Part 4

The monk on seeing him reminded him of the words of the last conversation they had had together--"_You cannot convince me, I am still an Atheist_." Instead of replying, Byron requested the Father to permit him to inhabit a cell, and relieve him from the ennui which poisoned his life. "While uttering these words," said Father Paul, "he pressed my hands, and called me his father; the locks of his hair, dripping with perspiration, covered his forehead; his face was pale, his lips trembled: dared I to ask him the cause of his melancholy?"--"My father, all _your_ days are like each other; as for _me_, I shall always be a traveller."--"Have you no country? If the feeling of absence causes your sorrow, depart; my prayers and good wishes will accompany you to England."--"Speak not to me of England; I would rather be dragged in chains on the sands of Libya, than revisit places imprinted with the curse which I have given them. The injustice of men has made England odious to me; it has separated us for ever; after the death of man, however, if it be true that the soul survives, I should be delighted to inhabit it, as a pure spirit. This mystery is only known to God."--"Well, if you have renounced your country, take care to give your mind occupation, without too great exertion of your fancy. Is it the fault of the Creator if men are misled by false doctrines? God never predestined their perfect knowledge. Think you that peace of mind, and health of body can be the lot of him, whose life is perpetually in contradiction to that of other men? His reason is perverted who doubts the infinite power of God, and the man inscribed on the list of Atheists must be necessarily unhappy."--"Atheist! Atheist! This is then the end of your consolation to me! It is thus that you call your son! Minister of that God who reads the hearts of men, learn, my reverend father, that it is beyond your power to discover an Atheist, even if his own mouth made you the hypocritical confession. An Atheist it is impossible to find--to admit his existence is to outrage the Sovereign of the World, who, in perfecting his noblest work, did not forget to engrave there the name of its immortal Author. Passions may arouse doubts; but when the Atheist questions himself, the evidence of a God confounds his incredulity, and the truth of the sentiment which fills his thoughts absolves him of the crime of Atheism. It is easy for you, my father, never to murmur against the Author of your being; you, who, in the gentle quiet of a life exempt from storms; have acquired the conviction that the sun of your old age will illumine the same scenes as did that of your youth. As for me--thrown on the earth like a disinherited child, born to feel happiness, and never finding it--I wander from climate to climate, with the sentiment of my everlasting misery. Since reason has unfolded to me the feeling of my wretchedness, nothing has yet tempered the bitterness of my distress. Fed with the hate of men--betrayed by those whose kindness I compared to that of angels--attacked by an incurable disease, which has swept away my ancestors--tell me, man of truth, if murmurs excited by despair can characterize an Atheist, and bring upon him the anger of Heaven. Oh! unhappy Byron!! if after so many mortal trials thy last hope of salvation is taken from thee--well!!"--Here the voice of my lord faltered.

His gloomy silence lasted nearly a quarter of an hour. All on a sudden he rose from his chair with eagerness, and walked round the room, stopping before the holy pictures which adorned it. A moment after he came to me, and said, "Do you remember that you promised a month ago to give me certain things which you possess?"--"I possess very little, and that little has nothing which can tempt you: however, speak!"--"I remember the words of your answer, and you can no longer refuse me anything." Then he advanced towards a corner of my room, and taking down a beautiful crucifix which I had brought from Rome, he placed it in my hands. I offered it to Byron, saying, "_This is the consoler of the unhappy_." He seized it with transport, and kissing it several times, he added, with eyes bathed in tears, "My hands shall not long profane it, and my mother will soon be the guardian of your precious relic!"

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To griefs congenial prone, More wounds than nature gave he knew, While misery's form his fancy drew In dark ideal hues, and horrors not its own.

_Goethe--Foreign Review_.

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THE GATHERER.

A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.

SHAKSPEARE

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ON LORD GROSVENOR'S ANNUAL INCOME.

Our journals, which tell us of ev'ry one's matters, From the king on the throne, to the pauper in tatters; Say his lordship possesses, if rightly I scan 'em, Two hundred and seventy-two thousands per annum. On this statement I've latterly ventur'd to ponder, And deduc'd calculations, with diff'rence as under: I suppos'd was his income five thousand a week, (Of the surplus remaining I shall not now speak[2]) By close computation I found it came near To seven hundred and twenty, for each day's arrear. Intent on the subject reducing it lower I found thirty pounds was the draught for each hour. Pursuing my theme, for amusement was in it, There were ten shillings sterling for each fleeting minute, And for ev'ry pulsation of time, called a second, "According to Cocker," two-pence must be reckon'd.

PERCY HENDON.

[2] There remains the sum of £12,000 which I have not treated on in order to avoid fractional parts.

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In the churchyard of Carisbrook is the following epitaph on a loving couple:--

Of life he had the better slice, They lived at once, and died at twice.

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Frost is the greatest artist in our clime; He paints in nature, and describes in rime.

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NOTICE FROM THE PUBLISHER.

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Complete sets Vol I. to XI. in boards, price £2. 19s. 6d. half bound, £3. 17s.

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