By education and habit, he was a Unitarian. Indeed, he was a true
Nonconformist in all things. He was not a dissenter by imitation, nor from
any deep principle or obstinate heresy; nor was he made servile and
obedient by formal logic alone. His reasoning always rose and streamed
through the heart. He liked a friend for none of the ordinary reasons;
because he was famous, or clever, or powerful, or popular. He at once took
issue with the previous verdicts, and examined the matter in his own way.
If a man was unfortunate, he gave him money. If he was calumniated, he
accorded him sympathy. He gave freely; not to merit, but to want.

He pursued his own fancies, his own predilections. He did not neglect his
own instinct (which is always true), and aim at things foreign to his
nature. He did not cling to any superior intellect, nor cherish any
inferior humorist or wit.

Perhaps no one ever thought more independently. He had great enjoyment in
the talk of able men, so that it did not savor of form or pretension. He
liked the strenuous talk of Hazlitt, who never descended to fine words. He
liked the unaffected, quiet conversation of Manning, the vivacious,
excursive talk of Leigh Hunt. He heard with wondering admiration the
monologues of Coleridge. Perhaps he liked the simplest talk the best;
expressions of pity or sympathy, or affection for others; from young
people, who thought and said little or nothing about themselves.

He had no craving for popularity, nor even for fame. I do not recollect
any passage in his writings, nor any expression in his talk, which runs
counter to my opinion. In this respect he seems to have differed from
Milton (who desired fame, like "Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides"), and
to have rather resembled Shakespeare, who was indifferent to fame or