that universal and divine substance, which is the
God of Spinoza. If in a century like ours such a philosophy as
Eclecticism could return and become again a doctrinal institution,
Shelley might have personified it. He had so sacrificed his
individuality to chimeras of all kinds, that he appeared to consider
himself a mere phenomenon, and to look upon the external world as mere
fiction, in order that the impossible and never-to-be-found divinity of
his dreams might occupy all the space.

He was perhaps the meekest, most generous, and the most modest of the
creatures of the true God, whom he yet persistently refused to recognize
as his Creator.

If, however, there was no impiety in his irreligion, no real pride, in
his pride, there existed that weakness, if I may use the word, peculiar
to a brain which can not grasp at reality, but adheres to a chimera as a
basis for its arguments.

"His works," says Galt, "are soiled by the false judgments proceeding
from a mind which made him look at every thing in a false light, and it
must be allowed that that mind was either troubled or defective by
nature."

If this opinion is too severe, it is, however, certain that Shelley had
so exalted an imagination that his judgment suffered by it. As he is in
his works, so was he in all the commonest actions of his life. A few
anecdotes will serve to make him still better known.

Once, at Pisa, he went to see Count Gamba, who expected him, for some
charitable purpose which they were to agree upon together. A violent
storm burst forth suddenly, and the wind tore a tile from a roof, and
caused it to fall on Shelley's head. The blow was very great, and his
forehead was covered with blood. This, however, did not in the least
prevent his proceeding on his way. When Count Gamba saw him in this
state he was much alarmed, and asked him how it had occurred. Shelley
replied quite calmly, passing his hand over his head, just as if he had
forgotten all about it, that it was true that the wind had blown down a
tile which had fallen on his head, but that he would be taken care of
later upon his return home. Shelley was not rich, but whenever he went
to his banker's it was necessary that no one should require his
assistance, in order that the money which he had gone to fetch should
come home untouched. As, on one occasion, he was returning from a visit
to his banker's, some one at the door of his house asked for assistance.
Shelley hastily got up the