was endowed. While at school, his great-uncle died; and he succeeded to the title and estates to which the death of his father, in 1791, had left him heir.

His elevation gave, it is said, little gratification to his boyish feelings. He was proud, fond of independence, but free in his disposition; and the ridicule with which his companions received the announcement of his new dignity, strongly affected him. From these circumstances, and his predilection for lonely scenes, a careful observer might have collected a sufficient knowledge of his character, to be convinced it was cast in no ordinary mould; and though it offered few of those outward and striking instances of talent, which are requisite to arrest the attention of the vulgar, that it would, when fully developed, be worthy of deep regard.

Soon after coming to his title, he was placed under the guardianship of the Earl of Carlisle, by whom he was sent to Harrow. At this place he continued to manifest the same characteristics of temper which had distinguished him in childhood-was devotedly fond of liberty, determined in his pursuits, a great enemy to the mechanism of construing or copying the classics, and admired by his schoolfellows more for his readiness to support their rights, than his capability of assisting them in any learned difficulty. In the year 1804, his residence at Harrow terminated, and he was sent to Cambridge; which offered a scene still less calculated than any of those he had previously known, to call forth his talents, or set his thoughts in motion. The honours of the University were little fitted to rouse his ambition. Its discipline was not of a character to rightly influence his conduct; and there was nothing in any one part of the studies or employments of the place, calculated to make him conscious of what rested within him. The time, consequently, which he spent at Cambridge, so far as the University was concerned, produced him little profit; and though he will no doubt be registered among the eminent men it has produced, he was only known there for his eccentricities, or as a violator of its discipline.

On completing his residence at Cambridge, he took up his

abode at Newstead Abbey, a place which, if he had been left to the free choice of an ancestral mansion, could not have been excelled. It was ancient, rich in legendary association, and situated in the midst of a green and romantic country. It was a fit home for a young and noble poet, a cradle in which thought might well be nursed up to become the bride of imagination. But, unfortunately, neither at this, nor at any other period of his life, was Lord Byron sufficiently settled, to enjoy the full advantages which this delicious retreat afforded him. It was about this time, however, (the year 1807,) that he first appeared before the public as an author. The "Hours of Idleness," which were published at Newark, consisted of the miscellaneous pieces which he had composed between his sixteenth and eighteenth years; but they were of the same character as hundreds of others, which have been written by young men of the same age, and might, without any very great error of judgment, be mistaken for the production of a mere versifier. The severe opinion which was passed upon the volume by the Edinburgh Review, is well known, and contributed, there is little doubt, to lash the yet unawakened energies of Lord Byron's mind into action. Had it not been for the violent convulsion this circumstance created in his feelings, there is no determining how long he might have been a weak and puling dribbler of fugitive pieces. The immediate consequence of the indignation he felt at the critique, was the composition of the "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," in which he took vengeance, we may almost say, on friends as well as foes. Its publication produced considerable sensation, and no one could any longer look upon him as a mere rhymster.

But at this period, a circumstance occurred, which more than any other affected his mind, and gave that gloom to his innermost feelings, which they ever after retained. Amid all the dissipation of his youth, his heart still possessed its natural ardour of affection; and on the ruin of its earliest hopes, suffered a misery, which it required something more than human to alleviate. He had very early become attached to Miss Chaworth, but his passion was unreturned, and he had to

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undergo the trial of seeing the object of his attachment married to another. From this date, it appears, he became more than ever prodigal of his time, thought, and feelings. His poetry had been scorned, his heart wounded in its tenderest part, and life itself seemed to present nothing but a long and uncheering road. In this situation of his mind, he determined on making the tour of the continent; and he accordingly set out, having for his companion Mr. John Cam Hobhouse. journey which his Lordship took was one of considerable extent, and varied by numerous incidents, full of delight and profit to his mind. In July 1811, he returned home, having been absent two years; during which time his feelings had recovered something of their elasticity, and had been richly improved in all their poetical tendencies. In 1812 appeared the first two Cantos of Childe Harold, and they were received in a manner which fully compensated the author for his former disappointment. He immediately became possessed of an almost unlimited popularity, and began thenceforward to be regarded as the great prodigy of his age. Childe Harold was followed by the "Giaour," the "Bride of Abydos," "The Corsair," "Lara," and "The Siege of Corinth;" all of which were in the highest degree successful.

It was not till about three years after his auspicious appearance before the world, that he married-his lady being the only daughter of Sir Ralph Millbank Noel, Bart. He had made her, it is said, a previous offer of his hand, but had been refused. The union, it is well known, was not productive of happiness: considerable domestic difficulties soon ensued, and a separation took place shortly after Lady Byron had given birth to a daughter. His Lordship then again left England for the continent, and completed the third Canto of Childe Harold, which was followed by the "The Prisoner of Chillon." In 1817 appeared In 1817 appeared "Manfred," and "The Lament of Tasso;" and in 1818, the last Canto of Childe Harold. The same year also produced the whimsical poem of " Beppo," and the following one "Mazeppa," with part of "Don Juan," which has hurt the poet's character not only by its wretched morality,

but by the contempt it evinces for that purity of thought, and high spiritual beauty of mind, which is inseparable from intellects of the finest order.

Shortly after these poems appeared, he published several dramatic works, for which kind of composition his genius wanted neither pathos nor depth, but that activity and independence of personal feeling which are essential to the dramatist. These pieces, therefore, did not produce much effect, and they are only to be admired for the occasional beauty of poetical sentiment which they exhibit.

On leaving England, Lord Byron had expressed his determination never to return to it; he, therefore, continued to change his residence from one part of Italy to another, till he formed the noble determination of proceeding to Greece, in order to assist the suffering inhabitants in their efforts for freedom. He arrived in Cephalonia in August 1823, from which place he proceeded to Missolonghi. The sacrifice which he made of money and health in the cause he had embraced, renders his name venerable to humanity, and adds to the deep regret with which we contemplate the ruin of his heart and principles. With so much nobility of character, he might have been as great in the pursuit of good, as in that of fame, but dissipation and regret, united, had worn away the foundation of his moral nature, and that which should have appeared as constitutional virtue, was only an occasional impulse.

It is not improbable, we think, that the necessity for vigorous exertion, which his situation in Greece imposed, might have produced a more healthy state of feeling. But a longer career was not allowed him. In the month of March following his arrival in Cephalonia, his constitution gave evident signs of weakness and decay, but he continued his usual occupations till the ninth of April, on which day he got very wet, and was attacked in consequence with a slow fever. His illness continued to increase, but the physicians expressed their opinion that no danger was to be apprehended. Their advice, however, it is to be feared, was fatally erroneous, for on the sixteenth they declared, after having copiously bled

him, that the disease had arrived at a dangerous crisis. But the account of the last moments of this celebrated man, as given by his faithful domestic, Mr. Fletcher, is deeply interesting, and is of course better to be depended upon than any other. "I do not," says he, "believe that his Lordship had any apprehension of his fate till the day after the 18th, when he said, "I fear you and Tita will be ill by sitting continually night and day." I answered, "We shall never leave your Lordship till you are better." As my master had a slight fit of delirium on the 16th, I took care to remove the pistol and stiletto, which had hitherto been kept at his bedside in the night. On the 18th his Lordship addressed me frequently, and seemed to be very much dissatisfied with his medical treatment. I then said, "Do allow me to send for Dr. Thomas," to which he answered, "Do so, but be quick; I am sorry I did not let you do so before, as I am sure they have mistaken my disease. Write yourself, for I know they would not like to see other doctors here." I did not lose a moment in obeying my master's orders; and on informing Dr. Bruno and Mr. Millengen of it, they said it was very right, as they now began to be afraid themselves.

On returning to my master's room, his first words were, "Have you sent?" "I have, my Lord," was my answer; upon which he said, "You have done right, for I should like to know what is the matter with me." Although his Lordship did not appear to think his dissolution was so near, I could perceive he was getting weaker every hour, and he even began to have occasional fits of delirium. He afterwards said, "I now begin to think I am seriously ill, and in case I should be taken off suddenly, I wish to give you several directions, which I hope you will be particular in seeing executed." I answered, I would, in case such an event came to pass; but expressed a hope that he would live many years, to execute them much better himself than I could. To this my master replied, "No, it is now nearly over;" and then added, "I must tell you all without losing a moment:" I then said, "Shall I go, my Lord, and fetch pen, ink, and paper?" "Oh my God! no; you will