that is a fever--the thought of you both is a passion with me, but for the most part a calm one.' This letter, covering some three weeks from mid-December to January 4, enables us, like others to the same correspondents, to lay our finger on almost every strand in the 'mingled yarn' of Keats's life and doings. Of one tiresome interruption which befell him about Christmas he tells nothing, doubtless in order to spare his brother anxiety. This was a request for money from the insatiable Haydon. The correspondence on the matter cannot be read without anger against the elder man and admiring affection for the generous lad--yet not foolishly or recklessly generous--on whom he sponged. Haydon's only excuses are a recent eye-trouble which had hindered his work, and his inflated belief, which had so far successfully imposed both upon himself and his friends, in his own huge importance to art and to his country. Keats writes, showing incidentally how last year's critical rebuffs had changed, more or less permanently, his attitude in regard to the public and public recognition:-- Believe me Haydon I have that sort of fire in my heart that would sacrifice everything I have to your service--I speak without any reserve--I know you would do so for me--I open my heart to you in a few words. I will do this sooner than you shall be distressed: but let me be the last stay--Ask the rich lovers of Art first--I'll tell you why--I have a little money which may enable me to study, and to travel for three or four years. I never expect to get anything by my Books: and moreover I wish to avoid publishing--I admire Human Nature but I do not like _Men_. I should like to compose things honourable to Man--but not fingerable over by Men. So I am anxious to exist without troubling the printer's devil or drawing upon Men's or Women's admiration--in which great solitude I hope God will give me strength to rejoice. Try the long purses--but do not sell your drawings or I shall consider it a breach of friendship.