I had resolved last night to write to you this morning--I wish it had been about something else--something to greet you towards the close of your long illness. I have had one or two intimations of your going to Hampstead for a space; and I regret to see your confounded Rheumatism keeps you in Little Britain where, I am sure the air is too confined. Devonshire continues rainy. As the drops beat against the window, they give me the same sensation as a quart of cold water offered to revive a half-drowned devil--no feel of the clouds dropping fatness; but as if the roots of the earth were rotten, cold, and drenched. I have not been able to go to Kent's cave at Babbicombe--however on one very beautiful day I had a fine Clamber over the rocks all along as far as that place. I shall be in Town in about Ten days--We go by way of Bath on purpose to call on Bailey. I hope soon to be writing to you about the things of the north, purposing to wayfare all over those parts. I have settled my accoutrements in my own mind, and will go to gorge wonders. However, we'll have some days together before I set out-- I have many reasons for going wonder-ways: to make my winter chair free from spleen--to enlarge my vision--to escape disquisitions on Poetry and Kingston Criticism; to promote digestion and economise shoe-leather. I'll have leather buttons and belt; and, if Brown holds his mind, over the Hills we go. If my Books will help me to it, then will I take all Europe in turn, and see the Kingdoms of the Earth and the glory of them. Tom is getting better, he hopes you may meet him at the top o' the hill. My Love to your nurses. I am ever Your affectionate Friend JOHN KEATS. XLIX.--TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS. [Teignmouth,] Friday [April 10, 1818]. My dear Reynolds--I am anxious you should find this Preface tolerable. If there is an affectation in it 'tis natural to me. Do let the Printer's Devil cook it, and let me be as "the casing air." You are too good in this Matter--were I in your state, I am certain I should have no thought but of discontent and illness--I might though be taught patience: I had an idea of giving no Preface; however, don't you think this had better go? O, let it--one should not be too timid--of committing faults. The climate here weighs us down completely; Tom is quite low-spirited. It is impossible to live in a country which is continually under hatches. Who would live in a region of Mists, Game Laws, indemnity Bills, etc., when there is such a place as Italy? It is said this England from its Clime produces a Spleen, able to engender the finest Sentiments, and cover the whole face of the isle with Green--so it ought, I'm sure.--I should still like the Dedication simply, as I said in my last.