intuition within man. As a boy he passed through a period of religious ecstacy; yet in his youth when he was in the depths of Byronic gloom, he prefaced his play of "Antony," as we have seen, with what was intended to be a very wicked invocation to the Spirit of Evil, in which he declared he would give up to it his life, and his soul too,—"if he believed in it!" Twenty-four years later, he wrote to Victor Hugo, "I believe in the immortality of the soul." In the verses which he composed on his mother's death, he shows a passionate piety. All these conflicting sentiments were uttered with perfect sincerity—they were really felt at the time they were expressed. But his true confession of faith, the conclusions of his maturer years, is given in the "Mémoires." Here, after protesting "a great respect for holy things, a great faith in Providence and a great love for God," he continues:
"Never in the course of a somewhat long life have I felt, in the most wretched hours of that life, one moment of doubt, one instant's despair. I will not dare to say that I am sure of the immortality of my soul; I will simply say, I hope for it."
At a certain dinner-party given by an opulent banker, the company discussed the existence of God, "over the walnuts and wine," and a certain
