Fuseli was seldom induced to speak on religion; but, as he attached himself to no particular form or sect, which is frequently the case with foreigners, it would be difficult to give a precise idea of his tenets. In religion, however, as well as on all other concerns, he thought for himself, unshackled by those restraints which forms, ceremonies, or opinions, often impose on the mind. No man that I have ever conversed with had a higher or more sublime notion of the attributes and benevolence of the Deity, and no one a better knowledge of the Bible. In this book he was deeply read, and recollected, when in conversation, not only those parts which, for historical facts, sublimity, pathos, or poetic beauty, are impressed on most minds, but also the minor circumstances, for he could from memory trace the several tribes, and tell you accurately the genealogy of any particular person. He seldom took up the Bible, which he frequently did, without shedding tears. One evening, when talking in a serious mood to a young lady, he related to her, in his own peculiar and forcible manner, the story of "Joseph and his Brethren," and with the greatest pathos; and at that part where Joseph falls on Benjamin's neck and wept, he burst out, while tears trembled in his eyes, "How finely that is expressed, there are beautiful things in that book! It's an exquisite book!" He had a perfect reliance on a future state of existence. "If I had not hope in this," he said, "I should hang myself, for I have lived and still live for nothing. I am certain I shall exist hereafter, for I feel that I have had powers given to me by the Deity, which time has not allowed me to exert or even to develope. I am capable of doing ten times more than I have done." This prevailing impression broke forth on many occasions. He had accompanied Sir Thomas Lawrence to see a collection of fine casts from the antique, which had recently been formed by Jens Wolff, Esq. then Consul to his Danish Majesty, and which were arranged in a gallery built for the purpose by Mr. Smirke, at Sherwood Lodge, Battersea. In a niche, at the end of the gallery, was placed the colossal statue of the Farnese Hercules, and by a novel arrangement of the lamps (the rest of the gallery being in total darkness), a very powerful effect was given to the statue, which had been turned with its back to the spectator, and thus presented a vast mass of shadow, defined only by its grand outline and the strength of the light beyond it; the source of which was concealed by the pedestal. Its appearance being singularly striking, in the course of the evening, Mr. Fuseli was taken down to see it. Sir Thomas Lawrence attended him, and for a few moments was disappointed by the silence of his friend; but on a servant bringing a light into the entrance-room, he perceived Fuseli excited even to tears, as he exclaimed with deep tremulous energy, "No man shall persuade me, that these emotions which I now feel are not immortal."