set in, at a time when he was dispirited at seeing that his efforts were unavailing, to inspire a feeling of harmony among the wrangling leaders of Greece. His danger was seen by his physician, and bleeding was advised; but Byron obstinately refused to allow it. His mind at last wandered. His last words had reference to his wife, his child, and his sister. He was evidently aware of his approaching death. He ordered his servant to bring him pen, ink and paper, and appeared to suffer great agony that he could not collect his mind for the purpose of communicating his last wishes and directions. In a state of partial delirium, he threatened Fletcher, his servant, with torment in a future world, if he did not take down his instructions accurately. His words now became unintelligible, and what he intended to communicate is left to conjecture. He fell into a state of lethargy, and died twenty-four hours after, on the 19th April, 1824, aged thirty-six years. His death produced a great sensation throughout the civilized world. This arose not from his literary reputation only; his position in Greece, aiding the cause of an oppressed people in a struggle for liberty, contributed to heighten the interest which was felt in the event. The authorities of Missolonghi honored his memory with a public funeral: the grief of those who had been his familiar friends, including his servants, knew no bounds. The press throughout Europe paid a united tribute to his memory, in which all but his talents was forgotten. Sir Walter Scott, in a splendid eulogy, penned immediately after hearing of his death, compared his departure to the "with drawal of the sun from the heavens, at the moment when every telescope throughout the world was levelled to discover either its brightness or its spots." In person, Lord Byron was of middling stature; his head was so remarkably small that not one man in ten could wear his hat. It was, however, finely formed, with a lofty forehead. His lips were large and full, his eye deep, his hair thin, brown and curling. When excited, his countenance bore a remarkable expression of soft, yet melancholy sentiment. Though crippled in one of his feet, the defect was scarcely observed in his gait, and it did not prevent his being a vigorous swimmer. When in Greece, he swam across the Hellespont, from Sestos to Abydos, a distance of four miles. He has celebrated the feat in some indifferent lines, in which he alludes to the crossing of the same water by Leander, to meet the maiden Hero. He closes in the following verse "'Tis hard to say who fared the best, Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you— He lost his labor, I my jest, For he was drowned, and I've the ague." He was abstemious in eating, often making his dinner of biscuit and water. He was vain of his skill in boxing and pistol shooting, and more pron of his descent than his talents. While writhing under the reprobation which his vices called down upon his head, he affected to despise the world. While he professed to be a sceptic and lived as if there were no God, he yielded to superstitious impressions. Having all the means of happiness, he was still wretched; with powers to do infinite good, it is certain that if, on the whole, his existence prove not a curse to mankind, it will arise from no good intentions of his own. His talents were indeed great, but his moral character was detestable. Though he had generous impulses, they flowed from no principle, and were rooted in no virtue. We never see him rising above his instincts; to these he yields himself, be they good or ill. No deed of his life displays him as acting in obedience to a higher law than his own bosom furnishes, or as guided by that motive which constitutes the essence of virtue, a love to God. Byron had doubtless a capacity for friendship, and appears to have taken much satisfaction in sustaining the intimacies begun in early life. He had little intercourse with his sister Augusta, from whom indeed he was separated even in childhood. He seemed attached to his mother, and while abroad, wrote her long and frequent letters. He however attributed his wayward temper, and much of his misery in life, to her treatment of him in childhood. She died while he was in Italy, but the event made but little impression upon him. Byron, as we have intimated, was essentially an unhappy man. The details of his life, as given by his kind and favoring biographer, Moore, constitute one of the darkest and most painful pictures in the sad annals of suffering genius. His very triumphs were converted into fruitful sources of misery. His history affords abundant lessons upon the evils which result from a neglected education; the dangers which attend the path of success; the unsatisfactory nature of unlawful enjoyments; the depth to which exalted and godlike genius may be plunged by vice and self abandonment. There is enough in his story to reconcile us all to a humble lot in life, and to a sincere utterance of Agur's prayer, "Give me neither poverty nor riches;" applying it as well to intellectual as pecuniary wealth. As a poet, Byron claims the highest place among the moderns. No one has ever surpassed some of his pictures of human passion, or his delineations of nature. Those of his works which are free from impurity are the Hebrew Melodies, the Prisoners of Chillon, and the Lament of Tasso. Most of his other productions require to be read with caution, and many of them are totally unfit for perusal. They are nearly all linked with the image of the author, and often charm us by an interest, at once powerful and irresistible. This characteristic is set forth in a poem which depicts him as standing upon the borders of the Styx, and about to depart for the regions of departed spirits, in Charon's boat-and speaking in the following terms: But though my form must fade from view, And he who yet, in after years, Or raptured see blue Leman shine He shall not-cannot, go alone- A serpent round his bosom steal, |