be cavalier to those who express an undue or unqualified admiration of him.  He looks up with unfeigned respect to acknowledged reputation (but then it must be very well ascertained before he admits it)—­and has a favourite hypothesis that Understanding and Virtue are the same thing.  Mr. Godwin possesses a high degree of philosophical candour, and studiously paid the homage of his pen and person to Mr. Malthus, Sir James Macintosh, and Dr. Parr, for their unsparing attacks on him; but woe to any poor devil who had the hardihood to defend him against them!  In private, the author of Political Justice at one time reminded those who knew him of the metaphysician engrafted on the Dissenting Minister.  There was a dictatorial, captious, quibbling pettiness of manner.  He lost this with the first blush and awkwardness of popularity, which surprised him in the retirement of his study; and he has since, with the wear and tear of society, from being too pragmatical, become somewhat too careless.  He is, at present, as easy as an old glove.  Perhaps there is a little attention to effect in this, and he wishes to appear a foil to himself.  His best moments are with an intimate acquaintance or two, when he gossips in a fine vein about old authors, Clarendon’s History of the Rebellion, or Burnet’s History of his own Times; and you perceive by your host’s talk, as by the taste of seasoned wine, that he has a cellarage in his understanding!  Mr. Godwin also has a correct acquired taste in poetry and the drama.  He relishes Donne and Ben Jonson, and recites a passage from either with an agreeable mixture of pedantry and bonhommie.  He is not one of those who do not grow wiser with opportunity and reflection:  he changes his opinions, and changes them for the better.  The alteration of his taste in poetry, from an exclusive admiration of the age of Queen Anne to an almost equally exclusive one of that of Elizabeth, is, we suspect, owing to Mr. Coleridge, who some twenty years ago, threw a great stone into the standing pool of criticism, which splashed some persons with the mud, but which gave a motion to the surface and a reverberation to the neighbouring echoes, which has not since subsided.  In common company, Mr. Godwin either goes to sleep himself, or sets others to sleep.  He is at present engaged in a History of the Commonwealth of England.—­Esto perpetua! In size Mr. Godwin is below the common stature, nor is his deportment graceful or animated.  His face is, however, fine, with an expression of placid temper and recondite thought.  He is not unlike the common portraits of Locke.  There is a very admirable likeness of him by Mr. Northcote, which with a more heroic and dignified air, only does justice to the profound sagacity and benevolent aspirations of our author’s mind.  Mr. Godwin has kept the best company of his time, but he has survived most of the celebrated persons with whom he lived in habits of intimacy.  He speaks of them with enthusiasm and with discrimination; and sometimes dwells with peculiar delight on a day passed at John Kemble’s in company with Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Curran, Mrs. Wolstonecraft and Mrs. Inchbald, when the conversation took a most animated turn and the subject was of Love.  Of all these our author is the only one remaining.  Frail tenure, on which human life and genius are lent us for a while to improve or to enjoy!