enerally only on the
matter of eternal punishment, which he did not believe was consistent
with infinite love or infinite justice. Perhaps it would have been wiser
if he had not written "Cain" at all, considering how many readers there
are without brains, and how large was the class predisposed to judge him
harshly in everything. No doubt he was irreligious and sceptical, but it
does not follow from this that he was atheistical or blasphemous.

There is doubtless a misanthropic vein in all Byron's later poetry which
is not wholesome for many people to read,--especially in "Manfred," one
of the bitterest of his productions by reason of sorrows and
disappointments and misrepresentations. It was Byron's misfortune to
appear worse than he really was, owing to his unconcealed contempt for
the opinions of mankind. Yet he could not complain that he reaped what
he had not sown. Some of his biographers thought him to be at this time
even morbidly desirous of a bad reputation,--going so far as to write
paragraphs against himself in foreign journals, and being filled with
glee at the joke, when they were republished in English newspapers. He
despised and defied all conventionalities, and conventional England
dropped him from her list of favorites.

The life of Byron, strange to say, was less exposed to scandal after he
made the acquaintance of the countess who enslaved him, and who was also
enslaved in turn. His heart now opened to many noble sentiments. He
returned, in a degree, to society, and gave dinners and suppers. He
associated with many distinguished patriots and men of genius. He had a
strong sympathy with the Italians in their struggle for freedom. One
quarter of his income he devoted to charities. He was regular in his
athletic exercises, and could swim four hours at a time; he was always
proud of swimming across the Hellespont. He was devoted to his natural
daughter, and educated her in a Catholic school. He studied more
severely all works of art, though his admiration for art was never so
great as it was for Nature. The glories and wonders of Nature inspired
him with perpetual joys. There is nothing finer in all his poetry than
the following stanza:--

"Ye stars! which are the poetry of Heaven,
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires,--'t is to be forgiven
That in our aspirations to be great
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred