You see how I have delayed; and even now I have but a confused idea of what I should be about. My intellect must be in a degenerating state--it must be--for when I should be writing about--God knows what--I am troubling you with moods of my own mind, or rather body, for mind there is none. I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come up to the top--I know very well 'tis all nonsense--In a short time I hope I shall be in a temper to feel sensibly your mention of my book. In vain have I waited till Monday to have any Interest in that or anything else. I feel no spur at my Brother's going to America, and am almost stony-hearted about his wedding. All this will blow over--All I am sorry for is having to write to you in such a time--but I cannot force my letters in a hotbed. I could not feel comfortable in making sentences for you. I am your debtor--I must ever remain so--nor do I wish to be clear of any Rational debt: there is a comfort in throwing oneself on the charity of one's friends--'tis like the albatross sleeping on its wings. I will be to you wine in the cellar, and the more modestly, or rather, indolently, I retire into the backward bin, the more Falerne will I be at the drinking. There is one thing I must mention--my Brother talks of sailing in a fortnight--if so I will most probably be with you a week before I set out for Scotland. The middle of your first page should be sufficient to rouse me. What I said is true, and I have dreamt of your mention of it, and my not answering it has weighed on me since. If I come, I will bring your letter, and hear more fully your sentiments on one or two points. I will call about the Lectures at Taylor's, and at Little Britain, to-morrow. Yesterday I dined with Hazlitt, Barnes, and Wilkie, at Haydon's. The topic was the Duke of Wellington--very amusingly pro-and-con'd. Reynolds has been getting much better; and Rice may begin to crow, for he got a little so-so at a party of his, and was none the worse for it the next morning. I hope I shall soon see you, for we must have many new thoughts and feelings to analyse, and to discover whether a little more knowledge has not made us more ignorant. Yours affectionately JOHN KEATS. LIV.--TO BENJAMIN BAILEY. London [June 10, 1818].