I must protest finally about Chatterton, that he lacks nothing because lacking the gradual growth of the emotional in literature which becomes evident in Keats--still less its excess, which would of course have been pruned, in Oliver. The finest of the Rowley poems--_Eclogues, Ballad of Charity, etc_., rank absolutely with the finest poetry in the language, and gain (not lose) by moderation. As to what you say of C.’s want of political sincerity (for I cannot see to what other want you can allude), surely a boy up to eighteen may be pardoned for exercising his faculty if he happens to be the one among millions who can use grown men as his toys. He was an absolute and untarnished hero, but for that reckless defying vaunt. Certainly that most vigorous passage commencing-- “Interest, thou universal God of men,” etc. reads startlingly, and comes in a questionable shape. What is the answer to its enigmatical aspect? Why, that he _meant_ it, and that all would mean it at his age, who had his power, his daring, and his hunger. Still it does, perhaps, make one doubt whether his early death were well or ill for him. In the matter of Oliver (whom no one appreciates more than I do), remember that it was impossible to have more opportunities than _he_ had, or on the other side _fewer_ than Chatterton had. Chatterton at seventeen or less said-- “Flattery’s a cloak, and I will put it on.” Blake (probably late in life) said-- “Innocence is a winter gown.”