My dear Bailey--I will get over the first part of this (_un_said[31]) Letter as soon as possible, for it relates to the affairs of poor Cripps.--To a Man of your nature such a Letter as Haydon's must have been extremely cutting--What occasions the greater part of the World's Quarrels?--simply this--two Minds meet, and do not understand each other time enough to prevent any shock or surprise at the conduct of either party--As soon as I had known Haydon three days, I had got enough of his Character not to have been surprised at such a Letter as he has hurt you with. Nor, when I knew it, was it a principle with me to drop his acquaintance; although with you it would have been an imperious feeling. I wish you knew all that I think about Genius and the Heart--and yet I think that you are thoroughly acquainted with my innermost breast in that respect, or you could not have known me even thus long, and still hold me worthy to be your dear Friend. In passing, however, I must say one thing that has pressed upon me lately, and increased my Humility and capability of submission--and that is this truth--Men of Genius are great as certain ethereal Chemicals operating on the Mass of neutral intellect--but they have not any individuality, any determined Character--I would call the top and head of those who have a proper self Men of Power. But I am running my head into a subject which I am certain I could not do justice to under five Years' study, and 3 vols. octavo--and, moreover, I long to be talking about the Imagination--so my dear Bailey, do not think of this unpleasant affair, if possible do not--I defy any harm to come of it--I defy. I shall write to Cripps this week, and request him to tell me all his goings-on from time to time by Letter wherever I may be. It will go on well--so don't because you have suddenly discovered a Coldness in Haydon suffer yourself to be teased--Do not my dear fellow--O! I wish I was as certain of the end of all your troubles as that of your momentary start about the authenticity of the Imagination. I am certain of nothing but of the holiness of the Heart's affections, and the truth of Imagination. What the Imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth--whether it existed before or not,--for I have the same idea of all our passions as of Love: they are all, in their sublime, creative of essential Beauty. In a Word, you may know my favourite speculation by my first Book, and the little Song I sent in my last, which is a representation from the fancy of the probable mode of operating in these Matters. The Imagination may be compared to Adam's dream,--he awoke and found it truth:[32]--I am more zealous in this affair, because I have never yet been able to perceive how anything can be known for truth by consecutive reasoning--and yet it must be. Can it be that even the greatest Philosopher ever arrived at his Goal without putting aside numerous objections? However it may be, O for a life