Mr. Fawcett (an old friend and fellow-student of our author, and who always spoke of his writings with admiration, tinctured with wonder) used to mention a circumstance with respect to the last-mentioned work, which may throw some light on the history and progress of Mr. Godwin’s mind.  He was anxious to make his biographical account as complete as he could, and applied for this purpose to many of his acquaintance to furnish him with anecdotes or to suggest criticisms.  Amongst others Mr. Fawcett repeated to him what he thought a striking passage in a speech on General Warrants delivered by Lord Chatham, at which he (Mr. Fawcett) had been present.  “Every man’s house” (said this emphatic thinker and speaker) “has been called his castle.  And why is it called his castle?  Is it because it is defended by a wall, because it is surrounded with a moat?  No, it may be nothing more than a straw-built shed.  It may be open to all the elements:  the wind may enter in, the rain may enter in—­but the king cannot enter in!” His friend thought that the point was here palpable enough:  but when he came to read the printed volume, he found it thus transposed:  “Every man’s house is his castle.  And why is it called so?  Is it because it is defended by a wall, because it is surrounded with a moat?  No, it may be nothing more than a straw-built shed.  It may be exposed to all the elements:  the rain may enter into it, all the winds of Heaven may whistle round it, but the king cannot, &c.”  This was what Fawcett called a defect of natural imagination.  He at the same time admitted that Mr. Godwin had improved his native sterility in this respect; or atoned for it by incessant activity of mind and by accumulated stores of thought and powers of language.  In fact, his forte is not the spontaneous, but the voluntary exercise of talent.  He fixes his ambition on a high point of excellence, and spares no pains or time in attaining it.  He has less of the appearance of a man of genius, than any one who has given such decided and ample proofs of it.  He is ready only on reflection:  dangerous only at the rebound.  He gathers himself up, and strains every nerve and faculty with deliberate aim to some heroic and dazzling atchievement of intellect:  but he must make a career before he flings himself, armed, upon the enemy, or he is sure to be unhorsed.  Or he resembles an eight-day clock that must be wound up long before it can strike.  Therefore, his powers of conversation are but limited.  He has neither acuteness of remark, nor a flow of language, both which might be expected from his writings, as these are no less distinguished by a sustained and impassioned tone of declamation than by novelty of opinion or brilliant tracks of invention.  In company, Horne Tooke used to make a mere child of him—­or of any man!  Mr. Godwin liked this treatment[D], and indeed it is his foible to fawn on those who use him cavalierly, and to