’I received a copy of The Cenci, as from yourself, from Hunt.  There is only one part of it I am judge of—­the poetry and dramatic effect, which by many spirits nowadays is considered the Mammon.  A modern work, it is said, must have a purpose; which may be the God.  An artist must serve Mammon:  he must have “self-concentration”—­selfishness perhaps.  You, I am sure, will forgive me for sincerely remarking that you might curb your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore.  The thought of such discipline must fall like cold chains upon you, who perhaps never sat with your wings furled for six months together.  And is not this extraordinary talk for the writer of Endymion, whose mind was like a pack of scattered cards?  I am picked up and sorted to a pip.  My imagination is a monastery, and I am its monk.

’I am in expectation of Prometheus every day.  Could I have my own wish effected, you would have it still in manuscript, or be but now putting an end to the second Act.  I remember you advising me not to publish my first blights, on Hampstead Heath[5].  I am returning advice upon your hands.  Most of the poems in the volume I send you [this was the volume containing Lamia, Hyperion, &c.] have been written above two years[6], and would never have been published but for hope of gain:  so you see I am inclined enough to take your advice now.

’I must express once more my deep sense of your kindness, adding my sincere thanks and respects for Mrs. Shelley.  In the hope of soon seeing you I remain

’Most sincerely yours,

‘JOHN KEATS.’

It may have been in the interval between writing his note Of invitation to Keats, and receiving the reply of the latter, that Shelley penned the following letter to the Editor of the Quarterly Review—­the periodical which had taken (or had shared with Blackwood’s Magazine) the lead in depreciating Endymion.  The letter, however, was left uncompleted, and was not dispatched. (I omit such passages as are not directly concerned with Keats):—­

’SIR,

’Should you cast your eye on the signature of this letter before you read the contents, you might imagine that they related to a slanderous paper which appeared in your Review some time since....  I am not in the habit of permitting myself to be disturbed by what is said or written of me....  The case is different with the unfortunate subject of this letter, the author of Endymion, to whose feelings and situation I entreat you to allow me to call your attention.  I write considerably in the dark; but, if it is Mr. Gifford that I am addressing, I am persuaded that, in an appeal to his humanity and justice, he will acknowledge the fas ab hoste doceri.  I am aware that the first duty of a reviewer is towards the public; and I am willing to confess that the Endymion is a poem considerably defective, and that perhaps