“Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot? Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot.” Frequently the circumstance of association seemed to be the channel through which the rejected grace of faith was poured upon his soul. As he enters the portals of the church of churches, the mausoleum of the prince of the apostles, his gifted light shines forth— “But thou, of temples old or altars new, Standest alone—with nothing like to thee— Worthiest of God, the holy and the true.” This last line seems to belie the opinion that Byron never saw any thing in religion but the poetry of it: it sounds like an involuntary revelation of interior conviction. Again— “———the mind Has grown colossal, and can only find A fit abode wherein appear enshrined Thy hopes of immortality: and thou Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, See thy God face to face, as thou dost now His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow.” Yet, poor, weak, fickle, terrified man! How often does he turn from the afflatus of Revelation, to build again his temple of doubt and despair, upon the mere caprice of his humor! Fickle, most fickle ground. It well nigh makes one weep to hear his melancholy breathing: “Son of the morning, rise! approach you here! Come, but molest not yon defenseless urn: Look on this spot—a nation’s sepulchre! Abode of gods whose shrines no longer burn. Even gods must yield—religions take their turn: ’Twas Jove’s, ’tis Mahomet’s—and other creeds Will rise with other years, till man shall learn Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds: Poor child of doubt and death, whose hope is built on reeds.” “Poor child of doubt and death” we will then term thee, Byron; we will grieve over thy sorrows and thy wrongs, pitying thee: we will melt over thy gushing tenderness which, ever and anon, pleads with so soft a feeling, so sweet a melody, that every warm heart feels drawn toward thee in sympathy: we will mourn with thy desponding; and over thy wavering and despair we will drop a tear; and so pass thee on to the mysterious judgments of thy God, where thou art gone!