That he was fully aware not only of the abundance of this quality in his own nature, but of the danger in which it placed consistency and singleness of character, did not require the note on this passage, where he calls it “an unhappy attribute,” to assure us.  The consciousness, indeed, of his own natural tendency to yield thus to every chance impression, and change with every passing impulse, was not only for ever present in his mind, but,—­aware as he was of the suspicion of weakness attached by the world to any retractation or abandonment of long professed opinions,—­had the effect of keeping him in that general line of consistency, on certain great subjects, which, notwithstanding occasional fluctuations and contradictions as to the details of these very subjects, he continued to preserve throughout life.  A passage from one of his manuscripts will show how sagaciously he saw the necessity of guarding himself against his own instability in this respect.  “The world visits change of politics or change of religion with a more severe censure than a mere difference of opinion would appear to me to deserve.  But there must be some reason for this feeling;—­and I think it is that these departures from the earliest instilled ideas of our childhood, and from the line of conduct chosen by us when we first enter into public life, have been seen to have more mischievous results for society, and to prove more weakness of mind than other actions, in themselves, more immoral.”

The same distrust in his own steadiness, thus keeping alive in him a conscientious self-watchfulness, concurred not a little, I have no doubt, with the innate kindness of his nature, to preserve so constant and unbroken the greater number of his attachments through life;—­some of them, as in the instance of his mother, owing evidently more to a sense of duty than to real affection, the consistency with which, so creditably to the strength of his character, they were maintained.

But while in these respects, as well as in the sort of task-like perseverance with which the habits and amusements of his youth were held fast by him, he succeeded in conquering the variableness and love of novelty so natural to him, in all else that could engage his mind, in all the excursions, whether of his reason or his fancy, he gave way to this versatile humour without scruple or check,—­taking every shape in which genius could manifest its power, and transferring himself to every region of thought where new conquests were to be achieved.

It was impossible but that such a range of will and power should be abused.  It was impossible that, among the spirits he invoked from all quarters, those of darkness should not appear, at his bidding, with those of light.  And here the dangers of an energy so multifold, and thus luxuriating in its own transformations, show themselves.  To this one great object of displaying power,—­various, splendid, and all-adorning power,—­every other consideration