Lord Byron had but loose feelings in religion—scarcely any.  His sensibility and a slight constitutional leaning towards superstition and omens showed that the sense of devotion was, however, alive and awake within him; but with him religion was a sentiment, and the convictions of the understanding had nothing whatever to do with his creed.  That he was deeply imbued with the essence of natural piety; that he often felt the power and being of a God thrilling in all his frame, and glowing in his bosom, I declare my thorough persuasion; and that he believed in some of the tenets and in the philosophy of Christianity, as they influence the spirit and conduct of men, I am as little disposed to doubt; especially if those portions of his works which only trend towards the subject, and which bear the impression of fervour and earnestness, may be admitted as evidence.  But he was not a member of any particular church, and, without a reconstruction of his mind and temperament, I venture to say, he could not have become such; not in consequence, as too many have represented, of any predilection, either of feeling or principle, against Christianity, but entirely owing to an organic peculiarity of mind.  He reasoned on every topic by instinct, rather than by induction or any process of logic; and could never be so convinced of the truth or falsehood of an abstract proposition, as to feel it affect the current of his actions.  He may have assented to arguments, without being sensible of their truth; merely because they were not objectionable to his feelings at the time.  And, in the same manner, he may have disputed even fair inferences, from admitted premises, if the state of his feelings happened to be indisposed to the subject.  I am persuaded, nevertheless, that to class him among absolute infidels were to do injustice to his memory, and that he has suffered uncharitably in the opinion of “the rigidly righteous,” who, because he had not attached himself to any particular sect or congregation, assumed that he was an adversary to religion.  To claim for him any credit, as a pious man, would be absurd; but to suppose he had not as deep an interest as other men “in his soul’s health” and welfare, was to impute to him a nature which cannot exist.  Being, altogether, a creature of impulses, he certainly could not be ever employed in doxologies, or engaged in the logomachy of churchmen; but he had the sentiment which at a tamer age might have made him more ecclesiastical.  There was as much truth as joke in the expression, when he wrote,

I am myself a moderate Presbyterian.