The New York Herald Newspaper, August 22, 1869, Page 4

PRS SH Ee “THE BYRON SCANDAL. Matrimonial Mysteries and American Revelations. Horrible Charges of Terrible Crimes. Bohemian Sensationism and Independent Opinion. Whe Allegatious and Their Public Reception. “ada, sole daughier of my house and heart.’’ “The world, as usual, wickedly inclined to see a kingdom or s house o’erturned.” In such words ‘and versification did the poet, Lord Byron, when in he enjoyment of his most complete intellectual power, apostrophize his child, and satarize, with ® view, mo ‘doubt, to its correction, that mean ‘and demoralizing spirit of jealous envy, so preva- lent at the moment in the “best circles’ of English society, which prompted to the invention, circula- tion, exaggeration and retail of the most glaring ‘and indelicate scandals by members of various [ttle coteries, with the object and purpose of be- Uiftling individuals ana disturbing the domestic peace of families. In his Childe Harold, ana Don Juan particularly, Byron sets forth the feelings ‘which prompted him to “laugh to fee away” from Dis “own good hall,” and to exclaim, its “hearth ts @esolate.” Born with a brain organization, the efforts of whioh the physiologists of the day could mot analyze, and moving under the impulses : of & mental temperament which gave rise at times to the most gloomy anticipatory fore- Dodings of the future, Byron, even in his most misanthropio mood, could not have imagined the coming ‘deep damnation” of his domestic troubles and family affairs finally being made the subject for ® poor advertising dodge printed on behalf of and Zor the profit of persons interested in the publica- aon end ciroulation of a Boston monthly maga- wine as this very day 30 many years subsequent to this death. When he playfully noted the fact that ‘he wife of a London manufacturer of shoe blacking ad assured him, as accounting for the daily repeti- 4 tion of doggere! rhyme puffs in praise of the article tm the columns of the metropolitan journals, that “we keeps ® poet,’ he was far from imagining that fp after days and away across the Atlantic ocean, in @ country of free education, public schools, and an ‘enlightened democracy, the tastes and necessities of @ chifoniér Bohemianism would induce, perhaps Compel, the proprietors of a periodical press to “keopa’’ a writer who would use the subject of hisown personal griefs a3 material for an autobiograpical resumé not @ whit more elevated in intent and aim than were the effusions of the biacking songster man of his ownday. Yet soit is. The magazine production of Mrs. Harriet Beecher (Madame) Stowe, ‘with reference to Byron’s married life and death— ‘the course of the one and manner of the last—in this direction has excited the curiosity of the pubic on the subject, and for this reason and with the view of Making history correct, 80 faras may be, we pub- lish in the HeRALD to-day all the facts which bear ‘upon the subject matter, as collected from different sources and standard authorities. To “begin at the beginning” and preface an order of connected ar- fangement relative to the Byron scandal, we beg to submit to our readers the salient points of the story f a3 given under modern renovation, In our extracts setting forth the comments of the American press on Madame Stowe's story, we make space for the remarks of our New York contem- Poraries at much length. Those of the Sun are Piquant and spirited, the Tribune groans consider- ably in spirit as in the days of abolitionism, while the 7ines is Qatulent and inaccurate as usual. WHAT MADAME SLOWE SAYS. BYRON—HIB PORTRAIT BY A FEMALE FRIEND. ‘From the Atlantic Monthly—Advance Sheets.) ‘he reading worid of America has lately been pre- sented with @ book which 15 said to sell rapidly, and ‘which appears to meet with universal favor. The subject of the book may be thus briefly stated:—The ; mustress of Lord Byrou comes before the world for the sake of vindicuting his fair fame from slanders nd aspersions cast on him by his wife. The story 3 the mistress vs. wife may be summed up as fol- jows:— Lord Byron, the hero of the story, 1a represented as & lruman being endowed with every natural charm, gift and grace, who by the one false step of an un- suitable marriage wrecked bis whole life. A narrow- minded, cold-hearted precistan, without sufficient intellect to comprehend his genius or heart to feel for his temptations, formed with him one of those mere worldiy marriages, common in high life, and, finding that she could not reduce him to the mathe- ‘matical proprieties and conventional rules of herown mode of life, sudde: end witbout warning, aban- doned him tn the m: ruel and inexplicable maaner. It is alleged that she parted from him in apparent section and good bumor, wrote him a pi! 1, COn- ding letter upon the way; but, after reaching her father’s house; suddenly, and without boy voperer announced to hia that she would never see him again; that this sudden abandonment drew down upon him @ perfect storm 0% scandalous stories, which his wife never contradicted; tuat she never im any way or shape stated what the exact reasons for her depar- ture had been, and thus silently gave scope to al) the Malice of thousands of enemies. The sensitive vic- tim was Socanity driven from England, nis home broken up, and he doomed to bea lonely wanderer on foreign shores. in Italy, under bluer skies and smong a gentler peop.e, with more tolerant moves of judgment, the authoress intimates that he found and consolation. A lovely young Itulian cuuntess falls in love with him, and, breaking her family ties for his sake, devotes herseif to vim, and tn blissful retirement with her he finds at last that domestic life for Which fhe was so fitted. Soothed, calmed and reiresued, he writes Don Juan,” which the world 1s at tis late hour informed was a poesu with @ bigh mora! purpose, designed to be a practical illustration of the doctrine of totai depravity among young gentlewen in high life. Under tae elevating induence of love, he rises at last to higher reaims of moral excelience, and resolves to devote we rest of his life to some novie and heroic purpose, becomes + the savior of Greece, aad dies ultimately, leaving a . Halion Lo Mourn his loss, VOUNTESS GUICCIOLI'S ASPERSIONS OF LADY BYRON. ‘The authoress ils With # peculiar bitterness on Lady Byron's silence during ali these years as the most aggravated lorm of persecution: and injury. > he informs the world that Lord Byron wrote his : @utoblography for the purpose of giving a fair state- ment of Wie exact truth of the matter, and that Lady Byron bouglt up the manuscript of the puv- lisher and insisted on its being destroyed unread, thus inflexibiy depriving her husband of his last chance before tue tribunal of the public, Asa result Of this silent, persistent cruelty on the part of a cold, correct, narrow-minded woman, the cnaracter of Lord Byron has been misunderatood and his 1 mame transmitted to alter ages with aspersions and . cusations Which it is the object of this book to re- ove. Such is the story of Lord Byron's mistress— @ story Which is going the length of this American Continent and rousing up new sympathy with the poet, and doing its best to bring the youth of America once imore under the power of that bril- i hant, seductive genius irom which it was hoped * uiey bad escaped. THE WIFE—HER DIGNITY AND DEMPANOR. All tiiiy While 1t does not appear to occur to the thonsands of unrefiecting readers that they are listen- dng merely to the story of Lord Byron’s mistress and of Lord byron, and that even by their own showing their heaviest accusation against Lady Byron is coat she bas not spoken at aij; her story has never been told, For many years atter tne rupture between rd Byron and ‘his wife that poet's personality, fave and bappiness had an interest for the whole civ- . ized world which we will venture to say was un- aralieled. It is within the writer's recollection ow, in the obscure mountain town where she spent her early days, Lord Byron’s separation from his wife was, for @ seasun, the ail-engrossing topic. ATTACKS FROM OTHER QUARTERS. Lord Byron’s “Fare tnee weil,’’ addressed to Lady yron, Was set to muste and sun@ with tears py pane, school girls, even in this distant America, jadame de Stael sald of this appeal that she was Gure it would haye drawn her at once to his heart } ‘and his arma, She could have forgiven everything, Qnd #0 #atd w'l the young ladies all over the world; Rot only in Engiand, but in Frapce and Germai Wherever Byron’s poetry appeared in translation, ‘ Lady Byron's obaurate cold-heartedness in refusing even to listen to his prayers, or to have any inter- Course With him whieh might lead to reconciliation, waa the one point couceded on, all sides, The Biricter moralists defendea her, bat gentle hearts Ahroughont ali the world regarded her as @ marvle- hearted monster uf correctness and morality—a per- 7 ification of the law vnmitigated by t l. Titersture in its Tuglees Walks. busied ttwelt With Lady Byron. ‘wks busied itself with ) A VORT'B APOLOGY TOR THE PrER. P94) in be | Md of Lord Byron, ri ¢ recital of the series of dtsgtaceful amour wate formed the staple of bis iue In Veulce, nas ‘Chis pasaage:— Wighiz consuradle, tn point of morality and decorum, as when begin- was bis course of life while ander the roof of Madame * it was (with pain Cam forced to confess) veaial in compar'- when weaned at connection, A ‘and, it may:be added, defyingly abandoned bimeelf. Of the siate of bis mind om leaving England I have already endeavored to convey some idea, and among the feelings that went to make up that self-centred spirit of resistance which he then opposed to his fare was for pis own countrymen for the ee wd they bad ‘ane “him, "For a tims the kiad); ntiments which he still harbored towards Lady jue hope, perhaps, that all would yet pe iaey ay sah my Pe xis tainn iva maced scmewhas sotianed ‘and docile as well as suflictently under the induence of English opinions to prevent bis breaking out toto open rebel: ainsi it, a8 be unluckily did afterwards. By t empted mediation with Lady Byron his last liu with bom as severed; while, notwithstanding the quict and unobtrusive life which he led at Geneva, the: et, he found, no cessation of the slanderous warfare js character; tl busy and misrepresenting spirit which had trac! ls every step at home having, with no Nias malicious watobfulness, doyyed hin into exile. We should like to know what the misrepresenta- uons and slanders must have beep, when tills soct of thing is admitred in Mr. Moore’s justification, MADAME DE STAEL AND LADY BLESSINGTON. Madame de Stael commenced the first eftort at evangelization immediately after sue leit bagiand, and found her catechamen in a most edifying state of humility. He was metaphoricaliy on his knees in penitence, and confeased himseif a miseravie sinner in the loveliest manner possible. Such sweetness and humility took all hearts, His conversations with jadame de Stael were printed and circulated ail over the world, making it to appear that only the inflexibility of Lady Byron stood in the way of his entire conversion. Lady Blessington, among many others, took him in hand five or six years after- wards, and was greatly delighted and edified by his frank and free confessions of his miserable offences, Nothing now seemed wanting to bring the wanderer home to the fold but a kind word from Lady Byron. But when the fair Countess offered to mediate the poet only shook his head in wregi despair; “he had so many times tried in vain; Lady Byron’s course had been from the first that of obdurate silence.” THR PORT IN EXPLANATION—PRACTICE Vs. PREACH- ING, Any one who would wish to see a specimen of the skill of the honorable poet in mystification will do Fee aa ete Lady biestngton, enclosed n, on parting from La: forher to read, just before he went to Greece, He “The letter which I enclose I was prevented from sending by my despair of it doing any good. I was iectly sincere when I wrote it and am so still. Bat it is diMcult for me to withstand the thousand rovocations on that subject which both friends and Foes nave for seven years been throwing in the way of & man whose feelings were once quick and whose temper was never patient." To Lavy Brxox, CARR OF THE Hoy. Mas. LEtan, Lon- on Prsa, Nov. 17, 1891. Thave to acknowledge the receipt of “ada's hair,” which 1s very soft and pretty, and nearly as ‘as mine from what I recol- en at that But wr. also thant and, written twice in an old account book, I have no other. f burnt your last note, for two reasons:—Firatly, it was written in astyle not very agreeable; and, secondly, t wished to take your word without documents, which are the Worldly resources of suspicious people. I suppose that this Bote will reach you somewhere about Ada’s birthday—the 10h of December, I believe. She will then be six, so that {n about twelve more I shall have some chance of meeting her; perhaps sooner, if I am oblij land by business or otherwise. Ki thing, ‘either in distance or nearness, every whould, after #0 lobg & period, rather soften our mutual feelings, which must often bave one ral- Tying polot as long as our child exists, whlch, T preaume, we both hope will be long after elther of her parents. The me which has elapsed since the separation has been, oon. siderabiy more than the whole brist period of onr union, and the not much longer oue of our prior acquaint- ‘ance.’ We both made a bitter mistake; but now it is over, And irrevocably so. For, at thirty-three on my part, and © few years less on yours, though it is no very extended period of life, still it is one when the habits and thought are generaity so formed aa to admit of no moditication; and aa We could not agree when younger, we, ahould with imoulty do so now. I say all this, because I own to you, that, not- withstanding everything, I consi our’ reunion ‘as not impossible for more ® year after the separation; but then I the hope entirely and forever. But this very {i lity of reunion seems to ny Sas at oath a reason Why, bn ali the few points of alsctssion which can arise between us, we should preserve the courte sies of life, and as much of its kindness as people who are Rever to meet may preserre, perhaps moreeasly than nearer connections. For my own part, Lam violent, but not malig- nant; for only fresh provocations can a resent menia. To you, who are colder and more concentrated, I would just Bint that you may sometimes mistake the depth of cold anger for dignity, and a worse feeling for duty. I susure you that I bear you now (whatever I may have done) no resentment whatever. Remember, that if you have injured me in aught, this forgiveness is homething: ‘and that if Thave injured you {t ts something more still, if it be true, as the moralists aay, that the most oifending are the least forgiving. Whether the offence has been solely on my ‘Side, or Tectprocal, or on yours chiefly, {have cease to re- fect upon any but two things, viz.:—That you aret ae mother of my child, and never meet again. [thiak if you also consider the two correaponding points with refer- ence to myacit It will be better for ail three, 9 NO} TOM MOORE'S COMMENTS ON THE LETTER, The artless Thomas Moore mtroduces this letter tn the “Life” witn the remark:—‘There are few, I should Uiink, of my readers wuo wiil not agree with me ip pronounci * g that, if the author of the follow- ing letter nadao right on his side, had, at least, mostof those feelings which found in gen- eral to accompany It.’? ‘The reader is requested to take notice of the im] rtant admission that this letter was never sent to vly Byron at all. It was, in fact, never intended for her, but was & nice little dramatic performance, composed simply with the view of acting on the sympathies of Lady Blessington and Byron's numer- ous female admirers; and the reader will agree with us, we think, that in this point of view it was very neatly done and deserves immortality a3 @ work of high art. For six years he had been plunging into every kind of vice and excess, pleading his shattered do- mestic joys and his wife’s obdurate heart as the apology and impeliing cause; filling the air with bis rieks and complaints concerning the slanders which pursued him, while he filled letters to his con fidential correspondents with records of new mis- tresses. During all these years the silence of Lady Byron was anobroken, though Lord Byron not only drew in private on the sympathies of his female admirers, but employed his talents and position as an author in holding her up to contempt and ridicule before tno! of lera. We shall quote at Jength his side of the story, which he published tn the first Canto of Don Juan, that the reader may see how much reason he had for sacaming the injured tone which he did in the letter to Lady Byron quoted above, BYRON'S STATEMENT IN VERSE. In the following verses Lady Byron 1s represented as Donna Inez and Lord Byron as Don Jose; but the incidents and allustous were 60 very Lene that no- body for @ moment doubted whose history the poet was narrating:— His mother was a learned Indy, famed For every branch of every acience known— In every Christian tanguage ever named, With virtues equalled by her wit alone’ werest people quite ashamed, jod with inward envy groansd, Finding themselves so very much exceedod In their own way by all the things that she did. Her favorite science was the mathematical, virtue was her magnao:mity, metimes tried at wit) was Aitic all, ings darkened to sublimity tage ahe was fairly what [ « —her morning dress was dimity Tn stort, tn all ‘A prod Her evening ailk, or in the summer musi And ofker stuilsy with witch I won't sta y puraltng. ©, she was perfect, past all parallel ‘Of any modern female saint's co: So far above the cuntiog powers « Her guardian angel had given up Even her minutest motions went a8 parisoa; Perfect she was, but as perfection is Ingipid in this naughty world of ours — Don Jone, like a wicked son of Eva, Went plucking various fruits without er leave Don Jose and the Donna Inez led For some time an unhappy Wishing each other, not ‘Ttyorced, bit They lived respectab! ‘Their conduct w: And Until at length And put the busin For Inez called » his own story that Byron ever published; but he busied himself with many others, projecting at one ume @ eXoe romance, in which the same story is related in tne same transparent manner, HISTORY AND FACTS AGAINST IGNORANCE AND IMM0- RALITY. The true history of Lord and Lady Byron has jong been perfectly understood in mer circles in Eng- land, but the facts were of a nature that could not be made public. While there was a young daughter living, Whose future might be prejudiced by tts re- cital, and while there were other persons on whom the disclosure of the real truth would have been crushing a8 an avalanche, Lady Byron's only course was the perfect silence in which she took refuge, and those sublime works of charity and mercy to which she consecrated her blighted eartnly life. But the ume is now come when the truth may be told, All the actors in the scene have disap- peared from the mage of mortal existence, and passed, let us have faith to hope, into a world where they would desire to explate their faults by a la publication of the truth, No person in England, think, would as yet take the responsibility of relat- ing the true history which is to clear Lady Byron’s memory. But by a singular concurrence of cireum- stances, all the facta of the case, in the most unde- niable and authentic form, were at one ume pli in the hands of the writer of ts sketch, with ai thority to make such use, of tuem as se suould Judge best. MISS MILBANKE, THE TRIRRS8. Lord Byron pas described, in one of his letters, the impression left upon his mind by a young person whom ho met one evening lu society, and who at- tracted his attention by the siuplicky of her dress | and certain air of singular purity and calmue: with which she surveyed the svene around her. On Inquiry he was told that this young person was Mias Milbanke, an only child, and one of the largest | heiresses in England. Lord Byron was fond of ideal: gree? in poetry, and the (rienda of Lady Byron had no diiticuity in’ recognizing tho | portrait of Lady Byron, as sie appeared at this time of her life, in his exquisite description of Aurora Raby. A DREADFUL egret REVELATION AND TUM CONSHYUENORS, From the height at which be might have been happy as the husband of @ nobie wowan he fell into damning, gulicy secret became the force m his Iife, Holding him with a morbid fascination, yet fMilin; bim with remorse and anguish and insane dread o: detection, Two years after his refusal by Miss Milbanke his various friends, seeing that from some cause he Was wretched, pressed marriage upoa hin. Marriage has ofien been represented as the proper goal and terminud of a wild and aisstpated career, and it has been supposed to be the appomted miaston of good women to receive wandering prodigals, with all we rags ana disgraces of their old life upon them, and put rings on their hands and shoes on their feet, and witroduce them, clothed and in ther right minds, to au honorable career in society. Marriage was therefore universaily recom- mended to Lord byron by his numerous fri¢nds aud well-wishers; and so he determined to marry, and, in am hour of reckless desperation, sat down and wrote proposals to two ladies. One was declined. ‘The other, which was accepted, was to Misa Mil- banke. The world knows well that he had the gift of expression, aud will not be surprised that he wrote a very beautiful letter, and that the woman who had already learved to love Lim fell at once into the snare. MISS MILBANK &’S "REPLY—TREACHERY AT THE ALTAR. Her answer was a frank, outspoken avowal of her love for him, giving herself to bim heart and nand. The good in Lord Byron was not so utterly onlite- rated that he could receive such a@ letter without emotion, or practice such unfairness loving, trusting heart without pene of remorse, He had sent the letter in more recklessness; he had not se- riously expected to be accepted, and the discovery or the treasure of affection which he had secured was like a vision of lost heaven to a soul tn hell. But, nevertheleas, in his lettel ritten apout the engage- ment, there are sufficient evidences that hisself-love was flattered at the preference accorded him by 80 superior a woman, and one who had been so much sought. He mentions witu an air of complacency that she had employed the 1ast two years in refusing five or six of acquaintance; that he had no idea she loved him, admitting that it was an old attach- ment on his part; he dwells on her virtues with a sort of Fens ot ownseemip. ‘There is a sort of childish levity about the frankness of these letters very char- acteristic of the man who skimmed gver the deepest Abyasea with the lightest jests. Before th aay soil to his Intimates, he was gating thé part of t 4 successful Jance, conscious all the White of the deadly secret that lay cold at the bottom of his beart. When he went to visit Miss Milbanke’s *parente as her ac- cepted lover she was struck with bis manner and appearance; she saw him moody und gloomy, evi- dently wrestling with dark and desperate thougnts, and anything but what a happy and accepted iover should be, She sought an interview with him sine, and told bite oe whe had obearved at he was not happy in the engagement, an nanimously added that if on review he found. fi Dad been mistaken in the nature of his feelings sho would immediately release him, and they should re- main only iriends. Overcome with the couflict of his feelings Lord Byron fainted away. ‘There 1g no reason to doubt that Byron was, as he relates in bia Dream, procanay: agonized and agi- tated when he stood before God’s altar with tne trusting young creature whom he was leading to a fate so awtuily tragic; yet It was not the memory of Mary Chaworth, but another guilty and more damn- ing memory, that overshadowed that hour. The mo- ment the cmcriaas doors were shut upon the bride- m and the bride the paroxyam of remorse and unrepentant remorse and angry despair— broke forth upon her gentie head. “You mignt have saved me from this, madam. You had ali in your own power when | offered myself to you first, Then you might have made me what you Pleased; but now you will dud iaat you have mar- ried a devil.” PANGS OF REMORSE. Not at once did the fuli knowiedge of the dreadful reality into which she had entered come upon the young wile. Sne knew ibe Soto from the wid avowals of the first hours of their marriage that there was a areadful secret of gullt, taat Byron's soul was torn with agontes of remorse, and that he had no love to give her in return for @ love which ‘was ready to do and dare all for him. Yet bravely she addressed herself to the task of soothing and pleasing and calming the man whom she had taken “for better or worse.” Young and gifted, with a pe- culiar air of refined and spiritual beauty; graceful in every movement, d of exquisite taste; a per- fect companion to nis mind in all the higher walks of literary culture, and with that infinite pilability to all his varying, capricious movas which true love alone can give; bearing in her hand a princely for- tune, which, with @ woman’s uncaiculating gene- rosity, was thrown at his feet, there is no wonder that she might feel for a while as if she could enter the liste with the very devil himself, aud fight with @ Woman's weapons for the heart of her husband, 8 MOMENT OP REVELATION—INPAMY. MADE PA- But there came an hour of revelation—an hour when, in a manner which ieft no kind of room for doubt, Lady Byron saw the full depth of the abyss of. imiamy which ber marriage Was expected to cover, and understood that she was expected to be the cloak and accomplice of this tufamy. Many women would have been utterly crushed by such a dis- closure; some would Rave fled from him tmme- diately and exposed and denounced the crime. Lady Byron did neither. When all the hope of Womanhood died out of her heart there arose within her, stronger, purer and brighter, that immortal kind of love such as God feels for the sinner—the love of which Jesus spoke and which holds the one wanderer of more account than the ninety and nine that went not astray. She would neither leave her husband nor betray him, nor yet would she for one moment justify his sin; and hence came two years of convulsive struggle, in which sometimes for a while the good angel seemed to gain ground, and then the evil one returned with sevenfold vehe- mence. Lord Byron ed bis case with himself and with her with all the sophistries of his powerful mind, He repudiated Christianity as authority, as- serted the right of every human being to follow out what_he called “the impuises of nature.” Subse- quently he introduced into one of hia dramas the reason by which he justified himself in incest. THE EFFECT ON LADY BYRON—SAD HOME SCENES. Lady Byron, though slight and almost infantine in her bodtiy presence, had the soul, not only of an angelic womun, but of a strong, reasoning man. 1t was the writer's lot to know her at a period when she formed the personal acquaintance o! many of the very first minds of England; but, among ail with whom this experience brought her im connection, there was none who impressed her so strongly a8 Lady Byron. There was an almost supernatural power of moral divination, # grasp of the very jighest and most comprehensive things, that made her lightest opinions singularly impressive, No doubt this result Was wrouglit out in a great degree from the anguish and confict of these two years, when, with no one to help or counsel her but Almighty God, she wrestied and struggled with fiends of darkness for the redemption of her hus- band’s soul. She followed tim througt ali nis so- phistical reasonings With a Keener reason. She be- sought and implored, in the name of his better nature, and by ail the glorious things that ne was capable of being and doing; and ane had just power enough to convulse, and shake, and agonize, out not power enough to aubdue, BIRTH OF A CHILD—THR NOBLE FATABA AT HIS WIFE'S COUCH, eon nu, It waa when the sate 8 Bites between her- self and her husband seemed darkest and most hopeless that the only chiid of tuis union was born. Lord Byron's treatment of tia wife during the sensitive period that preceded the birth of this child, and during her coniaement, waa marked by paroxyama of uuuiaaly brutality, tor which the only possible charity on her part waa the supposition of Insanity. Moore sheds a significant lignt on this period by telling us that about this time Byroa was often drunk day after day with Sheridan. There had been inganity in the family, and chia wag the plea which Lady Byron's love putin forhim. A day or two after the birth of his child Lord Byron came suddenly into Lady Byron’s room and toid her that her mother wag dead. It was an utter falsehood, but it was only one of the many nameless injuries and crueittes by which he expressed his hatred of ner. A short time after her coafluement sle was informed by him in a note that as soon as sie was able to travel she must go—that he could not and would not Jonger have her about him; and when her child was only five weeks old he carried lis tureat of expulsion into effect, THE SEPARATION—LADY BYRON'S ACCOUNT. Here we wil! insert briefly Lady Byron’s own sount—the only one she ever gave to the public— of this separation. The circumstances under whict this brief story was written are affecting. Lord Byron was dead. ‘The whole account between him and ler Was closed forever in this world. Moore's “Lite” had been prepared, containing simply and 4olely Lord Byron's own version of their story. Moore sent this version to Lady Byron, and re- quested to know if she had any remarks to make upon it, In rep. she sent @ brief statement to him—the first and only one that had ever come from ler during ail the years of the separation, and which appears to have mainly for its object the exculpation of ler father and mother from the charge made by the poet of being the iustigators of the separation. In tuis letter she gaya, with regard to their separation:— te :—T left Lond f iny father and Lord Byron had signitie solnie desire toat P should Je On the earliest that I couldconvenientiy tx. It was not safe forme to wn dertake tue fatigue of @ journey sooner than the Lith. Pre Viously to my departure it bad been strougiy impressed "pon my mind that Lord #yron was under the faflu insan ity. This opinion was derived, in a great mea communications made ine by ‘his nearest relatives. and per sonal attendant woo bad mors opportunhy than myself for observing him during the latter part of my stay in town. It prevented 19 me thathewas in danger of de for Kichy Mallory, the reat on the 1oth of January, 1816, lng, January 6, his ab- elt. the coucirence of hie, fatally, [ ed Dr. Balle, aaa friend, January 8, respectin i malady. On acqualating lim with the mate ol id with Lord Byron's desire that I should leave anion, Dr, Baile Mt Mint my abaewen might be advin- ent, aanuming the Tact of montul orange: ment} for Dr. Bulilie, bot having i ee, hind access to Lord Byron, T should with Lord Byri t . i nn imprea: by Dr. Ballite. What ren the cootien ot Lord Byron toward me me of my marriage, yet of mental allenation, it'was common bumanity, to jury Nothing more than this letter from Lady Byron 1s necessary to substantiate the fact that she did not | leave her husband, but was driven from him—driven from him that he might give unseit up to the Rullty infatnation that was consuming him, without belng tortured by her imploring face and by the silent power of her presence and her prayers, For a jong time before this sie bad seen tte of him. On the day of her departure ah wsed by the door of his room, aud stopped to caress his favoriie spaniel, which waa lying there; and she contessed to a friend the weakness of feciing 4 Willingness even to be something as humble as that poor little creature, might she only be allowed to remain and watch over opinion on tort polo. He | to jug round on the two that stood there with a sar. castlo smile, said:—“When shall we three meet again?’ Lady Byron answered, “In heaven, f trust;”’ and these were her last words to him on SHIFTING THE BLAME. As there must be somewhere a scapegoat to bear the sins of the affair, Lord Byron wrote a poem called “A Sketch,” in’ which he lays the blane of slurring up strife on @ friend and lormer governess of Lady Byron’s, but in this sketch he mtroduces the following just eulogy on Lady Byron:— Folled was perveraion by that youthful mind, Wich fantery fooled not, bassaeas could uot blind, Deceit infect not, nor cont ‘soll Indulgence weaken, nor example apoll lor mastered aclence tempt her to look down ‘On humble talents with » pitying frown, Nor genius swell, nor beauty render vain, Nor envy rattle 10 retaliate pain, . loz fortune change, pride raise, nor passion bow, Nor virtue teach austerity-—-til how. Serenely purest of her sex that liv Mut wanting one sweet weakness to forgive, Too shocked at faults her soul can naver know, She deemed that all could be like her below Foe to all vice, yet hardly virtae’s friend, For virtue pardons those she would amend, AWAY. Jn leaving Singiand Lord Byron trae wnt 19 Swit }i zeriand, Where he conceived and in part wrote out the tragedy of “Manfred.”. Moore speaks of his domestic misfortunes and the sutferings which he underwent at this time ag having an influence in stimulating his ius. 60 that he was enabled to write witha power, Anybody who reads the “] with this story in his mind will see that it is true. The hero is inted a8 & Te) gloomy misanthrope, dweiling with impenitent re- morse on the memory of an incestuous which hag been the destruction of his sister for this iife and tae life Xoo but ewan to tne very last espa refuges to re! even fesees the flends of darkness ri v0 take Dosses- sion of his despairing soul. That Byron knew his own gullt well and judged himself severely may be gathered from passages in this poem, which are as powertul as numaa |; can be made. BYRON’S DAUGHTSR—HEE LIFS AND DEATH, The daughter ipherited Be ae ae brilliant thents, but a ealle iness and morbid sen- sibility which might be too surely traved to the storms and agitations of the period in which she was born, It was necessary to bring her up in ig- norance of the true nistory of her mother’s life, and the consequence was that she could not fully un- derstand that mother. During her early childhooa her career was @ source of more anxiety than com- fort, She married a man of fashion, ran a brillant gay woman of fashion, and died early of inge! jot det painfal disease. In the silence and ied retirement of the sick room the daughter back to her mother’s arms and heart shi came wholly and it was on that mother's bosom that she leant as she went down into the dark valley. It was that mother who placed her weak and dying hand in that of her Almighty Saviour. * BYRON'S SISTER. ‘The person whose relations with Byron had deen Bo disastrous, algo, in the latter years of her life, felt Lady Byron’s lor and ennobling influences, and in her last sickness and dying hours looked to her for consolation and help. There was an unfortunate child of gin, born with the curse upon her, over whose wayward nature Lady Byron watched with a mother's tenderness. BYRON'’S DEATH—THE MORTAL STRUGGLE BEFORE JUDGMENT. During all this trial, strange to say, her belier that the good in Lord Byron would fnally conquer was unshaken. To @ friend who sald to her, ‘Oh! how couid you love him!’ she answered briefy, *! dear, there was the angel in him.’ It 1s in us all It was in this el that she had faith. It was for the deliverance of this angel from degradation and shame and sin that she unceasingly prayed. She read every work that Byron wrote—read it with @ deeper knowledge than any human being but her- selfcould possess. The ridaldry and the obscenity, and the insults with which he strove to make her ridiculous ia the world fell at her Gt un- heeded. ‘he broke away from all this unworthy life to devote himself to a manly enterprise for the redemption of Greece she thought that she saw the beginning of an answer to her prayers. Even al- though one of hia latest acts cuncer! her was to repeat to Lady Bless! mn the false accusation which made Lady Byron the author of all his errors she still had hopes from the one step taken in the right direction. In the midst of these hopes came the news of his sudden death. On his death bed it tg well known that he called his confidential English servant to him and said to him, ‘Go to my sister— teli her—go to Lady Byron—you will see her and say—” Here followed twenty minutes of indistinct muttering, in which the names of his wife, daughter and sister frequently occurred. He then aald, “Now Thave told you all.’ “My lord,’ replied Fletcher, ‘I have not under- ‘a word your lordship has been saying." ‘Not understand me!’’ exclaimed Lord Byron, with a look of the utmost distress, ‘what a pity! then it is too late—all is over!’ He afterwards, says Moore, tried to utter a few words, of which none were intelligible except “My sister—imy cnild.’” LADY BYRON’S RELIGIOTS HOPE. When Fletcher returned to London Lady Byron sent tor him, and walked the room in convulsive struggles to repress her tears and sobs, while sne over and over in strove to elicit something from him which should enlighten her upon what that last me had been; but in vain; the gates of evernity were shut in her face, and not a word had passed to tell her if ne had repented. For all that, Lady Byron never doubted his salvation. ver delore her, during the few remaining years of her widowhood, was the image of her husband, purified and enno- bled, with the shadows of earth forever dissipated, the stains of ain forever removed—‘‘the angel to him,’ as she expressed it, “made perfect, according to ita Divine ideal.” Never haa more divine strength of faith and love existed in woman. Out of the depths of ber own loving and merciful nature she gained such views of Divine love and mercy a3 made all hopes possible. There was no soul of whose fu- ture Lady Byron,gespaired. HER HUSBAND'S SPIRIT WORLD. We have spoken of that singular sense of the reality of the spiritual wurid which seemed to encompass Lady Byron during the last part of her lute, and which had made her words and actions seem more like those of a blessed being detached from earth than of an ordinary mortal. All her modes of looking at things, all her motives of action, all her involuntary exnibidons of emotion, were so high above any common level, and so entirely regu- lated by the most unworidly causes, that it would seem difficult to make the ordinary world understand exactly how the thing seemed to lie before her mind. What impressed the writer moro strongly than any- thing else was Lady Byron’s perfect conviction that her husband was now & leemod spirit; that he looked back with pain and shame and regret on all tuat was unworthy in his past life; end that if he could speak or act in the case, he would desire to prevent the further circulation of base falsehoods and of seductive poetry which had been made the venicle of morbid and unworthy passions. Lady Byron’s experience had led her to apply the powera of her strong philosophical mind the study or mental patholp , and she fad become satisfied that the aolution of the painful problem which first oc- curred to her a3 @ young wife was, after all. the true one—namely, that Lord Byron had been one of those unfortunately constituted persons in whom the balance of nature 1 80 critically hung that It ts always in danger of otpping towards igsanity, and that in certain periods of his itfe he waa 46 far under the influence of mental disorder as not to be fully tN geld nt his rh Loy weat over, Wt and clear gngiysis, 8 tory of nis eee eae fad A aaht ‘out during the lonely musings of her widownvod, 3! dwelt on the ancestral causes which gave him nature of exceptional and dangerous susceptibility. She went through the mamanagements of his chud- hood, the history of his school days, the influence of the ordinary school course of classical reading on such & mind as his, She sxetcued boldly and clearly the internal tife of the young men of the time as she with her purer eyes bad looked through tt, and showed how habits, which with leas susceptible fibre and coarser strength of nature were toleravie for us companions, were deadly to him, uahinging his ner- vous system and intensifyiug the dangers of ances- tral prociivities. Lady Byron expressed the feeling, too, that the Calyinistic theology, as heard in Scot- jand, had proved in this case, as it often does in cer- tain minds, a subtle poison. He never could either disbelieve or become reconciled to it, and the sore Problems {t proposes embittered his spirit against Christianity. ‘Tbe worst of it is, 1 do believe," he would ofcen say with violence, when he had been empioying all his powers of reason, wit and ridicule upon these subjects. Through all this sorrowful hia- tory was to be seen, not the care of a slandered woman to make her story good, but the pathetic anxiety of a mother who treasures every particle of hope, every intimation of good, in the son whom she cannot cease to love. With Indescribable resig- nation she dwelt on those last hours, those words addressed to her never to be understood till re- peated in eternity, But ali this she looked upon as forever past, believing that, with the dropping of the earthy Life, these morbid impulses and influe’ ceased, and that higher nature wach he often so beautifully expressed 18 hig poems vecame the Wi Umphant one, WHAT THE TERPLY BAR MAGSZINE SAYS ABOLT Ti. (From “fy Recollections of Lord Byron,” by Coun- tess Guiccioli.| Lord Byron’s marriage exercised such & deplora- ble influence over hia destiny, at it 18 impossible to speak of It succinctly, and without entering into de- tatls; for this one great misfortune proved the fruit- ful source of all others, If we were permitted to he- lleve that Providence sometimes abandons ren here below to the influence of an evil genius, we imght well conceive this baneful intervention in the case of Lord Byron’s conjugal union, and ail the cireum- slances that led to It It was but a few months after having returned from his travels in the Bast that Lord Byron pub lished his frst cantos of “Childe Harold,” and ob- tained triumphs a8 an orator in the House of Lords. Presenting bimself thus for tho first time to the pub lic, surrounded by all the prestige belonging to a handsome person, rank and youri—ip & word, With han assemblage of qualities as are seldom, if r, found united in one person—he immediate ame the idol of Eagiand. The enemies Pm by his boyish satire, and augmented by the his suc 1 $0 cause, now hi their holes on the first appearan if tne sun's rays, reauy to creep oul un When fogs and darkness rewurn, Living, wien, in tie midst of the greas World, in the closest intimacy with many of the fair ex, and Wiinessing the small amount of wedded friends saw With regret that his eyes were still seek- ing through English clouds the blue skies of the East, and that he was kept in perpetual agitation by the fair ones who would cast themselves aruwart Dis pa. throwing themselves at lis head when not at ia feet, Vainly did he distort himself, give him- self out tothe public as a true “Childe Harold,” malign himself; his friends kuew that bis heart was overflowing with tenderness, and they could not thus be duped. If he had wished to cull some flow- ers idly, for the sake of scattering their leaves to the breeze, a8 youth 40 often does, this sort of amuse- ment would have been difficult for bim; for the fine ladies of hts choive, if once they succeeded in inapir- ing him with some kind of tender feeling, tastened themselves upon him in such a passionate way that hus freedom became greatly shackled, and they gen- erally ended by making the public the conyidante of vheir secret. Lord Byron had some adventures that brought him annoyance and grief. They made nim fall into low spirits—a sort of moral apathy and indifference for everything. best friends, and the wisest among them, thought that the surest way of settling him in England and getting him out of the scrapos into whict he was bel dragged by female enthu- siagm would be for him to marry, and they advised him to it pertinaciously, Lord Byron, ever dociie to the voice of affection, did not repel the counsels given; but he made them well understand that he should marry from reason rather than chotce. rhe ihe And Pee ernie aeten eons % *.9 n. poaseasort, Oe ose minds clever at reeacning, ut weak in }! ent; that can reason much without being reagonable, to use the words of agreat philosophical moralist of our day; one of those minds that act as if life were a problem in jurisprudence or geometry; who argue, distinguish, and by dint of syliogisms deceive themselves learn- She always deceived herself in this way about When she was in the family way, and her confinement drawing near, the storm continued te gather above her husband’s head. He was in correspon with Moore, then absent from London. Moore's apprehenstons with regard to the happiness likely to result from @ union that bad never appeared suitable in his eyes bad, nevertheless, calmed down on receiving letters from Lord Byron that expressed satisfaction. Yet during the first days of what 1s vulgarly termed the “honey- moon’ Lord Byron sent Moore some very melan- choly verses, to be set to music, said he, and which began thus:— There's not a joy the world can give like that {t takes away. Moore haa already felt some vague disquietude, and he asked why be allowed his mind to dwell on Such sorrowful ideas? Lord Byron repiied that he had written these verses on learning the death of a friend of his childnood, the Duke of vorset, and his subsequent letters were full of jests Moore be- came reassured. Lord -Byron said he was happy, and #o he really was; for Lady Byron, not being jealous then, continned to be gentle and amiable. “But these indications of @ contented heart soon ceased. His mention of the paruer of his home pe- came more rare aud formal, and there was observa- ble, I etn through some of his letters a feeling of unquiet and weariness that brought back all those gloom: oyroup which I had from the drst felt Tegar 18 fate.’ hove all, there were expressions in his letters that seemed of sad augury. For instance, in an- nouncing the birth of his little girl, Lord Byron said he was absorbed in five hundred contradictory con- templations, sithough he had only one single object in view, which would probes, come to nothing, as sire. it mostly hap pen with all we “But never mind,’ he ‘as some! ‘for the blue sky bends ove! Tonly coul begiad if i¢ bent over mo where it is a little bluer, like akyish top of biue Olympus.” yn reading this letter, dated the Sth of January, full of aspirations after a blue sky, Moore was struck ‘with the tone of melaucholy pervading tt; and, know- ing that it was Lord Byron’s habit when under the pressure of sorrow and uneasiness, to seek relief in expressing his yearnings after freedom and after other climes, he wrote to him in these terms:—"Do you know, my dear Byron, there was something in your lastletter—a sort of mystery, a8 we!las a want of ‘of your usual elasticity of spiriia—wihich has hung npon my mind unpleasantly ever since. 1 longto be near you, that I might know how you really look and feel, for these letvera tell nothtng and one word, a quattr’ oocht, 1s worth whole reams of correspon- dence. But only do tell me you are happier than that letter has led me to fear, and I shall be satisfied.’ “It was,"*says Moore, “only a few weeks after the exchange of these letters that Lady Byron took the resolution of separ: from him. She had leit London at the end of January on a visit to her pa- rents, in Leicestershire, and Lord Byron was to come and join her there soon after. They had parted ‘With mutual demonstrations of attachment and of good understanding, On the journey Lady Byron wrote a letter to her husband, couctied in playful, affectionate language. What, then, must have been his astonishment when, directly after her arrival at Mallory, her father, Sir Raiph, wrote to tell Lord Byron that nis daughter was going to remain with them and wouid return to him no more?!’ ‘This unexpected stroke fell heavily upon him. The pecuniary embarrassments growing up since his marriage (for he had already undergone eight or nine executions tu his own house) then reached thelr climax. He was then, to use his own energetic expression, “alone at his hearth, his penates trans- fixed around;” and then was he also condemned to receive the unaccountable intelligence that the wite who had just Md from pun in the most amec- tonate manner had abandoned him forever. His state of mind cannot be told nor, perhaps, be imagined, Still he describes tt in some passages of his letters, showing at the same time the firmness, dignity and strength of mind tat always distin- guished him. * * * If we were to enter into @ polentic on thia subject, or simply to make conscientious re- searches, there would be many chances of proving in opposition to the axiom tuat the fault of these great men lay in the bad choice of their belpmates. Jn truth, if there have beea a Gemma Donati and a Milvanke, we aiso Ond in ancient times a Calpurnia and a Portia among the wives of great men; and, in modern times, Wives Of poets wno have been the honor of their sex, proud of their husbands, and living Only for them. Uught not these examples at least to destroy the absolute nature of the theory, maxing it at best conditional? ‘Tne larger number Of great men, it is true, did not marry. Of this num- ber we find Michael Angelo, Raphael, Petrarch, Ario: ‘Tasso, Cervantes, Voltaire, Pope, Alperi and Canova and many others among the poets and utlosopners, Bacon, Newton, Gailleo, Descartes, jayle and Leibuitz. ‘hat does that prove if not that they olther would not or could not marry, but certainty not that they were incapable of being good husbands? Besides, a thousand causes—apart irom the fear of being un- happy in domestic considerations of fortune, rior attachments, —may have prevented them. jut as to Lord Byron, at least, it 1s still more certain with regard to him than to any other that he might have been happy had he made a better choice; tf circumstances had only hoon tolerable, as he himself says, Lord Byron had fdne of thse faults that Olten disturb harmony, because they put the wife's virtue to too great a trial. If the best disposition, according toa deep moralist, is that which gives much and exacts nothing, then assurediy his de- serves to be so characterized. Lord Byron exacted nothing for himself, Moreover, discussion, contra- diction, ing, were insupportabie to him; his amianie, jeSting’ wag. a preciuded them. In all the circumstances and alt (hg detatts of nis lite ne displayed that nigh generosity, tuat contempt or ae selfish, material calculations eat eed for gaining hearts in geiferal, and espéevidily pnosd Of Women. Add to that the pFé ar Bdlonging to his gréat beauty, his wit, his grace, and it will be easy to understand the love he must have inspired as soon as he became hh * * * And now Jets hasten to add that although Lord Byron was not in jove with Miss Milbanke fs had no dislike to her person, for she was rather retty and pleasing in appearance. Her reputation for moral and intellectual qualities standing on such @ high pedestal, Lord Byron naturally conceived that esteem migat well suffice to replace tenderness. It is certain that if she had lent herseM to it more and if circumstances lad only been endurabl+ taeir union might have presented the same character common to most aristocratic couples in Engtand, and that even Lord byron might have been able to act from virtues to default of feeling; but that Littie requisiie for him was wholly wanting, hus cele- brated and touching “Farewell? might be brougut up as an objection to what we have fuat advanced. It might be said that tne word sincere is a proot of love, and insincere @ proof of falsehood. Lastly, that im al! cages there was & want of delicacy and reduemeut in thus von. fiding his domestic troubles to the public, Well, ail that would be ill-founded, unjust and contrary to trath. ‘This is the trurh of the matter. Lord Byron had just been informed that Lady Byron, having sent oi by post the letter whereim sue confirmed all that her father, Sir Raiph, had written, namely, her resolation of not returning to the conjaga! roof, had afterward caused this fetter to be sought for, and on ia being restored, had given way to alinost mad istrations of joy, Could he see aught else im sount, save a certainty of the evil influences Weighing on her, and imaking her act in contraaic- tiou Lo ier real sontimenta? He pitied her taen as a tin, thought of nil tue virtues sald to crown ner, the iusive beitefin which he was far then from haying 1oat; he forgot the wrongs she had inflicted | 0 bim—the spying che bad kept up around him, the cainmaies spread against him, the use she had Taade of the letters subrracted from hia desk. Yes, ail was forgotten by bis generous heart; and accord: ing to custom, he even went so far ag to accuse him- soli—to see in the victim only his wife, the moter Of hig iittie Ada! Under tlils excitement Jic was Wwaiking about fat night In bis solitary apartinents, and suddenty chanced to perceive im some corner different things that haf — belonged to Lady Byron—diesses and other articies of attiro. 13 Well Known bow much the Sight | Of these inanimate mementoes has power to call up recollections even to ordinary tmaginations. What, then, inust bave been the vividuess with Wich they acted on an imagination Hke Lord Byron's? Tits heart softened toward her, and he r collected that one day, under the inhuence of bor- rows which weil nigh tobbed hin of consciousness, he had answered her harshly. ‘Thinkimg himself in the wrong, and fuil of the anguish that all these re- fieciions and objects excited Jowed ius tears to flow, and, 8m | down that touching effusion, Which Somew iat eased his suffering. ‘The next day one of his friends found these be: tiful verses on his desk, and, judging Lady Byron's heart and that of the” publ according to his own, he imprudently gave them to the world, Thus we can no more doubt Lord By- son's sihoerity in writing thom tuan we cau accuse 4} | | |g | | tno the most atrocious part of this affair, and doubtiess the most wounding for him, was precisely Lady Byron's conduct, and in this conduct the worst was her cruel silence { She has been called, after his words, the moral Clytemnestra of her husband. Such a surname ta severe; but the repugnance we feel to condeming a woman can not prevent our listening to the voice of justice, which tells us that the comparison 1s still tn favor of the guilty one of antiquity, For she, driven to crime by Herce passion Over nC Nrany reason, at least only deprivea her husband of phy- sical life, and in committing the deed exposed her. self to all ita consequeuces; while Lady Byron lef¢ her husband at the very moment that she saw him struggling amid a thousand shoals in the stormy sea of embarrassinents created by lia marriage, and precisely when he more than ever required a friendly, tender and induigent hand to save him from the tempests of life. Besides, she shus herself up in silence a thousand times more cruel than Clytemnestra’s poniard, that only kilied the body; whereas Lady Byron’s silence was destined to kill the soul, and such @ soul! leaving the door open to calumny and making it to be supposed that her silence was magnanimity destined to cover over frightful wrongs, perhaps even depravity. In vain did be, feeling his conscience at ease, implore some inquiry and examination. She refused, and the only favor she granted him was to.seud him, one fine day, two persons to see whether he were not mad. ae, pily Lord Byaon only discovered at a later period tl purport of this strange visit. In vain did Lord Byron's friend, the com- anton of all his travels, throw himself ag Pady Spe feet, imploring her to give over -this fatal silence. The only reply she delgned was, that she had thought bim mad? And why, then, bad she believed hinr mad? Because she, @ methodical profound moralist call ‘ide by & feetingiess aoul;—because she Dhderstand the ibilisy of tastes and babits differ- ent to those of ordinary routine, or of her own starched life! Not to be hungry when she was—not to sleep at night, but to wrile while she was sleep- tng, and to sleep when she was up—in short, to gratity the requirements of material and intellectual jife at Wours different to hers:—all that was not merely annoying for her, but it must be madness! or if not, it becokenea depravity that she could neither find Cs nor tolerate without tmperiiung ber owo moral Such "was the grand secret of the cruel stience which exposed Lord Byron to the most malignant interpretations—to all the calumny and revenge of ms enemies. She was perhaps the only woman in the world so atrangely organized—the only one, per- able of not feeling happy and proud at be- @ ian Bt lor to rest of humanity! reed that this woman alone of should be Lord Byron’s wife! Bel cloaing this chapter it remainsfor us to ex- amine ifit bé true, as several of nis have pretended, that he wished ta be reunited wife, We must here declare that se Byron's in- tention, in the last years of his life, was, on the contrary, not to see Lady Byron + « # Lord Byron has te ‘unappreciated as a man and unfi iy jadeed Ah if. e calla him the t of evil; another the ot sorrow. But no! Lord Byron was not exclusively elther one or the other, He was the poet of the soul, just as Shakespeare waa before him. Lord Byron, in writ- ing, never had tu view virtue rather than vice, To take hia stand ag a teacher of humanity, at nis age, would have seemed ridiculous to him. After hav. idiculous Ir I ey not nna th a genuuh and wi capdigtes & ‘and energetically true. He thought that Frum ought always have precedence over every- thing elae—that 1¢ was the source of the beautiful in art, a3 well a8 of all in souls, To him lies were evil and vice; truth was good and virtue. Aa a poet, then, he was the of the soul and of truth; and ag aman, all those who knew him and all who read his works must proclaim him tne poet who has come nearest to the ideal of truth and sin- cerity. And now, after having studied this great soul under every aspect, if there were in land men who should esteem themselves r in the scale of virtue than Lord Byron, because havi never been troubled in their belief, either shrouge circumstances or the nature of their own mind, they never admitted or expressed any doubt; because they are the happy husbands of those charming, in- dulgent, admirable women to be found in England, who love and forgive 80 much: because, being rich, they have not refused some trifle out of their super- fluity to the poor; because, proud and happy m privileges bestowed by their constitution, they have never blamed those in power. If these prosperous ones deemed themselves superior to tueir great fellow citizen, would it be illiberal in them to ex- press now adifferent opinion’ Might we not, with- out rashness, aiirm that they should ratner hold themseives honored in the virtue and glory of their ilustrious countryman, humbly acknowledging that their own greater happiness is hot the work of theur own hands? WHAT THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI SAY3 ABOUT wT. “LORD BYRON'S MARRIED LIFE."” {From the Tempie ec (London) Magazine, July, In a life of Lord syron, prefixed to a new edition of his poetical works, in one volume, offered on every rallway platform tirough the country, the author—who supposes that Lord Byron’s married life was passed at Newstead—informs his readers ‘that the cause of the poet’s separation from his wife 1s & domestic mystery; that while she believed him held that he was unpardonabie, because the spect towards her had been intentional. He con- cludes that by kind treatment Lord Byron might have been certainly won to become a very loving husband, but his wife had reaily never loved him with that aifection which smooths down so of the asperities of married life. That whicu had been so long a mystery was revealed through the cruel indiscreton of Thomas Moore, Tbough the particu- lar offence is not,gthe class to whica it is known. It was not neglect, nor bitter words, nor adultery, that made the separation final. Toe caase was this—Lady Byron, to use the. words of her husband, hud been taugat that «duty dou to God and mau forbade her to return to him, If she could but have known the circumstances in which he asked her In marriage! Being strenuously advised by a friend to marry after much discussion he con+ sented. The next yo was, whom should he choose? The friend proposed one iady; and he named Miss Milbanke, to whom .he had already made an offer of marriage, which she had not ac- cepted. The friend strongly objected to her, re- minding him that he couid not marry without money, that Miss Milbanke had no Jortune at pre- sent, aud, moreover, that she was a learned woman. Listening to these arguments aah & proposal to the otuer lady, and Was rejected. He was sitting with che frieud when the refusal came, =Y01 he said, “Mss Milpanke 19 to be the person}? a wrote to her at the moment. 13 friend, stil strongly remonsirating against the cnoice, read the letter, and said, “This 13 a very pretty letter. It is @ pity itshould not go. I never read a prettier.’ “nen,” said Lord Byron, “it shalt go.’ it was sozt, and, in Moore's words, the flat of his fate was sealed; Miss Milbanke had loved hiin for tw» years; she noW sgcepted him, and they wei married.” He Wrocg of her to his mien a, coldly, ‘naps, but it may 02, vit no more than becoming reserve. His létters show In what estimation she was heid in her owa country, among her own peopie. “By the way, my wife eect 1g periection, and L hear of nothing but her merits and her wonders, and sne 13 ‘very pretty.’ Her ex pectations, I am oid, are great; but what, I ha jol asked, I have not seen her these ten months. “i certainly did not dream that she was aitached to me, Which it seems she has been for some time. [ also thought her of a very cold disposition, in which 1 was aiso mistaken. It i a tong story, and | won's trouble you with it, As to her virtues, &c., &c., you will hear enougi of them (for she isa kind of pat tern im the north), wituout my Tonuring into a display on the subject. Itis well thatone of usis of such fame, since there is sad doficit im the morale of that article upon iy part, allowing to my ‘bitch of @ star,’ as Captain uchmont says of his planet.’? “it 18 an old and (though I did hot know it tilt lately) a mutual attachment.” : He fad been married a fortnight when he wrote, “Address your next to Seauan, Stockton-on-Tees, where we are going on Saturday (a pore, by the way) to see father-in-iaw, Sir Jacob, and my iady's lady mother.” However, Sir Raipt aud Lady Noel » were very kind and hospitable, and their son-in-iaw declared that he liked tue aud the place vastly, adding, he hoped tey would tive many lappy mouths, and that Bell (iis wie) was to health and unvaried good amor and behavior. Lord Went« worth, too, ler ancie, from Whom she was to inher seven or eight thousand @ year, had been so very kind that Byron bardiy kuew how to wish hin in if he coald be comfortable on earta, There ready signa that he was weary of his mar- rie . One little month trom the wedding day te way lusting after the “abstraction and sou. stay which he had found at Douglas Kinnatra’s, je wrote té Mvore, “My papa, Sir Ralph we recently made @ speech at a Durham ax meeting; and not only av Purham, but nore, several tines since, after dinner, He is now, | be- lieve, speaking it to’ hunseif (Lleft him in the’ nid die) Over various decan can neither inter rupt him nor fail asieey it go to fea—damn toa. 1 wish it was Kinnatrd’s brandy, and wit to lecture me aboutit.”’ The followias sentences copied from this lever, because they are instance olast Ehave been trausforre dy aad my lady's maid, or, Anda awake, aod ala n for | of wil possible’ fture ymnarry upon lease, bub au ai the expiration, though next yous. Twish you would re spond, for Tam y Pray tell me what i how the OF Falher go break any pari . Again, Oxachiy A mMonth later, “1 am in such @ State Of SuIneoess aid stagnation, and $0 totally 00+ cupied 1h consuming the iruity and sauntering, and Playtag dull gaues ut cards, aud yewging, aud uy ‘on in the Way of Intrignery, a the upper Beggars’ Opera go on, + and who ave going 1