Privately at the same time Reynolds, who had just been reading _The Pot of Basil_ in manuscript, wrote to his friend with affectionate wisdom as follows:-- As to the poem, I am of all things anxious that you should publish it, for its completeness will be a full answer to all the ignorant malevolence of cold, lying Scotchmen and stupid Englishmen. The overweening struggle to oppress you only shows the world that so much of endeavour cannot be directed to nothing. Men do not set their muscles and strain their sinews to break a straw. I am confident, Keats, that the 'Pot of Basil' hath that simplicity and quiet pathos which are of a sure sovereignty over all hearts. I must say that it would delight me to have you prove yourself to the world what we know you to be--to have you annul _The Quarterly Review_ by the best of all answers. One or two of your sonnets you might print, I am sure. And I know that I may suggest to you which, because you can decide as you like afterward. You will remember that we were to print together. I give over all intention, and you ought to be alone. I can never write anything now--my mind is taken the other way. But I shall set my heart on having you high, as you ought to be. Do _you_ get Fame, and I shall have it in being your affectionate and steady friend. Woodhouse, in a correspondence with the unceasingly kind and loyal publishers Taylor and Hessey, shows himself as deeply moved as anyone, and Taylor in the course of the autumn sought to enlist on behalf of the victim the private sympathies of one of the most cultivated and influential Liberal thinkers and publicists of the time, Sir James Mackintosh. Sending him a copy of _Endymion_, Taylor writes:--'Its faults are numberless, but there are redeeming features in my opinion, and the faults are those of real Genius. Whatever this work is, its Author is a true poet.' After a few words as to Keats's family and circumstances he adds, 'These are odd particulars to give, when I am introducing the work and not the man to you,--but if you knew him, you would also feel that strange personal interest in all that concerns him.--Mr Gifford forgot his own early life when he tried to bear down this young man. Happily, it will not succeed. If he lives, Keats will be the brightest ornament of this Age.' In concluding Taylor recommends particularly to his correspondent's attention the hymn to Pan, the Glaucus episode, and above all the triumph of Bacchus.