far ampler work by his doctrine
of immanence, which is perilously near Pantheism. Understood, however,
in the spirit of "liberal theology," it will not only finally govern,
but also "bring about at last the complete reconcilement of science and
religion." But we must remind Mr. Brooke that this is sheer prophecy.
It is simple enough to utter the counter prophecy that Wordsworth's
doctrine will do nothing of the kind.

It is in relation to Byron and Shelley that Mr. Brooke really comes to
the point of his essay. Wordsworth and Coleridge turned their backs
upon the Revolution. They were disenchanted. They failed to see that the
throes of birth were not the end of the progressive process. One sought
refuge in Toryism, modified by benevolence; the other in metaphysical
moonshine and esoteric theology. Byron, on the other hand, while not
in the least constructive, or enamored of the more advanced ideas in
religion, politics, and sociology, was filled with a bitter hatred
and satiric contempt for the old order of things, with its lies,
hypocrisies, and oppressions. He embodied what Mr. Brooke calls "the
destroying element of the Revolution," which in him was "directed by
great mental force and a reckless daring." Among other things, he
struck at "the ancient, accredited doctrines of theology, and he struck
savagely." Mr. Brooke is of opinion that the poet "brought free inquiry
on theology to the surface of society." But we think the critic is
mistaken. Free inquiry on theology had been going on in England for more
than a century, and it culminated, on the popular side, in Paine's _Age
of Reason_. How far Byron aided the movement is easy of estimation. To
tell the truth, he hinted disbelief, and scattered doubt over his
pages; but he did no more, he never faced any question manfully; on the
problems of religion his mind was chaotic to the very end. It is this
phenomena which leads Mr. Brooke to infer that Byron believed in the
arbitrary, vengeful God whom he depicted in Cain. "He believes," Mr.
Brooke says, "hates what he believes, stamps with fury on his belief,
and yet clings to it." Such a conclusion, however, is one we cannot
accept. Byron did _not_ believe; his prose, and his letters, prove that
conclusively. But he had not the courage to disbelieve and to proclaim
his disbelief boldly like Shelley, who had a hundred times more real
courage than his attitudinising friend, _Manfred_ is terrible posing;
Mr. Meredith calls