of genius,' or, at any rate, a victim of monomania; and was the only one to think so of all I have met who actually knew anything of him.
'There was nothing wild about his looks. Though very ready to be drawn out to the assertion of his favourite ideas, yet there was no warmth, as if he wanted to make proselytes. Indeed, one of the peculiar features of his scheme, as far as it v/as consistent, was indifference, and a very extraordinary degree of tolerance and satisfaction with what had taken place—a sort of pious and humble optimism; not the scornful optimism of Candide. But at the same time that he was very ready to praise, he seemed incapable of envy, as he was of discontent. He warmly praised some compositions of Mrs. Aders'; and having brought for A. an engraving of his Canterbury Pilgrims, he remarked that one of the figures resembled a figure in one of the works then in Aders' room, and that he had been accused of having stolen from it. But he added that he had drawn the figure in question twenty years before he had seen the original picture. "However, there is no wonder in the resemblance, as in my youth I was always studying that class of paintings." I have forgotten what the figure was. But his taste was in close conformity with the old German school. This was somewhat at variance with what he said, both this day and afterwards,—implying that he copied his visions.
'It was at this first meeting that, in answer to a question from me he said, "The Spirits told me." This led me to say: "Socrates used pretty much the same language—he spoke of his Genius. Now, what affinity or resemblance do you suppose was there between the Genius which inspired Socrates and your Spirits?" He smiled, and for once it seemed to me as if he had a feeling of vanity gratified. "The same as in our countenances." He paused and added: "I was Socrates, or a sort of brother. I must have had conversations with him. So I had with Jesus Christ; I have an obscure recollection of having been with both of them." As I had for many years been familiar with the idea that an eternity a parte post was inconceivable without an eternity a parte ante, I was naturally led to express that thought on this occasion. His eye brightened on my saying this. He eagerly assented—"To be sure! We are all coexistent with God; members of the Divine Body, and partakers of the Divine Nature." . . .
. . . From something Blake said, drawing the inference,—then
