of what he deemed his
necessary belief; and remained throughout life a stanch supporter of
those opinions, but he never ceased to evince a tendency to steer clear
of intolerance, which according to him only brought one back to total
unbelief.

Let us not omit to add that, as he grew older, he saw better the
arrogant weakness of those who screen themselves under the cover of
science, and recognized more clearly each day the hand of the Creator in
the works of nature.

"Did Lord Byron pray?" is another objection which will be made.

We have already seen what he thought of prayer; we have shown that his
poems often took the form of a prayer, and we have read with admiration
various passages containing some most sublime lines which completely
answer those who accused him of want of religion, while they exhibit the
expansion of his soul toward God.

We also know with what feelings of respect he approached places devoted
to a religious life, and what charms he found in the ceremonies of the
Church. All this is proof enough, it would seem; but, in any case, we
must add that if his prayers were not those advised by Kennedy, they
were at least the prayers of a great soul which soars upward to bow
before its Creator. "Outward ceremonies," says Fenelon, "are only tokens
of that essential point, the religion of the soul, and Byron's prayer
was rather a thanksgiving than a request."--"In the eyes of God," says
some one, "a good action is worth more than a prayer."

Such was his mode of communing with God even in his early youth, but
especially in his last moments, which were so sublime. Can one doubt,
that at that solemn moment his greatest desire was to be allowed to
live? He had still to reap all the fruits of his sacrifices. His harvest
was only just beginning to ripen. By dint of heroism, he was at last
becoming known. He was young, scarcely thirty-six years of age,
handsome, rich. Rank and genius were his. He was beloved by many,
notwithstanding a host of jealous rivals; and yet, on the point of
losing all these advantages, what was his prayer? Was it egotistical or
presumptuous? was it to solicit a miracle in his favor? No, his last
words were those of noble resignation. "Let Thy holy will, my God, be
done, and not mine!" and then absorbed, as it were, in the infinity of
God's goodness, and, confiding entirely in God's mercy, he begged that
he might be left alone to sleep quietly and peacefully into eternity. On
the very