. The life and letters of Joseph Severn. faceconfidently whatever hazards lay before him. Nov: he wasreturning to the city where his true home was, which heloved and knew better than that grimy London which washis birthplace though not his real alma mater: going backafter a long and successful career, and to a post of honourand influence. Imagine me, Joseph Severn, the lad who was so accustomed to illhealth and poverty: without social advantages, or even adequate training:who left home one wretched unforgettable night, and more as an outcastthan as one going on an honourable venture : imagine
. The life and letters of Joseph Severn. faceconfidently whatever hazards lay before him. Nov: he wasreturning to the city where his true home was, which heloved and knew better than that grimy London which washis birthplace though not his real alma mater: going backafter a long and successful career, and to a post of honourand influence. Imagine me, Joseph Severn, the lad who was so accustomed to illhealth and poverty: without social advantages, or even adequate training:who left home one wretched unforgettable night, and more as an outcastthan as one going on an honourable venture : imagine me, now, in mysixties, a successful artist who has his works in all the great collections inEngland, and in no less than three Eoyal Private Galleries, going back tothe Piome where name and fortune first came to me, as the chosenrepresentative of the British Empirel I am proud as well as grateful tobe British Consul at Rome: but I think I would gladly slip back fortyyears, to be tnce again travelling to Italy with my beloved Keats, and. AUTOGRAPH POKTIIAIT OP SEVKUN (itlat cirm 27). Tu face page 248. BETURN TO ROME. 249 even to be in Eome tending him again, for all the sufifering and anxiety ofthat bitter time. But the more I think of it the more thankful I am forthe eventful course of my life. What would our poor father have saidhad he known that his little Joe would one day be British Consul to thePapal Dominion ? Elsewhere Severn records how, though he visited thegrave of Keats soon after his return and did so not onlywithout pain but with a proud exultation, he never, fromthe first days of his Consulship—or, indeed, from the timeof Keatss death—was able to pass, without the throb as ofa wound at his heart, across the Piazza di Spagna from theVia Due Macelli eastward, or down to it by the western sideof the Spanish Stairs. Here in Eome, as I write, I look back through forty years of worldlychanges to behold Keatss dear image again in memory. It seems as if heshould be li
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