“Dear Coleridge,—You
scarcely expected a letter from me of the above date. But I received last
September an invitation from John Philpot
Curran, the Irish barrister, probably the first advocate in
Europe, then in London, to spend a few weeks with him in Ireland this summer,
which I did not feel in myself philosophy enough to resist. Nor do I repent my
compliance. The advantages one derives from placing the sole of one’s
foot on a foreign soil are extremely great. Few men, on such an occasion, think
it worth their while to put on armour for your encounter. I know Fox and Sheridan, but can scarce consider them as my acquaintance. Your
next door neighbour, before he admits you to his familiarity, considers how far
he should like to have you for his familiar for the next seven years. But
familiarity with a foreign
| CHARACTER OF CURRAN. | 5 |
“Curran I admire extremely. There is scarcely the man on earth with whom I ever felt myself so entirely at my ease, or so little driven back, from time to time, to consider of my own miserable individual. He is perpetually a staff and a cordial, without ever affecting to be either. The being never lived who was more perfectly free from every species of concealment. With great genius, at least a rich and inexhaustible imagination, he never makes me stand in awe of him, and bow as to my acknowledged superior, a thing by-the-by which, de temps à d’autre, you compel me to do. He amuses me always, astonishes me often, yet naturally and irresistibly inspires me with confidence. I am apt, particularly when away from home, to feel forlorn and dispirited. The two last days I spent from him, and though they were employed most enviably in tête à tête with Grattan, I began to feel dejected and home-sick. But Curran has joined me to-day, and poured into my bosom a full portion of his irresistible kindness and gaiety.
“You will acknowledge these are extraordinary traits.
Yet Curran is far from a faultless and
perfect character. Immersed for many years in a perpetual whirl of business, he
has no profoundness or philosophy. He has a great share of the Irish
character—dashing, étourdi, coarse,
vulgar, impatient, fierce, kittenish. He has no characteristic delicacy, no
intuitive and instant commerce with the sublime features of nature. Ardent in a
memorable degree, and a patriot from the most generous impulse, he has none of
that political chemistry which Burke so
admirably describes (I forget his words), that resolves and combines, and
embraces distant nations and future ages. He is inconsistent in the most
whimsical degree. I remember, in an amicable debate with Sheridan, in which
Sheridan far outwent him in refinement, penetration,
and taste, he three times surrendered his arms, acknowledged
| 6 | WILLIAM GODWIN |
