It may be thought that in our casual comments on Shelley's life we have
been blind to its evil side. That, however, is not the case. We see
clearly that he committed grave sins, and one cruel crime; but we
remember also that he was an Atheist from his boyhood; we reflect how
gross must have been the moral neglect in the training of a child who
_could_ be an Atheist from his boyhood: and we decline to judge so
unhappy a being by the rules which we should apply to a Catholic. It
seems to us that Shelley was struggling--blindly, weakly, stumblingly,
but still struggling--towards higher things. His Pantheism is an
indication of it. Pantheism is a half-way house, and marks ascent or
descent according to the direction from which it is approached. Now
Shelley came to it from absolute Atheism; therefore in his case it meant
rise. Again, his poetry alone would lead us to the same conclusion, for
we do not believe that a truly corrupted spirit can write consistently
ethereal poetry. We should believe in nothing, if we believed that, for
it would be the consecration of a lie. Poetry is a thermometer: by
taking its average height you can estimate the normal temperature of its
writer's mind. The devil can do many things. But the devil cannot write
poetry. He may mar a poet, but he cannot make a poet. Among all the
temptations wherewith he tempted St. Anthony, though we have often seen
it stated that he howled, we have never seen it stated that he sang.

Shelley's anarchic principles were as a rule held by him with some
misdirected view to truth. He disbelieved in kings. And is it not a
mere fact--regret it if you will--that in all European countries, except
two, monarchs are a mere survival, the obsolete buttons on the coat-tails
of rule, which serve no purpose but to be continually coming off? It is
a miserable thing to note how every little Balkan State, having obtained
liberty (save the mark!) by Act of Congress, straightway proceeds to