Lord Byron
"Crede Byron"

BY MYRTIS MORGAN.

W

HEN BYRON passed away at Missolonghi just one hundred years ago, the nineteenth of April, there passed from the ways of men one of the most remarkable figures of modern times.

In many ways one may look upon Byron as one of the martyrs of English hypocrisy.

Born of the best blood which proud England and Scotland can boast, he succeeded, not because of, but in spite of, existing conditions.

George Gordon, sixth Lord Byron, was descended from Richard, second Lord Byron, who succeeded his brother John, first Lord, in 1652. Even before the titles were bestowed upon his family, the doomsday book gives the name of Ralph de Burun as ranking high among the tenants of land in Nottinghamshire; and, in the succeeding reigns, they are listed under the title of Lords of Horistan Castle. There is to be found also that his descendants held considerable possessions in Derbyshire, to which were added the lands of Rochdale in Lancashire, in the time of Edward I.

The name of Byron has more than its antiquity to recommend it to its most famous inheritor; the accomplishments and merits which play so large a part in genealogy, were displayed in no ordinary degree by some of his ancestors. In one of his own early poems, alluding to the achievements of his race, he commemorates, with much honor, those "Mail covered Barons" Who proudly to battle

Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain,
Adding that

Near Askalon's towers John of Horiston slumbers,
Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by death.

By those more interested in the exploits of his family, it will be remembered that at the seige of Calais under Edward III, and on the memorable fields of different eras-Crecy, Bosworth, and Marston Moor-the name of Byron reaped honors of both rank and fame.

On his mother's side the poet had to pride himself of a line of ancestry as illustrious as any that Scotland can boast, his

mother, who was one of the Gordons of Gight, being a descendant of that Sir William Gordon who was the third son of the Earl of Hintley, by the daughter of James I.

England has for years pretended to believe Byron a rake and libertine-yet I doubt if there was a man in all England of his time whose life was as noble, whose spirit as generous. While many did Byron great harm, I believe it is safe to say the most deliberate wrong was done him by the malicious woman he was so unfortunate as to marry. Anne Isabella Milbanke. She had no sympathy for his genius or his friends. Her one desire was to convert him into a money grubbing social hypocrite. Any acts of kindness he may have ever done, were at once misconstrued by this woman into some immoral episode with which she attempted to tarnish his name. From all the letters and documents now before the public, it is impossible to believe Lady Byron married him for anything save his title, fame, and social position. Miss Milbanke enjoyed the reputation of being intellectual, fond of theology and mathematics, and a writer of poems. She was on friendly terms with Mrs. Siddons, Miss Bailee, and other literary persons of the day. She was prudish, pedantic, and frigid. It would possibly be kind to say the woman was insane; for who, save an insane person, would deliberately malign Byron's character to the extent this woman did, and then pretend to believe it would weaken the influence of his writings, and shorten his expiation in the world beyond? If nothing else would stamp false the hideous stories she caused to be circulated against Byron, the great friendship existing between Lady Byron and the "infamous" Harriet Beecher Stowe, would. It is with regret I must mention her name. As the great Karl Elze has said, "To write her name is to pollute the pen."

That Byron had a fiery temper, there is no doubt; but he was of a forgivable nature. While a boy in school he was universally liked. He had a positive genius for making friends. He was lively, warm hearted and high spirited; passionate, resentful, sensitive, but affectionate and companionable to his school fellows; to a remakable degree, venturous and fearless. His great amount of spirit has been shown in many instances. One anecdote illustrative of this spirit, relates that once, on returning home from school, he fell in with a boy, who had on some former occasion insulted him and had got off unpunishedlittle Byron, however, at that time, promised to "pay him off" whenever they should meet again. Accordingly on this second encounter, notwithstanding there were other boys to take his

opponent's part, he proceeded to administer to him a severe thrashing. When he returned home, breathless, on the inquiry of the servant as to what he had been about-he answered with a mixture of rage and humor that he had been paying a debt, by beating a boy according to promise. He was a Byron and would never belie his motto, "Crede Byron."

If it is possible to believe it, he was more anxious to be distinguished for his prowess in sports and exercise than for his learning.

When he was not quite eight years of age, the sensibilities of his nature were awakened by a love for Mary Duff. Lest this should startle a few, it will be remembered that Dante, when he fell in love with Beatrice, was but nine years of age, and Alfieri, who was himself a precocious lover, considers such early sensibility to be an unerring sign of a soul formed for the fine arts.

This passage from Byron's journal in the year 1813 will show that seventeen years later all the anguish of this early love still lived in his memory :

"I have been thinking lately a good deal of Mary Duff. How very odd that I should have been so utterly, devotedly fond of that girl, at an age when I could neither feel passion, nor know the meaning of the word. And the effect! My mother used always to rally me about this childish amour; and at last, many years after, when I was sixteen, she told me one day, 'Oh Byron, I have had a letter from Edinburgh, from Miss Abercromby, and your old sweetheart, Mary Duff, is married to a Mr. Coe.' And what was my answer? I really cannot explain or account for my feelings at that moment; but they nearly threw me into convulsions, and alarmed my mother so much, that after I grew better, she generally avoided the subject -to Me-and contented herself with telling it to all her acquaintNow what could this be? I had never seen her since her mother's faux pas at Aberdeen had been the cause of her removal to her grandmother's at Banff; we were both the merest children. I have been been attached fifty times since that period; yet I reccollect all we said to each other, all our caresses, her features, my restlessness, sleeplessness, my tormenting my mother's maid to write for me to her, which she at last did to quiet me. Poor Nancy thought I was wild, and as I could not write myself, became my secretary. I remember, too, our walks, and the happiness of sitting by Mary, in the children's apartment at their house not far from the Plain-stones at Aberdeen, while

ance.