when she peers among the little black and white clouds, as though she were reclining in a bed of bean-blossoms-desires for all this pleasance have brought him where he is. Then he began to think of rhymes and measures, and the air seemed to say in passing by him: "Write! thou wilt never have a better day." And write he did, though he was not smitten with the grace of his lines. Yet as his hand was warm, he thought he had better send him what he had written. Many days had passed since he had seen him sitting before the piano, and warming his heart with Mozart and Arne and Handel and the Irish Melodies, since he had walked with him through shady bowers, reveling in chat that ceased not there, nor at night when they got together over his books. 66 No, nor when supper came, nor after that,— Sometimes I lost them, and then found again; Again I shake your hand,-friend Charles, goodnight." I know not how it may strike others, but this bright glimpse of the early life and friendship of Keats-this leaf from the book of his happy memories-is to me charming. The poem is nearly perfect, in spite of its carelessness, but not quite so. “With him who elegantly chats and talks” is a bit of Cockneyism unworthy of any poet, though Hunt would no doubt have sanctioned it. "Water" and "shorter" are ludicrously bad rhymes, and the word. "wean" in the line, "Verses from which the soul would never wean," smacks a little too freshly of the nursery. Keats, by the way, had already used it in "Sleep and Poetry," toward the close of that lovely but uneven poem, in the passage that describes the pictures in Hunt's library, i. e.: "Petrarch, outstepping from the shady green, Starts at the sight of Laura; nor can wean His eyes from her sweet face." A wiser friend than Hunt would have kindly pointed out the dubious taste implied in the serious use of that phrase, and of the word "tease," and Keats, whose mind was as modest as it is possible for a poet's mind to be, would, I am sure, have seriously considered it. But Hunt was full of verbal affectations, which, perhaps, were instinctive with him, and was therefore a lenient critic of the mannerisms of his young friend. Let me just note in passing that this epistle abounds in musical discords which there is no difficulty in reading, especially if one has captured the open secret of Swinburne's glorious harmonies. The sonnets of 1816 are not equal on the whole to the sonnets that Keats wrote in the preceding year. They are Italian in form, but not strictly so, for two of the ten violate Italian sonnetary laws by rhyming couplets in the two terzettes. They were written, I should say, at the same period,— the summer of 1816. One certainly was ("The church bells toll'd a melancholy round"); another probably was, and most likely in London ("O Solitude! if I with thee must dwell"); of the third ("As from the darkening gloom ") I am less certain. It reads like an exercise of fancy—a forced inspiration of a supposed death, written for practice, and to keep his hand in. It has no value whatever. The best sonnets of this year were written in November and December. They are the fraternal sonnet, "To my Brothers," which bears the date of November 18th; the sonnet "To Kosciusko," which was written about November 12th; and the two sonnets addressed to Haydon, which are dated November 19th. There is a cozy, comfortable feeling of home in the brotherly sonnet, which was written on the birthday of Thomas Keats, and which breathes a prayer for his health and longevity: "Many such eves of gently whispering noise May we together pass, and calmly try What are this world's true joys, ere the great Voice From its fair face shall bid our spirits fly." But it was not to be. For scarcely two years passed before the great Voice summoned poor Tom; and scarcely four years and three months passed before the mighty spirit of John passed out into the Unknown. Among the sonnets of this summer (1816), there is one which expresses his contentment with his country ("Happy is England!") and which at the same time expresses an unsatisfied desire to be elsewhere: "Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment His languishment was fulfilled; for in less than five years he was under Italian skies, and under Italian earth with its daisies growing over him! "I weep for Adonais, he is dead!" To return, however, to his verse. The sonnet beginning, "Had I a man's fair form," which I believe to have been written during the second poetical year of Keats, reads to me like another exercise of fancy, and faintly reflects the manner of Sydney's sonnets. The sonnet "To a Friend who sent me some roses" was, I think, written at this period, and is now known to have been addressed to that remarkable poet and man of genius, Charles Wells, the author of that unique Elizabethan dramatic poem, "Joseph and his Brethren." I attribute to this period a third sonnet addressed "To a Young Lady who sent me a Laurel Crown." It is very spirited and ambitious, and, speaking after the manner of Walter Savage Landor, I am sure there is a story in it. Voilà. It was sent to Keats when he was at Hampstead Heath, in Hunt's cottage, and he accepted it gladly, but only to present it to Hunt, who made no scruples about accepting it, and who wrote two sonnets about it (or about a crown of ivy which Keats presented to him), which sonnets may be found to-day in the first edition of his "Foliage" (1818). None of Landor's "Imaginary Conversations," and none of Sir Egerton Brydges's "Imaginary Biographies," is so veritable as this pleasant little anecdote. The sonnet "To Kosciusko" was either inspired by a sonnet of Hunt's addressed to that famous soldier, or was written at the same time as that sonnet, in a friendly poetical duel. The sonnet "On the Grasshopper and the Cricket was struck out in one of these immortal duels, to which Hunt was the challenger. "No one was present but myself," says Clarke," and they accordingly set to. I, absent with a book at the end of the sofa, could not avoid furtive glances, every now and then, at the emulants. I cannot say how long the trial lasted; I was not proposed umpire, and had no stop-watch for the occasion; the time, however, was short for such a performance, and Keats won, as to time. But the event of the after-scrutiny was one of many such occurrences which have riveted the memory of Leigh Hunt in my affectionate regard and admiration, for unaffected generosity and perfectly unpretentious encouragement; his sincere look of pleasure at the first line, 'The poetry of earth is never dead.' 'Such a prosperous opening!' he said, and when he came to the tenth and eleventh lines, 'On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence. Ah, that's perfect! bravo, Keats!' and then he went on in a dilation upon the dumbness of all Nature during the season's suspension and torpidity. With all the kind and gratifying things that were said to him, Keats protested to me, as we were afterward walking home, that he preferred Hunt's treatment of the subject to his own." The second poetic year of Keats closed prosperously with this delightful sonnet, which was written on the evening of December 30th, 1816. I write after an interval of more than sixty years from this period of the life of Keats, and at a distance of three thousand miles, more or less, from London, Hampstead, and their neighborhoods where it was passed,-consequently I write at a disadvantage, depending solely upon my books. Lord Houghton's "Life, Letters and Literary Remains (1848) tells me that Keats scribbled doggerel rhymes among the notes which he took of the medical lectures that he attended, and that he enriched with the same doubtful ore the notes of his fellow students when he obtained possession of them. "Of course, his peculiar tastes did not find much sympathy in that society. Whenever he showed his graver poetry to his companions, it was pretty sure to be ridiculed and severely handled. They were therefore surprised when, on presenting himself for examination at Apothecaries' Hall, he passed his examination with considerable credit. When, however, he entered on the practical part of his business, although successful in all his operations, he found his mind so oppressed during the task with an overwrought apprehension of the possibility of doing harm, that he came to the determined conviction that he was unfit for the line of life on which he had expended so many years of his study and a considerable | forehead, and an eye that had an inward part of his property. My dexterity,' he look, perfectly divine, like a Delphian priestsaid, 'used to seem to me a miracle, and I ess who saw visions." (Bravo, Haydon!) resolved never to take up a surgical instru- "I read one or two of his sonnets, and formed ment again,' and thus he found himself, on a very high idea of his genius. After a short his first entrance into manhood, thrown on time I liked him so much that a general the world almost without the means of daily invitation on my part followed, and we subsistence, but with many friends interested became extremely intimate. He visited my in his fortunes, and with the faith in the painting-room at all times, and at all times future which generally accompanies the high- was welcome." was welcome." One would like to know est genius." Clarke states that Keats's pro- which one or two of Keats's sonnets it was fession had been chosen for him, and that that led Haydon to form his very high idea he made no secret of his dislike to it. "The of his genius, and one comes to the concluother day, for instance," he said to Clarke, sion-I do, at least-that it was the two "during the lecture, there came a sunbeam which he addressed to him. Lord Houghinto the room, and with it a whole troop of ton speaks of Keats's habit of spending creatures floating in the ray, and I was off frequently his evenings in Haydon's paintwith them to Oberon and Fairy-land." The ing-room, where many men of genius were sunbeam that came into the life of Keats wont to meet, and, sitting before some pictwas his coming to age in his second poetical ure on which he was engaged, criticise, year, and becoming his own master. When argue, defend, attack, and quote their favorthat auspicious October day closed it closed ite writers,-"making us wings for the night," the doors of Apothecaries' Hall and St. as Keats used to put it. And Haydon himThomas's Hospital, and deprived the dis- self describes one of these gatherings where ciples and followers of Galen and Hippocan immortal dinner came off (modesty, you rates of an illustrious brother. If Thomas see, was Haydon's foible), at which Keats, Lovell Beddoes had made the same decision Wordsworth, Lamb, Leitch Ritchie, and an as Keats about ten years later, the nine- unfortunate comptroller of stamps were presteenth century would have rivaled the six- ent, and at which—or, to be more exact, at teenth with a second and greater Marlowe. the tea which followed it-Lamb quizzed Doctor Keats deceased in 1816, and was the poor devil so unmercifully that Keats succeeded but not in his business-by and Haydon hurried him into the paintingKeats the poet. room, shut the door, and gave way to inextinguishable laughter. We have two verbal portraits of this beautiful genius at this time, and both by skillful painters, Leigh Hunt and Benjamin Robert Haydon. "He was under the middle height," says Hunt, "and his lower limbs were small in comparison with the upper, but neat and well turned." (How like the elegant Libertas that last touch is!) "His shoulders were very broad for his size; he had a face in which energy and sensibility were remarkably mixed up, an eager power, checked and made patient by ill-health." (But the checked and patient look came later). "Every feature was at once strongly cut and delicately alive. If there was any faulty expression it was in the mouth, which was not without something of a character of pugnacity. The face was rather long than otherwise; the upper lip projected a little over the under; the chin was bold; the cheeks sunken; the eyes mellow and glowing, large, dark and sensitive. At the recital of a noble action or a beautiful thought, they would suffuse with tears, and his mouth trembled." Thus far, his fellow-poet. "He was below the middle size," says Haydon," with a low This I must not write about this, however (you can read it for yourselves in Tom Taylor's "Life of Haydon "), nor about any of the guests at that immortal dinner, but introduce my readers to an early friend of Keats's whom I could not bring in till now. was Mr. John Hamilton Reynolds, whose father was head writing-master at Christ's Hospital, and who was residing then with his family in Little Britain. He was a year older than Keats, whom he outlived thirtyone years, and was coming into notice among the young poets of England. Byron mentions him and his first poem in his journal, under the date of February 28th, 1814: "Answered-or rather acknowledged-the receipt of young Reynolds's Poem, Safie. The lad is clever, but much of his thoughts are borrowed-whence, the reviewers may find out. I hate discouraging a young one; and I think-though wild, and more oriental than he would be, had he seen the scenes where he has placed his Tale-that he has much talent, and, certainly, fire enough." SOME PRECEPTS FOR SLANDERING SAFELY. Sam.-Let us take the law of our sides. I will bite my thumb at them. ROMEO AND JULIET. THE desire to know exactly how much I could say against my neighbors without making myself liable in an action for slander, induced me some time ago to make a collection of legal precedents. For a long-something stronger is needed. time I had felt the need of them-a need, I doubt not, that has been felt by hundreds of others. It is hardly necessary to say that I have found them useful. They have not only proved a very present help in time of trouble, but they have imparted to the character a certain repose and confidence which will prove of rare value in future emergencies. humors, but carry off none of the acrimony." They will not do on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake and strong passions are excited. Then something more It is no slight recommendation of these precedents (compiled from adjudged cases in this country and England), that they are applicable as well to cases of libel as of slander. Slander is the malicious uttering of false and defamatory words, tending to the damage of another. It is the malicious utterance that makes the slander; so that, 66 I have intimated that general terms of "If a person says he killed my wife, It is not slander if the words are heard only by the plaintiff. (Haile vs. Fuller, 2 Hun, 519; see also" London Assurance," Act II.) In this last authority, which is written in the form of a dialogue, Cool asks, "What terms are actionable?" to which Meddle answers, "You may call him anything you please, providing there are no witnesses." Meddle states the law correctly, but gives, I think, the wrong reason. The words are not actionable, not because there are no witnesses to prove them, but because, not having been heard by others, they have done no damage. You can call a man a "blackleg" (3 H. & N., 376); you can say he "got drunk on Christmas (1 Miss., 324); if you are in South Carolina, you can say he cut off your horse's tail (3 Rich., 242); if in Missouri, "he whipped his wife" (26 Mo., 153), or his say, mother (ib., 255); in Pennsylvania you can "If he would do that, he would steal.” (27 Pa. St., 112.) In Indiana it was held by the Supreme Court that the words," You hooked my geese," were not actionable in themselves, the court being of the opinion that the usual and ordinary meaning of the word "hook" is not "steal." (Hays vs. Mitchell, 7 Blackford, 117.) You can say of an attorney," He is a Presbyterian " (T. Jones, 23); of a farmer, that he "cheated in corn" (id., 156); that" Brown is an enchanter, and did enchant a bull, and make it run mad about the common," no death or bodily harm being specified. (2 Keble, 548.) You can call a woman a witch, because not within any statute law; but you cannot say of one that he is a sacrilegious person, because sacrilege is an offense at common law; but when it appeared that the words were, "You commit sacrilege every day," judgment was not allowed to be entered against the defendant. (2 Keble,401; id. 430.) It is not actionable to say, "She is a witch, and hath bewitched all that deal with her," the words being too general; but perhaps they would be actionable, if applied to any particular person. (2 Keble, 408; id., 441.) But the words, “You are a witch, and I will hang you for it, if you vex me," adding, "She hath imps," are actionable, for the words imply an offense at common law, and so felony; but Twisden, who was one of the judges, doubted. (2 Keble, 430, pl. 61.) While it is actionable to call a man a thief, it is not actionable if you add the words, "Because he has stolen a cat," the stealing of a cat not being felony; and Judge Twisden said (2 Keble, 377) that "thieving rogue" was actionable, but "thievish rogue" was not, because it implieth but a bare inclination. Stevenson said of Higgins that he was a "knave, and a sitting knave, and had received stolen goods," and the court held the words not actionable, because it was not averred that Higgins knew them to be stolen goods, and Twisden said that even then the action would not lie (2 Keble, 338); it is not actionable to say, "He is a drunken rogue," "A cheating knave" (2 Keble, 336); but it is actionable to say a man cheats in his trade; or to say, "You are a thieving rogue and get your living by pilfering and stealing;" for these " for these words imply a habit and a trade of thieving (2 Keble, 440); you can say of your neighbor, "He seeks to take my life," and no action will lie, for he may seek your life lawfully upon just cause; and also the words are too general, and for seeking alone no punishment is inflicted by the law. (4 Coke, 5.) No action lies for saying, "He is in Warwick gaol for stealing a horse and other beasts," because it is not directly affirmed that he had stolen them, but it is only a report of his imprisonment and the supposed reason therefor. But the words, "He stole them and was in gaol for it," are actionable. (Hobart Rep., 239.) It is not actionable to charge one with the intent to commit an unlawful act. You cannot say of a person that he has an infectious disease without laying yourself liable, but you can with safety say that he has had an infectious disease. In Vermont, the following words were held not actionable: "It is a pity Montpelier should be represented by a man who snaked his mother outof-doors by the hair of her head. It was the day before she died." (7 Verm., 439.) It has been held in Massachusetts, that a charge of "plundering a library," would not of itself be slanderous, because, though it conveys the notion of a wrongful acquisition, it does not express the nature of the wrong done. (Carter vs. Andrews, 16 Pickering, 1.) Words which are harmless when spoken of an ordinary individual are scandalous when spoken of a peer of England-thus, to say of a peer, "He is no more to be valued than a dog," is scandal, yet you can call an archbishop a covetous man (4 Henry 8, Rot., 649), and can say of him, "He hath no more conscience than a dog;" but, in England, an indictment will lie for saying, "It's a good world where beggarly priests are made lords," this being a public scandal. (2 Keble, 336.) (2 Keble, 336.) You can call a clergyman a dunce, blockhead, or fool, for it does not injure him in his profession. The court held that one can be a good parson and a great fool, but otherwise of an attorney. It has been adjudged that to call a justice of the peace blockhead, ass, etc., is not a slander for which an action will lie, because-note the distinction-he was not accused of any corruption in his employment, or any ill-design or principle; "And it was not his fault," said the court, "that he was a blockhead, ass, etc.; for he cannot be otherwise than his Maker made him; but, if he had been a wise man, and wicked principles were charged upon him when he had them not, an action would have lain; for, though a man cannot be wiser, he may be honester than he is." (Holt, 653.) |