masterpiece, that it would have been accepted; and following the example of Mr. Griffiths' play, which was brought out twenty years after its rejection, Keats's may yet make its appearance.

Keats was an ardent admirer of Shakspeare, -and after the manner of Sheridan Knowles, adopted the phraseology of the old masters. In the folio Shakspeare before me, the lines he most admired in King Lear, Romeo and Juliet, and Troilus and Cressida, (the last two plays doubtless studied with a view to his own,) are marked and underlined; to the latter he has appended several notes, and suggested some emendations in the text. In the passage,

Sith every action that has gone before,
Whereof we have record, trial did draw,
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
And that unbodied figure of the thought
That gav't surmised shape,—

he has affixed the following note:

"The genius of Shakspeare was an innate uni

versality,-wherefore he laid the achievement of human intellect prostrate beneath his indolent and kingly gaze. He could do easily man's utmost—his plan of tasks to come was not of this world. If what he proposed to do hereafter would not, in the idea, answer the aim, how tremendous must have been his conception of ultimates!"

This commentary may serve to shew what was working in Keats's mind-the distrust of himself-almost despair, at the comparison of his own labours with the unpremeditated effusions of Shakspeare.

The same interesting volume contains in the blank leaves two poems,-a sonnet, "On sitting down to read King Lear once again;" and "Lines on seeing a lock of Milton's hair;" which, though not contained in his published volumes, have, I believe, been given to the world in periodicals.

A comic poem was also in Mr. Browne's possession, of Keats's, written in the Spencer

metre, of which a few stanzas appeared in the Indicator of August 23rd, 1820, under the pseudo name of Lucy V. L. This poem contained also a parody on Byron's farewell, and my informant says, possessed a vein of dry wit and much humour, of which my readers may judge from the specimen to which I refer them. The paper is headed "Coaches."

The editor of the Athenæum has drawn a parallel between Shelley and Keats,―a parallel that reminds me of what Göthe says of the controversy between the Germans, respecting the comparative merits of himself and Schiller; and on which he remarks," They may think themselves lucky dogs in having two such fellows to dispute about." Mr. Dsays "Shelley was a worshipper of truth, Keats of beauty; Shelley had the greater power, Keats the finer imagination, --both were single-hearted, admirable men. When we look into the world-nay, not to judge others, when we look into our own breasts, we should despair, if such men did not occasion

ally appear among us. Shelley and Keats were equal enthusiasts, had the same hope of the moral improvement of society, and the ultimate triumph of truth; and Shelley, who lived longest, carried all the generous feelings of youth into manhood. Age enlarged, not narrowed his sympathies, and learning bowed down his humanity to feel its brotherhood with the humblest of its fellow-creatures. If not judged by creeds and conventional opinions, Shelley must be considered a moral teacher, both by precept and example; he scattered the seed of truth, so it appeared to him, everywhere, and upon all occasions,―confident, that however disregarded, however long it might be buried, it would not perish, but spring up hereafter in the sunshine of its welcome, and its golden fruitage be garnered by grateful men. Keats had naturally much less of this political philosophy, but he had neither less resolution, less hope of, or less good will towards man. Lord Byron's opinion, that he was killed by the reviewers, is wholly ridicu

lous, though his epitaph and the angry feelings of his friends might countenance it. Keats died of hereditary consumption."

The editor adds, that "he was fast sinking before either Blackwood or the Quarterly poured out their malignant venom." There he was mistaken, and misinformed, as I have already proved, for he was only first attacked with that deadly malady, eighteen months after the appearance of the articles.

Agreeing with Mr. D. in the main, though not admitting that Keats had the finer imagination, I will state what Shelley's opinions were of his poetry. Those he entertained respecting Endymion, are already before the public. He often lamented that, under the adoption of false canons of taste, he spoiled by their affectation his finest passages. But in the volume that Keats published in 1820, he perceived in every one of these productions a marked and continually progressing improvement, and hailed with delight his release from his leading-strings, his