who, after all, seem as likely to be damned as ever. As to Miracles, I agree with Hume that it is more probable men should lie or be deceived, than that things out of the course of nature should so happen. Mahomet wrought miracles, Brothers the prophet had proselytes, and so would Breslau, the conjurer, had he lived in the time of Tiberius.

Besides, I trust that God is not a Jew, but the God of all mankind; and, as you allow that a virtuous Gentile may be saved, you do away the necessity of being a Jew or a Christian.

I do not believe in any revealed religion, because no religion is revealed; and if it pleases the Church to damn me for not allowing a nonentity, I throw myself on the mercy of the Great First Cause, least understood, who must do what is most proper; though I conceive He never made anything to be tortured in another life, whatever it may in this. I will neither read pro nor con. God would have made His will known without books, considering how very few could read them when Jesus of Nazareth lived, had it been His pleasure to ratify any peculiar mode of worship. As to your immortality, if people are to live, why die? And our carcasses, which are to rise again, are they worth raising? I hope, if mine is, that I shall ' have a better pair of legs than I have moved on these two-and-twenty years, or I shall be sadly behind in the squeeze into Paradise. Did you ever read Malthus on Population? If he be right, war and pestilence are our best friends, to save us from being eaten alive, in this 'best of all possible worlds.'

I will write, read, and think no more; indeed, I

do not wish to shock your prejudices by saying all I do think. Let us make the most of life, and leave dreams to Emanuel Swedenborg.

Now to dreams of another genus-poesies. I like your song much; but I will say no more, for fear you should think I wanted to coax you into approbation of my past, present, or future acrostics. I shall not be at Cambridge before the middle of October; but, when I go, I should certes like to see you there before you are dubbed a deacon. Write to me, and I will rejoin. Yours ever, BYRON.

TO MR. MURRAY

Newstead Abbey, Notts, Sept. 14, 1811.

Sir, Since your former letter, Mr. Dallas informs xcix me that the Ms. has been submitted to the perusal of Mr. Gifford, most contrary to my wishes, as Mr. D. could have explained, and as my own letter to you did, in fact, explain, with my motives for objecting to such a proceeding. Some late domestic events, of which you are probably aware, prevented my letter from being sent before; indeed, I hardly conceived you would have so hastily thrust my productions into the hands of a stranger, who could be as little pleased by receiving them as their author is at their being offered, in such a manner, and to such a man.

My address, when I leave Newstead, will be to 'Rochdale, Lancashire'; but I have not yet fixed the day of departure, and I will apprise you when ready to set off.

You have placed me in a very ridiculous situation, but it is past, and nothing more is to be said on the

subject. You hinted to me that you wished some alterations to be made; if they have nothing to do with politics or religion, I will make them with great readiness.-I am, Sir, etc. etc.

TO MR. DALLAS

Newstead Abbey, Sept. 15, 1811. C My dear Sir,-My agent will not be here for at least a week, and even afterwards my letters will be forwarded to Rochdale. I am sorry that Murray should groan on my account, tho' that is better than the anticipation of applause, of which men and books are generally disappointed.

The notes I sent are merely matter to be divided, arranged, and published for notes hereafter, in proper places; at present I am too much occupied with earthly cares, to waste time or trouble upon rhyme or its modern indispensables, annotations.

Pray let me hear from you, when at leisure. I have written to abuse Murray for showing the Ms. to Mr. G., who must certainly think it was done by my wish, though you know the contrary.-Believe me, yours ever,

TO MR. MURRAY

B

ci

Newstead Abbey, Sept. 16, 1811.

I return the proof, which I should wish to be shown to Mr. Dallas, who understands typographical arrangements much better than I can pretend to do. The printer may place the notes in his own way, or any way, so that they are out of my way; I care nothing about types or margins.

If you have any communication to make, I shall be here at least a week or ten days longer.-I am, Sir, etc. etc.

TO MR. DALLAS

Newstead Abbey, Sept. 16, 1811.

Dear Sir, I send you a motto

L'univers est une espèce de livre, dont on n'a lu que la première page quand on n'a vu que son pays. J'en ai feuilleté un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouvé également mauvaises. Cet examen ne m'a point été infructueux. Je haïssais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai vécu, m'ont réconcilié avec elle. Quand je n'aurais tiré d'autre bénéfice de mes voyages que celui-là, je n'en regretterais ni les frais, ni les fatigues. LE COSMOPOLITE.

If not too long, I think it will suit the book. The passage is from a little French volume, a great favourite with me, which I picked up in the Archipelago. I don't think it is well known in England; Monbron is the author; but it is a work sixty years old.

Good morning! I won't take up your time.— Yours ever,

TO MR. DALLAS

BYRON.

cii

I can easily excuse your not writing, as you have, ciii I hope, something better to do, and you must pardon my frequent invasions on your attention, because I have at this moment nothing to interpose between you and my epistles.

I cannot settle to anything, and my days pass, with the exception of bodily exercise to some extent, with

uniform indolence, and idle insipidity. I have been expecting, and still expect, my agent, when I shall have enough to occupy my reflections in business of no very pleasant aspect. Before my journey to Rochdale, you shall have due notice where to address me-I believe at the post-office of that township. From Murray I received a second proof of the same pages, which I requested him to show you, that anything which may have escaped my observation may be detected before the printer lays the corner-stone of an errata column.

I am now not quite alone, having an old acquaintance and school-fellow with me, so old, indeed, that we have nothing new to say on any subject, and yawn at each other in a sort of quiet inquietude. I hear nothing from Cawthorn, or Captain Hobhouse; and their quarto-Lord have mercy on mankind! We come on like Cerberus with our triple publications. As for myself, by myself, I must be satisfied with a comparison to Janus.

I am not at all pleased with Murray for showing the MS.; and I am certain Gifford must see it in the same light that I do. His praise is nothing to the purpose: what could he say? He could not spit in the face of one who had praised him in every possible way. I must own that I wish to have the impression removed from his mind that I had any concern in such a paltry transaction. The more I think, the more it disquiets me; so I will say no more about it. It is bad enough to be a scribbler, without having recourse to such shifts to extort praise, or deprecate censure. It is anticipating, it is begging,