To the Christian religion he makes hardly any allusion, though there is one passage in his letters on 'the disinterested heart of Jesus.'

From all this we may fairly draw the inference that his nature, though essentially a spiritual one, had not crystallised for itself or had transmitted to it any distinct form of religious belief; that he was reticent on the subject, and had not formed any decided opinions; and that, had he lived to be older, his genius would have expressed whatever truth it might have grasped, not within any circumscribed limits, but with that far-reaching power and prophetic insight which enable the spirit to embrace the need of an age beyond its own.

Meanwhile John Keats has left to us the stainless memory of a pure and loving heart, and the fruit of a life which 'worshipped the prin'ciple of Beauty in all things,' making clearer for us, by his vast and interpretative thought, the enigmas of human change and joy and grief; while he shows us that to love Beauty is to love Truth, and that when we are spiritualised enough to recognise them, both shall appear to us as one. It is the completed form of all

'completeness' for which our spirits have been searching, and we shall know it as Reality.

He is a portion of the loveliness

Which once he made more lovely. He doth bear His part, while the One Spirit's plastic stress Sweeps through the dull dense world; compelling there All new successions to the forms they wear; Torturing the unwilling dross, that checks its flight To its own likeness, as each mass may bear; And bursting in its beauty and its might

From trees and beasts and men into the heaven's light.