ABSTRACT
We do not think the poetical merits of Mr Keats have been duly estimated; and that apparently for the worst of all reasons—because he is said to be a disciple of Leigh Hunt's. Now this said Leigh Hunt may write some very quaint articles—and to many perhaps objectionable articles—in his Examiner; but no man can pretend to assert with truth that he is devoid of talent. To be sure, there may be some little follies chargeable on the master and his disciple—they may have be-praised each other a little over-much; and the purity of their taste in composition generally may be made a matter of question; but with these trivial subtractions from their fame, we have no doubt of their obtaining an exalted place in the temple of our literary benefactors.
