.
Ireland, 2, 50, 102, 108.
'Isabella*, 49, 71.
Isle of Wight, 44, 54, 72, 98, 107,
Italy, 3, 10, 17, 34, 39, 40, 69, 70,
71, 72, 115.
James I, 68.
'Jealousies, The,' 62.
Jeffrey, Francis, 12, 47, 48, 101.
Jennings, John, 41, 95.
Jennings, Mrs. John, 96.
Jonson, Ben, 47.
Kean, Edmund, 55, 60, 110.
Keats, Fanny, 28, 41, 49, 74, 76,
77, 79, 82, 86, 95-6, 102, 104, 113,
114, 118, 120.
Keats, Frances (K.'s mother), 27,
41, 94, 95, 122.
Keats, George, 1, 2, 5, 9, 10, 14,
15, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 27,
28, 29, 32, 33, 36, 41, 44, 48, 67,
77, 79, 82, 94, 95, 97, 102, 103,
106, 108, 110, 112, 113, 117, 122.
Keats, Georgiana Wyhe, 2, 33, 77,
94, 102, 103, 106, 112, 117.
meets Brown, 1, 43, 44.
travels in Scotland, 2, 48, 49, 50,
51, 52, 102, 103, 104, 106.
moves to B.'s house, 2, 53, 60.
poems composed there, 2, 53, 62.
financial affairs, 3, 35, 41, 63,
illness, 3, 10, 26, 47, 51, 52, 63,
64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71,
72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79,
80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87,
88, 101, 106, 112, 113, 115,
nursed by B., 3, 64, 65, 112.
death, 4, 7, 26, 27, 88, 89, 9O,
relations with Taylor, 4.
Taylor plans to write his bio-
graphy, 5, 7, 8.
Reynolds plans to write his
biography, 5, 6, 22.
Milnes's Life, Letters and Liter-
ary Remains, 6, 36.
B.'s plans concerning his bio-
graphy, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14,
15, 16, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24,
Keats, John (contd.)
Hunt's account of him, 9.
his birthday, 12, 40, 94, 95.
monument to him in Rome, 16,
B.'s lecture on him, 17, 18, 19.
effect of unfair criticism, 25, 26,
27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34,
89, 90, 91, 122.
surgery, 41, 43, 67.
early feeling for beauty, 42.
personal appearance, 44.
travels in England, 44, 98, 107.
collaborates with B , 54, 55, 56,
Italian voyage, 69, 70, 71, 72,
73, 74, 75 S 115, 116.
Poems, 1817, 42-3, 97-9.
Endymwn, 18, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47,
48, 98, 100, 101.
Lamia, 47, 53, 56, 67, 70, 101,
*The Cap and Bells', 34, 35, 62,
66, 68, 71, 113, 114.
imitation of Spenser', 42, 96.
'Lines on Seeing a Lock of
Milton's Hair', 45.
'Isabella', 49, 71.
'Meg Memlies', 49, 102.
'ToAilsaRock', 50, 99.
'Sonnet Written upon the Top
of Ben Nevis ',51.
'Lines Written in the High-
lands', 52, 105.
'Hyperion', 53, 62, 106, 111, 112.
'The Eve of St. Agnes', 2, 53.
*La Belle Dame Sans Merci', 2.
'Ode to a Nightingale', 53-4.
*Otho the Great', 54-5, 57, 107,
'King Stephen', 56, 91, 107.
"The Human Seasons', 99.
* The Fall of Hyperion, a Vision*,
62, 111, 112.
dramatic criticism, 57, 60, 110,
Keats Memorial House, 2.
Keats Museum, 5, 10, 11, 12, 15,
36, 94, 96, 106, 108, 111, 112, 113.
Keats, Thomas (K.'s father), 40,
41, 90, 94, 95, 122.
Keats, Tom, 2, 11, 27, 41, 44, 45,
52, 53, 79, 90, 95, 96, 97, 98, 102,
103, 105, 106, 112.
Keats's Publisher, 5, 7.
Kentish Town, 65, 76, 113.
'King Stephen', 50, 91, 107.
Kirk AUoway, 50.
Kneller, Sir Godfrey, 68.
Lamb, Charles, 67, 100, 114.
Lamia, 53, 56, 67, 70, 101, 107, 108.
Lancaster, 48, 102.
Landor, Walter Savage, 9, 22.
Lefanu, Mrs., 47, 101.
Leghorn, 93, 115.
Lely, Sir Peter, 68.
Bailey to Milnes, May 7, 1849,
May 11, 1849, 105.
Bailey to Taylor, Oct. 5, 1818,
Mar. 26, 1821, 29.
Fanny Brawne to Brown, Dec.
29, 1829, 13, 14.
Fanny Brawne to Fanny Keats,
Feb. 1, 1821, 28.
Brown to Fanny Brawne, Dec.
17, 1829, 10, 12.
Brown to Dilke, Dec. 17, 1829,
Jan, 20, 1830, 12, 112.
Feb. 9, 1830, 15, 95, 96.
Brown to C. W. Dilke, Sr., Aug.
7, 1818, 104.
Brown to Hunt, June 1, 1830,
11-12, 94, 96.
June, 1837, 18, 19.
Brown to Keats, Dec. 21, 1820,
Brown to Milnes, Mar. 14, 1841,
Mar. 19, 1841, 23, 24.
Mar. 29, 1841, 25, 35, 107.
Apr. 9, 1841, 25.
Brown to Severn, Jan 1821, 10.
Aug. 1821, 7.
Aug. 14, 1821, 6, 10.
Sept. 5, 1822, 93.
Feb. 7, 1823, 10.
Early in 1830, 15.
Nov. 26, 1836, 16, 19, 93.
Oct. 26, 1837, 20.
Aug. 23, 1838, 19.
Max. 21, 1841, 22.
Brown to Snook, Aug. 7, 1818,
Dr. Clark to a friend, Nov. 27,
Dilke to Severn, 1841, 30.
Mrs. Dilke to C. W. Dilke, Sr.,
Aug. 16, 1818, 105, 106.
Gerald Griffin to Lucy Griffin,
June 21, 1825, 27.
George Keats to Dilke, Apr. 10,
Apr. 20, 1825, 29.
May 12, 1828, 32.
May 7, 1830, 29.
Keats to Bailey, July 18, 1818,
Keats to Fanny Brawne, Sept.
13, 1819, 109.
Aug. 1820, 115.
Keats to Brown, Sept. 23, 1819,
3, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60.
May 15, 1820, 66.
June 1820, 66, 67, 68
Aug. 14, 1820, 69, 70, 114-15.
Aug. 1820, 69, 70, 71, 115.
Sept. 30, 1820, 3, 72, 73, 74,
Nov. 1, 1820, 75, 76, 77.
Nov. 30, 1820, 78, 79.
Keats to Dilke, Sept. 22, 1819,
Oct. 1, 1819, 110.
Keatsto Hessey,Oct. 9, 1818,26.
Keats to Fanny Keats, Aug. 18,
Keats to George Keats, June
26, 1818, 102.
Oct. 1818, 94, 106.
Dec. 18, 1818, 106.
Sept. 24-5, 1819, 108, 110.
Keats to George and Georgiana
Keats, Oct. 1818, 94, 106.
Feb. 14, 1819, 33.
Keats to Tom Keats, July 10,
1818, 102, 103.
Keats to Taylor, Sept. 5, 1819,
Severn to Brown, Dec. 14, 1820,
80, 81, 82, 83, 120.
Feb. 8, 1821, 83, 84, 85, 86,
87, 88, 121-2.
Feb. 27, 1821, 88, 89.
July, 1821, 6.
Sept. 1821, 11.
Apr. 15, 1830, 16.
Mar. 14, 1834.
John Taylor to James Taylor,
Mar." 28, 1821, 4.
6 Lines on Seeing a Lock of Milton's
'Lines Written in the Highlands',
Liverpool, 2, 48, 102.
Loch Carron, 104.
Loch Tay, 104.
Lockhart, John Gibson, 4, 12, 29,
33, 46, 98, 100, 105.
London, 2, 49, 52, 59, 73, 79, 94,
98, 101, 103, 104, 105, 107, 109,
116, 118, 121.
London Magazine, Tfie, 4.
London Mercury, The, 5.
Lord Byron and Some of his Con-
temporaries, 9, 11, 12, 22, 31, 32,
Lowell, Amy, 6, 13, 27, 36, 94, 95,
97, 98, 106, 107, 111, 112, 113,
118, 119, 120, 121.
Lowther Hall, 49.
Lowther, Lord, 102.
'Lucy* Vaughan Lloyd', 35, 62,
68, 71, 114, 117.
Macready, William Charles, 111.
Maginn, William, 100.
Maria Crowther, 72, 116, 117, 118.
Marsh, George L., 6, 26, 98.
Massinger, Philip, 110.
'Meg Merrffies', 49, 102.
Milnes, Richard Monckton (later
Lord Houghton), 6, 9, 20, 21,
22, 23, 24, 25, 29, 34, 35, 36, 37,
93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 105, 107,
109, 110, 111, 114, 115, 116, 117,
118, 119, 121, 122.
Milton, John, 45, 48.
Modem Philology, 26, 98.
Monkhouse, Thomas, 114.
Moorfields, 40, 94, 95.
Morgan (J. P.) Library, 9, 29, 33,
36, 96, 105.
Morning Chronicle, 7, 20, 21.
Moxon, Edward, 6, 20.
Midi, 51, 104.
Naples, 75, 77, 78, 87, 116.
Narensky, or The Road to Yaroslaf,
New Monthly Magazine, 104.
New Zealand, 21, 35, 93.
* Ode to a Nightingale ', 54.
Oilier, C. and J., 97, 105.
Oxford, 44, 98, 101.
Paris, 11, 93.
Paris in 1815, 47, 101.
Patmore, Peter George, 99.
Payne, John Howard, 47, 101.
Pisa, 70 3 93, 115.
Plymouth, 16, 17.
Plymouth and Devonport Weekly
Journal, 21, 103.
Plymouth Athenaeum, 17, 115.
Plymouth Company of New Zea-
Plymouth Institution, 17, 19.
Poems, 1817, 42, 43, 97-9.
Port Patrick, 102.
Portsmouth, 72, 116.
Prickard, A. O., 101.
Quarterly Review, The, 26, 29, 30,
46, 47, 99, 100, 101.
'Rawlings v. Jennings', 94, 95.
Retribution, or The Chieftain's
Reynolds, John Hamilton, 5, 6, 7,
8,9,22,27,29, 103, 109, 115, 118.
Reynolds, Manane, 114.
Rice, James, 107,
Richard IH, 110.
Richards, Thomas, 7, 8.
Robinson, Henry Crabb, 114.
Rome, 4, 6, 28, 70, 76, 77, 78, 80, 82,
87, 88, 93, 113, 115, 116.
Rossetti, William M., 101.
Royal Academy, 71, 116.
Rutnapoora, Ceylon, 105.
Sad Shepherd, The, 47.
St. Botolph's Church, Bishops-
gate, 94, 95.
St. Stephen's, Coleman Street, 95.
San Terenzo, 93.
Saunders and Otley, 19.
Scott, John, 4, 32.
Scott, Sir Walter, 46, 49.
de S&incourt, Ernest, 111.
Severn, Joseph, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12,
15, 16, 17, 19, 20, 22, 27, 28, 30,
34, 37, 65, 71, 76, 77, 79, 83,
88, 89, 93, 102, 113, 116, 118,
Shakespeare, William, 42, 48, 117.
Shanklin, 54, 107.
Sharp, William, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 15,
16, 19, 20, 22, 30, 34, 93, 102,
113, 116, 118, 119, 121, 122.
Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 11, 25, 33,
39, 40, 47, 70, 93, 101, 115.
Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 101.
Smith, Colonel Hamilton, 17.
Smith, W., 93.
Snook, Henry, 102, 104.
Snook, Mrs. John, 106, 116, 117.
Solway Firth, 49.
Southey, Robert, 67.
Spenser, Edmund, 31, 42, 46, 62,
' Swan and Hoop, The % 94.
Syrian Tale, A, 47, 101.
Talfourd, Thomas Noon, 114.
'Tarn o' Shanter', 103.
Taylor, James, 4.
Taylor, John, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 20, 22,
27, 29, 32, 101, 105, 109, 112,
118, 12O, 121.
Taylor, Olive M., 5.
Teignmouth, 44, 49, 98.
Tennyson, Alfred, 22.
Thomas, Ralph, 94.
Times Literary Supplement, 111.
Traveller's Guide through Scotland,
Trinity College, Cambridge, 22.
Van Dyck, Sir Anthony, 68.
Walk after John Keats, A, 1O3,
k Walks m the North', 103.
Well Walk, Hampstead, 2, 106.
Wentworth Place, 2, 106, 108, 110,
111, 117, 119.
Westmorland, 49, 102.
Whibley, Charles, 100.
White, Newman I., 26, 98-
Wilson, John, 98, 99.
Winchester, 54, 56, 107, 108, 109,
Windermere, 48, 102.
Woman, 47, 1O1.
Woodhouse, Richard, 9, 16, 22,
27, 83, 105.
Wordsworth, William, 49, 67, 102,
*Z% 4, 98, 100.