ABSTRACT
It is customary in Paris and some other places, to present their friends on New Year's Day with some expressive wishes for their future happiness, wealth, or success, in such matters as may be deemed most agreeable. Following this example, we will, at Midsummer instead of Christmas, offer Mr Keats our wishes, and, whether they may be agreeable or not, we assure him they are sincere. First, then, we wish that he would renounce all acquaintance with our metropolitan poets. Secondly, that he would entirely abandon their affected school, instead of being a principal supporter of it; and, exiling himself for twelve months to North Wales or the Highlands of Scotland, trust to nature's ever varying scene and his own talents. And, lastly, until he does all this, we wish that he would never write any poem of more than an hundred verses at the utmost. Of the propriety of this last piece of advice, we believe all who have read his works will become sensible, and were any other argument wanting, the volume before us would furnish it.
