I am afraid Wordsworth went rather huff'd out of Town--I am sorry for it--he cannot expect his fireside Divan to be infallible--he cannot expect but that every man of worth is as proud as himself. O that he had not fit with a Warrener[59]--that is dined at Kingston's. I shall be in town in about a fortnight and then we will have a day or so now and then before I set out on my northern expedition--we will have no more abominable Rows--for they leave one in a fearful silence--having settled the Methodists let us be rational--not upon compulsion--no--if it will out let it--but I will not play the Bassoon any more deliberately. Remember me to Hazlitt, and Bewick-- Your affectionate friend, JOHN KEATS. XLVIII.--TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS. Thy. morng., [Teignmouth, April 9, 1818]. My dear Reynolds--Since you all agree that the thing[60] is bad, it must be so--though I am not aware there is anything like Hunt in it (and if there is, it is my natural way, and I have something in common with Hunt). Look it over again, and examine into the motives, the seeds, from which any one sentence sprung--I have not the slightest feel of humility towards the public--or to anything in existence,--but the eternal Being, the Principle of Beauty, and the Memory of great Men. When I am writing for myself for the mere sake of the moment's enjoyment, perhaps nature has its course with me--but a Preface is written to the Public; a thing I cannot help looking upon as an Enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of Hostility. If I write a Preface in a supple or subdued style, it will not be in character with me as a public speaker--I would be subdued before my friends, and thank them for subduing me--but among Multitudes of Men--I have no feel of stooping, I hate the idea of humility to them. I never wrote one single Line of Poetry with the least Shadow of public thought. Forgive me for vexing you and making a Trojan horse of such a Trifle, both with respect to the matter in Question, and myself--but it eases me to tell you--I could not live without the love of my friends--I would jump down Aetna for any great Public good--but I hate a Mawkish Popularity. I cannot be subdued before them--My glory would be to daunt and dazzle the thousand jabberers about Pictures and Books--I see swarms of Porcupines with their Quills erect "like lime-twigs set to catch my Winged Book," and I would fright them away with a torch. You will say my Preface is not much of a Torch. It would have been too insulting "to begin from Jove," and I could not set a golden head upon a thing of clay. If there is any fault in the Preface it is not affectation, but an undersong of disrespect to the Public--if I write another Preface it must be done without a thought of those people--I will think about it. If it should not reach you in four or five days, tell Taylor to publish it without a Preface, and let the Dedication simply stand--"inscribed to the Memory of Thomas Chatterton."