what a strange thing it would be!"—and so, in fact, it happened. At the end of July, her illness took a new and fatal turn, and so sadly characteristic was the close of the poor lady's life, that a fit of rage, brought on, it is said, by reading over the upholsterer's bills, was the ultimate cause of her death. Lord Byron had, of course, prompt intelligence of the attack; but, though he started instantly from town, he was too late-she had breathed her last. The manuscripts of both his poems having been shown, much against his own will, to Mr. Gifford, the opinion of that gentleman was thus reported to him by Mr. Dallas :-"Of your Satire he spoke highly; but this poem ( Childe Harold) he pronounces not only the best you have written, but equal to any of the present age." At the same time with Childe Harold, he had three other works in the press-his "Hints from Horace," the "Curse of Minerva,” and a fifth edition of " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." fessed himself ready to afford all the information and advice in his power. It was within two days after his speech in the House of Lords, that Childe Harold appeared-and the impression it produced upon the public was as instantaneous as it has proved deep and lasting. The permanence of such success genius alone could secure, but to its instant and enthusiastic burst, other causes, besides the merit of the work, concurred. There are those who trace, in the peculiar character of Lord Byron's genius, strong features of relationship to the times in which he lived; who think that the great events which marked the close of the last century, by giving a new impulse to men's minds, by habituating them to the daring and the free, and allowing full vent to "the flash and outbreak of fiery spirits," had led naturally to the production of such a poet as Byron; and that he was, in short, as much the child and representative of the Revolution, in poesy, as another great man of the age, Napoleon, was in statesmanship and warfare. Without going the full length of this notion, it will at least be conceded, that the free loose which had been given to all the passions and energies of the human mind, in the great struggle of that period, together with the constant spectacle of such astounding vicissitudes as were passing almost daily on the theatre of the world, had created in all minds, and in every walk of intellect, a taste for strong excitement, which the stimulants supplied from ordinary sources were insufficient to gratify ;—that In the month of January, the whole of the Two Cantos being printed off, some of the poet's friends, and, among others, Mr. Rogers and myself, were so far favoured as to be indulged with a perusal of the sheets. In adverting to this period in his "Memoranda," Lord Byron, I remember, mentioned, -as one of the ill omens which preceded the publication of the Poem,—that some of the literary friends to whom it was shown expressed doubts of its success, and that one among them had told him "it was too good for the age." Whoever may have pronounced this opinion,—and I have some suspicion that lam, myself, the guilty person,—the age has, ita tame deference to established authorities had must be owned, most triumphantly refuted the calumny upon its taste which the remark implied. On the 27th February, 1812, he made the first trial of his eloquence in the House of Lords; and it was on this occasion he had the good fortune to become acquainted with Lord Holland- an ac-audience toned in sympathy with his strains. quaintance no less honourable than gratifying to both, as having originated in feelings the most generous, perhaps, of our nature, a ready forgiveness of injuries on the one side, and a frank and unqualified : atonement for them on the other. The subject of debate was the Nottingham Frame-breaking Bill; and Lord Byron having mentioned to Mr. Rogers his intention to take a part in the discussion, a communication was, by the intervention of that gentleman, opened between the noble poet and Lord Holland, who, with his usual courtesy, pro fallen into disrepute, no less in literature than in politics; and that the poet who should breathe into his songs the fierce and passionate spirit of the age, and assert, untrammelled and unawed, the high dominion of genius, would be the most sure of an It is true that, to the license on religious subjects, which revelled through the first acts of that tremendous drama, a disposition of an opposite tendency had, for some time, succeeded. Against the wit of the scoffer, not only piety but a better taste revolted; and had Lord Byron, in touching on such themes in Childe Harold, adopted a tone of levity or derision (such as, unluckily, he sometimes afterwards descended to), not all the originality and beauty of his work would have secured for it a prompt or uncontested triumph. As it was, however, the few dashes of scepticism with which he darkened his strain, far from checking his popularity, were among those attractions which, as I have said, independent of all the charms of the poetry, accelerated and heightened its success. The religious feeling that has sprung up through Europe since the French Revolution-like the politicals principles that have emerged out of the same event-in rejecting all the licentiousness of that period, have preserved much of its spirit of freedom and inquiry; and among the best fruits of this enlarged and enlightened piety, is the liberty which it disposes men to accord to the opinions, and even heresies, of others. To persons thus sincerely, and at the same time tolerantly, devout, the spectacle of a great mind, like that of Byron, labouring in the eclipse of scepticism, could not be otherwise than an object of deep and solemn interest. If they had already known what it was to doubt themselves, they would enter into his fate with mournful sympathy; while, if safe in the tranquil haven of faith, they would look with pity on one who was still a wanderer. Besides, erring and dark as might be his views at that moment, there were circumstances in his character and fate that gave a hope of better thoughts yet dawning upon him. From his temperament and youth, there could be little fear that he was yet hardened in his heresies, and as, for a heart wounded like his, there was, they knew, but one true source of consolation, so it was hoped that the love of truth, so apparent in all he wrote, would one day enable him to find it. Another and not the least of those causes which concurred with the intrinsic claims of his genius to give an impulse to the tide of success that now flowed upon him, was, unquestionably, the peculiarity of his personal history and character. There had been, in his very first introduction of himself to the public, a sufficient portion of singularity to excite strong attention and interest. While all other youths of talent, in his high station, are heralded into life by the applauses and anticipations of a host of friends, young Byron stood forth alone, unannounced by either praise or promise, the representative of an ancient house, whose name, long lost in the gloomy solitudes of Newstead, (1) Little knew she, that seeming marble heart, *Now mask'd in silence, or withheld by pride, Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art, And spread its snares licentious far and wide. Childe Harold, Canto II. seemed to have just awakened from the sleep of half a century in his person. The circumstances that in succession followed,-the prompt vigour of his reprisals upon the assailants of his fame,—his disappearance after this achievement from the scene of his triumph, without deigning even to wait for the laurels which he had earned, and his departure on a far pilgrimage, whose limits he left to chance and fancy,—all these successive incidents had thrown an air of adventure round the character of the young poet, which prepared his readers to meet half way the impressions of his genius. Instead of finding him, on a nearer view, fall short of their imaginations, the new features of his disposition now disclosed to them far outwent, in peculiarity and interest, whatever they might have preconceived; while the curiosity and sympathy awakened by what he suffered to transpire of his history were still more heightened by the mystery of his allusions to much that yet remained untold. The late losses by death which he had sustained, and mourned, it was manifest, so deeply, gave a reality to the notion formed of him by his admirers which seemed to authorise them in imagining still more; and what has been said of the poet Young, that he found out the art of “making the public a party to his private sorrows," may be, with infinitely more force and truth, applied to Lord Byron. On that circle of society with whom he came immediately in contact, these personal influences acted with increased force, from being assisted by others, which, to female imaginations especially, would have presented a sufficiency of attraction, even without the great qualities joined with them. His youth,-the noble beauty of his countenance, and its constant play of lights and shadows,-the gentleness of his voice and manner to women, and his occasional haughtiness to men, the alleged singularities of his mode of life, which kept curiosity alive and inquisitive;-all these lesser traits and habitudes concurred towards the quick spread of his fame; nor can it be denied that, among many purer sources of interest in his Poem, the allusions which he makes to instances of "successful passion" in his career (1) were not without their influ We have here another instance of his propensity to self-misrepre entation. However great might have been the irregularities of his college life. such phrases as the "art of the spoiler" and "spreading snares" were in nowise applicable to them. ence on the fancies of that sex, whose weakness it open to receive him, but found himself, among its is to be most easily won by those who come recom-illustrious crowds, the most distinguished object. mended by the greatest number of triumphs over others. The copyright of the Poem, which was purchased by Mr. Murray for 6007., he presented, in the most delicate and unostentatious manner, to Mr. Dallas, saying, at the same time, that he " never would receive money for his writings;”—a resolution, the mixed result of generosity and pride, which he afterwards wisely abandoned. That his rank was also to be numbered among these extrinsic advantages, appears to have been his own persuasion. "I may place a great deal of it," said he to Mr. Dallas, “to my being a Lord." It might be supposed that it is only on a rank inferior to his own such a charm could operate; but this very speech is, in itself, a proof that in no class whatever is the advantage of being noble more felt and appreciated than among nobles themselves. It was also natural that, in that circle, the admiration of the new poet should be at least quickened by the consideration that he had sprung up among them-age, and continued a conversation, which so fasci selves, and that their order had, at length, produced a man of genius, by whom the arrears of contribution, long due from them to the treasury of English literature, would be at once fully and splendidly discharged. Among the tributes to his fame this spring (1812), it should have been mentioned that, at some evening party, he had the honour of being presented, at that royal personage's own desire, to the Prince Regent. "The Regent," says Mr. Dallas, pressed his admiration of Childe Harold's Pilgrim ex nated the poet, that, had it not been for an accidental deferring of the next levee, he bade fair to become a visitor at Carlton House, if not a complete courtier.” In the month of August this year, on the completion of the new Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, Lord Byron was prevailed upon to write an Address for the opening of the House. Early in the autumn of 1812, he had been urged, by his man of business, that Newstead must be sold. It was accordingly brought to the hammer at Garraway's, but not, at that time, sold, only 90,000l. being offered for it. The private sale took place soon after,-Mr. Claughton, the agent for Mr. Leigh, being the purchaser. It was never, however, completed. Early in the spring, 1813, he brought out, anonymously, his Poem on Waltzing, which, though full of very lively satire, fell so far short of what was now expected from him by the public, that the disavowal of it he thought right to put forth, found ready credence. Altogether, taking into consideration the various points I have here enumerated, it may be asserted, that never did there exist before, and, it is most probable, never will exist again, a combination of such vast mental power and surprising genius, with so many other of those advantages and attractions, by which the world is in general dazzled and captivated. The effect was accordingly electric;-his fame had not to wait for any of the ordinary gradations, but seemed to spring up, like the palace of a fairy tale, in a night. As he himself briefly described it in his Memoranda,—“ I awoke one morning and found myself famous." The first edition of his work was disposed of instantly; and, as the echoes of its reputation multiplied on all sides, "Childe Harold" and "Lord Byron" became the theme of every tongue. At his door, most of the leading names of the day presented themselves,-some of them persons whom he had much wronged in his Satire, but who now forgot their resentment in generous ad-Poem possessed that stimulating charm for him, miration. From morning till night, the most flattering testimonies of his success crowded his table, —from the grave tributes of the statesman and philosopher down to (what flattered him still more) the romantic billet of some incognita, or the pressing note of invitation from some fair leader of fashion ; and, in place of the desert which London had been to him but a few weeks before, he now, not only saw the whole splendid interior of High Life thrown In the month of May appeared his wild and beautiful "Fragment," The Giaour.-The story of the almost indispensable to his fancy, of being in some pened, to furnish him with his recollections on the subject; and the following is the answer which Lord Sligo returned. "Albany, Monday, August 31st, 1813. MY DEAR BYRON, "You have requested me to tell you all that I heard at Athens about the affair of that girl who was so near being put an end to while you were there; you have asked me to mention every circumstance, relating to it, which I heard. In compliance with your wishes, I write to you all I heard, and I cannot imagine it to be very far from the fact, as the circumstance happened only a day or two before I arrived at Athens, and consequently was a matter of common conversation at the time. "The new Governor, unaccustomed to have the same intercourse with the Christians as his predecessor, had of course the barbarous Turkish ideas with regard to women. In consequence, and in compliance with the strict letter of the Mahommedan law, he ordered this girl to be sewed up in a sack, and thrown into the sea,—as is, indeed, quite customary at Constantinople. As you were returning from bathing in the Piræus, you met the procession going down to execute the sentence of the Waywode on this unfortunate girl. Report continues to say, that, on finding out what the object of their journey was, and who was the miserable sufferer, you immediately interfered; and, on some delay in obeying your orders, you were obliged to inform the leader ofthe escort that force should make him comply; that, on further hesitation, you drew a pistol, and told him, that if he did not immediately obey your orders, and come back with you to the Aga's house, you would shoot him dead. On this, the man turned about and went with you to the Governor's house; here you succeeded, partly by personal threats, and partly by bribery and entreaty, to procure her pardon, on condition of her leaving Athens. I was told that you then conveyed her in safety to the convent, and dispatched her off at night to Thebes, where she found a safe asylum. Such is the story I heard, as nearly as I can recollect it at present. Should you wish to ask me any further questions about it, I shall be very ready and willing to answer them. "I remain, my dear Byron, "SLIGO." The mention which he makes of Sheridan, in one of his Journals, affords some particulars respecting this extraordinary man, for whose talents he entertained the most unbounded admiration, ―rating him, in natural powers, far above all his great political contemporaries. "In society I have met Sheridan frequently: he was superb! He had a sort of liking for me, and never attacked me, at least to my face, and he did every body else-high names, and wits, and orators, some of them poets also. I have seen him cut up Whitbread, quiz Madame de Staël, annihilate Colman, and do little less by some others (whose names, as friends, I set not down) of good fame and ability. "The last time I met him was, I think, at Sir Gilbert Elliot's, where he was as quick as everno, it was not the last time; the last time was at Douglas Kinnaird's. "I have met him in all places and parties—at Whitehall with the Melbournes, at the Marquis of Tavistock's, at Robins's (the auctioneer's), at Sir Humphfrey Davy's, at Sam Rogers's, -in short, in most kinds of company, and always found him very convivial and delightful. "I have seen Sheridan weep two or three times. may be that he was maudlin; but this only renders it more impressive,-for who could see unmoved— It From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow, Once I saw him cry at Robins's, after a splendid dinner, full of great names and high spirits. I had the honour of sitting next to Sheridan. The occasion of his tears was some observation or other upon the subject of the sturdiness of the Whigs in resisting office and keeping to their principles: Sheridan turned round:- Sir, it is easy for my Lord G., or Earl G., or Marquis B., or Lord H., with thousands upon thousands a-year, some of it either presently derived or inherited in sinecure or acquisitions from the public money, to boast of their patriotism, and keep aloof from temptation; but they do not know from what temptation those have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal passions, and nevertheless knew not, in the course of their lives, what it was to have a shilling of their own.' And, in saying this, he wept. "I have more than once heard him say, 'that he never had a shilling of his own.' To be sure, he contrived to extract a good many of other people's. "In 1815, I had occasion to visit my lawyer in Chancery-lane: he was with Sheridan. After mutual greetings, etc., Sheridan retired first. Before recurring to my own business, I could not help inquiring that of Sheridan. 'Oh,' replied the attorney, the usual thing! to stave off an action from his wine-merchant, my client.'- Well,' said I,' and what do you mean to do?—Nothing at all for the present,' said he would you have us proceed against Old Sherry? what 'Would be the use of it? And here he began laughing, and going over Sheridan's good gifts of conversation. "Now, from personal experience, I can vouch that my attorney is by no means the tenderest of men, or particularly accessible to any kind of impression out of the statute or record; and yet Sheridan, in half an hour, had found the way to soften and seduce him in such a manner, that I almost think he would have thrown his client (an honest man, with all the laws and some justice on his side) out of the window, had he come in at the moment. "Such was Sheridan! he could soften an attorney! There has been nothing like it since the days of Orpheus. "He told me, that, on the night of the grand success of his School for Scandal, he was knocked down and put into the watch-house for making a row in the street, and being found intoxicated by the watchmen. were permitted, there was an end of English freedom, and that- "But what was this dreadful grievance?" I asked, interrupting him in his eloquence." The grievance!" he repeated, pausing as if to consider-" Oh, that I forget. (1) It is impossible, of course, to convey an idea of the dramatic humour with which he gave effect to these words; but his look and manner on such occasions were irresistibly comic; and it was, indeed, rather in such turns of fun and oddity, than in any more elaborate exhibition of wit, that the pleasantry of his conversation consisted. Though it is evident that, after the brilliant success of Childe Harold, he had ceased to think of Parliament as an arena of ambition, yet, as a field for observation, we may take for granted it was not unstudied by him. To a mind of such quick and various views, every place and pursuit presented some aspect of interest; and whether in the ballroom, the boxing-school, or the senate, all must have been, by genius like his, turned to profit. At the beginning of December, the Bride of Abydos was published, having been struck off, like its predecessor, the Giaour, and subsequently the Corsair, Lara, and all the other beautiful fictions that followed, in one of those paroxysms of passion and imagination which adventures, such as the poet was now engaged in, were, in a temperament like his, calculated to excite. In the Journal he kept, there is a passage where, in speaking of his admiration of some lady, whose was under this conviction, which not only himself but some of his friends entertained, of the prudence of his taking timely refuge, in matrimony, from those perplexities which form the sequel of all less regular ties, that he had been induced, about a year before, to turn his thoughts seriously to marriage,- at least as seriously as his thoughts were ever capable of being so turned,-and chiefly, I believe, by the advice and intervention of his friend, Lady Melbourne, to become a suitor for the hand of a relative of that lady, Miss Milbanke. Though his proposal was not then accepted, every assurance of friendship and regard accompanied the refusal; a wish was even expressed that they should continue to write to each other, and a correspond "When dying, he was requested to undergo an name he has himself left blank, the noble writer operation.' He replied, that he had already sub-says-" A wife would be the salvation of me." It mitted to two, which were enough for one man's lifetime. Being asked what they were, he answered, Having his hair cut, and sitting for his picture.' On the 2d of June, in presenting a petition to the House of Lords, Lord Byron made his third and last appearance, as an orator, in that assembly. In his way home from the House that day, he called, I remember, at my lodgings, and found me dressing in a very great hurry for dinner. He was, I recollect, in a state of most humorous exaltation after his display, and, while I hastily went on with my task in the dressing-room, continued to walk up and down the adjoining chamber, spouting forth for me, in a sort of mock-heroic voice, detached sentences of the speech he had just been delivering. "I told them," he said, " that it was a most flagrant violation of the Constitution-that, if such things (1) His speech was on presenting a Petition from Major Cartwright, |