on its robes of mortality had been like casting a thick veil of darkness over its bright pure vision, and immersing itself in the waters of oblivion.

With such notions, intensely excited, it could not but be matter of surprise and mystery how the soul could so soon forget all its acquirements. Was all knowledge obliterated at the moment of birth, or did it gradually fade from the tablet of memory as the child grew to consciousness of its new existence?

Was the soft spiritual smile that will sometimes play on the face of an innocent and unconscious child the result of dreaming? If so, what did it dream of ?-surely, not of earth. What then?

Such a train of thought was by no means difficult for Shelley's mind, and his poetical fancy might soon suggest an answer.

How far these speculations rendered him oblivious of facts as they appear in this world of realities we may best judge from an anecdote by Hogg, which is best told in his own words. He says-" One Sunday "One Sunday we had been reading Plato together so diligently, that the usual hour of exercise passed away unperceived.

"We sallied forth hastily, to take the air for half an hour before dinner. In the middle of Magdalen Bridge we met a woman with a child in her arms.

Shelley was more attentive at that instant to our conduct in a life that was passed or to come than to a decorous regulation of the present, according to the established usages of society-in that fleeting moment of eternal duration styled the nineteenth century. With abrupt dexterity he caught hold of the child.

"The mother, who might well fear that it was about to be thrown over the parapet of the bridge into the sedgy waters below, held it fast by its long train. 'Will your baby tell us anything about pre-existence, madam?' he asked, in a piercing voice, and with a wistful look.

"The mother made no answer, but perceiving that Shelley's object was not murderous, but altogether harmless, she dismissed her apprehension, and relaxed her hold.

"Will your baby tell us anything about preexistence, madam?' he repeated, with unabated earnestness.

"He cannot speak, sir,' said the mother, seriously.

"Worse and worse,' cried Shelley, with an air of deep disappointment, shaking his long hair most pathetically, about his young face; 'but surely the babe can speak if he will, for he is only a few weeks old. He may fancy, perhaps, that he cannot, but it is only a silly whim; he cannot have forgotten entirely the use of speech in so short a time, the thing is absolutely impossible.'

"It is not for me to dispute with you, gentlemen,' the woman meekly replied, but I can safely declare that I never heard him speak, nor, indeed, any child of his age!'

"It was a fine placid boy; so, far from being disturbed by the interruption, he looked up and smiled. Shelley pressed his fat cheeks with his fingers, commended his healthy appearance and equanimity, and the mother was permitted to proceed, probably to her satisfaction, for she would, doubtless, prefer a less speculative nurse. Shelley sighed deeply, as he walked on. 'How provokingly close are these new-born babes!' he ejaculated; but it is not the less

certain, notwithstanding their cunning attempt to conceal the truth, that all knowledge is reminiscence; the doctrine is far more ancient than Plato, and as old as the venerable allegory, that the Muses are the daughters of Memory, and not one of the nine was ever said to be the child of invention.""

CHAPTER XIX.

Shelley's Theology-Sectarianism-Its natural consequences-Necessity of toleration-Shelley an expounder of Scripture-And teacher of ChristianityHis definition of Prophecy-Of miracles-Of divine inspiration-His ideas concerning Christ.

AMONG all Shelley's early speculations in ethics, physics, and metaphysics, we may very well be curious to know what were his peculiar opinions on the subject of theology, more especially since the gentle spirit of humility and forbearance displayed by his Christian contemporaries, could only find vent in invective and vituperation of the most damning character, in making him out, as he says himself, "a strange prodigy of pollution and wickedness."