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 truthMen 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:-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 of Sensations rather than of Thoughts! It is "a Vision in the form of Youth," a shadow of reality to come-and this consideration has further convinced me, -for it has come as auxiliary to another favourite speculation of mine,-that we shall enjoy ourselves hereafter by having what we called happiness on Earth repeated in a finer tone. And yet such a fate can only befall those who delight in Sensation, rather than hunger as you do after Truth. Adam's dream will do here, and seems to be a Conviction that Imagination and its empyreal reflexion, is the same as human life and its spiritual repetition. But, as I was saying, the simple imaginative Mind may have its rewards in the repetition of its own silent Working coming continually on the Spirit with a fine Suddenness. To compare great things with small, have you never, by being surprised with an old Melody, in a delicious place by a delicious voice, felt over again your very speculations and surmises at the time it first operated on your soul? do you not remember forming to yourself the Singer's face-more beautiful than it was possible, and yet, with the elevation of the Moment, you did not think so? Even then you were mounted on the Wings of Imagination, so high that the prototype must be hereafter-that delicious face you will see. What a time! I am continually running away from the subject. Sure this cannot be exactly the case with a complex mind-one that is imaginative, and at the same time careful of its

fruits, who would exist partly on Sensation, partly on thought-to whom it is necessary that "years should bring the philosophic Mind?" Such a one I consider yours, and therefore it is necessary to your eternal happiness that you not only drink this old Wine of Heaven, which I shall call the redigestion of our most ethereal Musings upon Earth, but also increase in knowledge, and know all things. I am glad to hear that you are in a fair way for Easter. You will soon get through your unpleasant reading, and then!-but the world is full of troubles, and I have not much reason to think myself pestered with many.

I think Jane or Marianne has a better opinion of me than I deserve; for, really and truly, I do not think my Brother's illness connected with mine-you know more of the real Cause than they do; nor have I any chance of being rack'd as you have been. You perhaps at one time thought there was such a thing as worldly happiness to be arrived at, at certain periods of time marked out,— you have of necessity from your disposition been thus led away-I scarcely remember counting upon any happiness I look not for it if it be not in the present hour, -nothing startles me beyond the moment. The Setting Sun will always set me to rights, or if a Sparrow come before my Window, I take part in its existence and pick about the gravel. The first thing that strikes me on hearing a misfortune having befallen another in this"Well, it cannot be helped: he will have the pleasure of trying the resources of his Spirit "-and I beg now, my dear Bailey, that hereafter should you observe anything. cold in me not to put it to the account of heartlessness, but abstraction-for I assure you I sometimes feel not the influence of a passion or affection during a whole. Week-and so long this sometimes continues, I begin to suspect myself, and the genuineness of my feelings

at other times-thinking them a few barren Tragedy Tears.

My brother Tom is much improved-he is going to Devonshire-whither I shall follow him. At present, I am just arrived at Dorking-to change the Scene-change the Air, and give me a spur to wind up my Poem, of which there are wanting 500 lines. I should have been here a day sooner, but the Reynoldses persuaded me to stop in Town to meet your friend Christie.' There were Rice and Martin-we talked about Ghosts. I will have some Talk with Taylor, and let you know,-when please God I come down at Christmas. I will find the Examiner if possible. My best regards to Gleig, my Brothers' to you and Mrs. Bentley.

Your affectionate Friend

John Keats

I want to say much more to you-a few hints will set me going. Direct Burford Bridge near Dorking.

XXV.

To GEORGE AND THOMAS KEATS.

Hampstead,

22nd December, 1817.

My dear Brothers,

*

*

I must crave your pardon for not having written ere this. I saw Kean return to the public in "Richard III.," and finely he did it, and, at the request of Reynolds, I went to criticize his Duke in Rich[ar]d.

1 Lockhart's friend-who was drawn into Lockhart's quarrel with John Scott and killed him.

The critique is in to-day's "Champion," which I send you, with the "Examiner," in which you will find very proper lamentation on the obsoletion of Christmas Gambols and pastimes but it was mixed up with so much egotism of that drivelling nature that pleasure is entirely lost. Hone, the publisher's trial, you must find very amusing, and, as Englishmen, very encouraging his Not Guilty is a thing, which not to have been, would have dulled still more Liberty's Emblazoning. Lord Ellenborough has been paid in his own coin. Wooler and Hone have done us an essential service. I have had two very pleasant evenings with Dilke, yesterday and to-day, and am at this moment just come from him, and feel in the humour to go on with this, begun in the morning, and from which he came to fetch me. I spent Friday evening with Wells,' and went next morning to see "Death on the Pale Horse." It is a wonderful picture, when West's age is considered; but there is nothing to be intense upon, no women one feels mad to kiss, no face swelling into reality. The excellence of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate from their being in close relationship with Beauty and Truth. Examine "King Lear," and you will find this exemplified throughout: but in this picture we have unpleasantness without any momentous depth of speculation excited, in which to bury its repulsiveness. The picture is larger than "Christ rejected."

I dined with Haydon the Sunday after you left, and had a very pleasant day. I dined too (for I have been out too much lately) with Horace Smith, and met his two brothers, with Hill and Kingston, and one Du Bois. They only served to convince me how superior humour

1 Charles Wells, the author of Stories after Nature and Joseph and his Brethren.