ABSTRACT
Henry Stephens was never weary in telling about Keats. The two students had allied sympathies. Both were pursuing medicine when they lived together, and both left it, after entering it, to follow other pursuits. The close of the year 1819 leaves Keats still constitutionally ill; and in the early part of 1820, first days of February, his fatal illness commences. He reads his own doom with the first spitting of blood. The description of the close of the life of Keats in Rome, written by Severn, is most touching. The simplicity of affection of the writer, who died but the other day, makes it the most beautiful of narratives. John Keats was like a meteor, which, wandering in the eternal spaces, and coming into contact with, and friction with, the atmosphere of a world, bursts into flame, and dazzling the beholders on the world with its brightness, suddenly dies out.
