mind in its influence is like a cloud borne on by an impetuous wind. … In style and strength of expression Mandeville is wonderfully great and the energy and sweetness of the sentiment scarcely to be equalled. Clifford's character as mere beauty is a divine and soothing contrast, and I do not think, if perhaps I except (and I know not if I ought to do so) the speech of Agathon in the Symposium of Plato, that there ever was produced a moral discourse more characteristic of all that is admirable and lovely in human nature; more lovely and admirable in itself, than that of Henrietta to Mandeville as he is recovering from madness.
The touch about Plato is delightful, and reminds one of some modern criticisms. Poets can be the best of all critics, but they are a little apt to fancy that singular power in the author instead of singular impulsiveness on their own side is the explanation of the 'impetuous wind' of enthusiasm.
That Shelley, for the moment at least, should put Godwin beside Plato, not only as a thinker but as a literary artist, is a little startling, even if the compliment were intended to soften the refusal to be bled in pocket. Posterity has long ceased to hanker after Mandeville. I, at least, have tried in vain to discover the slightest justification for Shelley's enthusiasm. Can we discover any grounds for such enthusiasm in Godwin's masterpiece? Caleb Williams was published when
