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lime, death deprived him o? five other relativesand friends; and he writes, “In the short space ofa month, I have lost her who gave me being, andmost of those who made that being tolerable.”
About this time, however, he was approachingan eventful epoch of his career. While abroad,he had composed two poems: the one called“ Hints from Horacethe other, the two first cantosof “ Childe Harold, ” which he gave to the world in1812. The reading public was surprised and de-lighted. Eulogy flowed iD from all quarters; andeven those readers who most deprecated thecynical' and sombre views of human nature un-folded in this poem, avowed that it was the workof-a powerful, brilliant, and original genius. Forthe copyright of this first instalment of "ChildeHarold, ” he received 600J. from Mr. Murray. Hewas rather apprehensive as to the reception whichit would experience from the critics; but thehearty approbation which it elicited from Mr.Gifford, the then editor of the “ Quarterly Review,”soon allayed his anxiety. But the success of thepoem exceeded even the anticipations of the“ Quarterly.” So, as he tersely expresses it in hisdiary, “ I awoke one morning, and found myselffamous.” He became the magnet and the idol ofsociety; ladies of rank and beauty made love tohim; the young men imitated him in the cut ofhis coat, the pattern of his trousers, the divisionof his hair, and tbe turn of his shirt collar. Hisfaco was eminently calculated to sustain theinterest which his genius had inspired: the pre-vailing expression of his fine features was that ofdeep and concentrated thoughtfulness; although,when engaged in exciting conversation, his facialexpression responded to all the quickly varyingmoods, of his soul, being grave or gay, indignant orsarcastical, by turns.
A fdw days before the publication of “ ChildeHarold,” he made his maiden speech in the Houseof Lords . This speech attracted considerablepublic attention. It was on the subject of theHousebreaking Bill, and was highly commended bySheridan, Sir Francis Burdett , audLords Grenvilleand Holland. The whole of this oratorical effort hehad first reduced to writing, and then committedit to heart. Six weeks afterwards, he spoke infavour of the claims of the Roman Catholics , butwithout producing quite so favourable an im-pression as by his first speech. On the 2nd of.Tune, 1813, ho spoke for the last time in the Houseof Lords , on presenting a petition from the well-known Radical Reformer, Major Cartwright. ButLord Byron had evidently, before this, ceased tolook upon parliamentary distinction otherwise thanas a subordinate object of ambition. In theNovember of this year (1813), we find him writing,“ I have declined presenting the debtors’ petition,being sick of parliamentary mummeries. I havespokon thrice, but I doubt my ever becoming anorator. My first was liked; my second and third Ido not know whether they succeeded or not; I havenever set to it con amore."
In the April of 1813, he published the poem called“The Waltz;” in the following month he broughtout his “Giaour;” and the “ Bride of Abydos ” inthe December of the same year.
In January of 1814, he published the “ Corsair;”and the following Apr:!', he wrote the “ Ode on tbeFall of Napoleon Bonaparte .”
Soon after this, he came to the whimsical resolu-tion, not only of writing no more, hut of suppress-
ing all that he had ever written. His friend andbiographer, Moore, contends that Lord Byron wasperfectly serious in this, and we have no reason todoubt the correctness of his conviction. One thingis certain: Byron wrote to Mr. Murray, enclosinga draft for money which he received from thateminent publisher for his copyrights. But Mr.Murray declined to be a party to the arrangement,and the poet was easily persuaded to resume hispen, and to renounce all further thought of smother-ing his intellectual offspring, for, a few days afterhis letter to Mr. Murray, asking the return of hiscopyrights, we find that he wrote the fine poemcalled “ Lara;” and six months after the fine seriesof lyrical pieces known as “ Hebrew Melodies.”Byron had, at a very early age. imbibed a strongliking for the sacred writings. His nurse, on whomdevolved the duty of applying the machines andbandages to his unfortunate right foot, would oftensing him to sleep, or tell him stories and legends,in which, like most other children, he took greatdelight She also taught him, while yet an infant,to repeat a great numbei of the Psalms; the firstand twenty-third of which were among the earliestthat be committed to memory. Through the careof this excellent and kindly woman, he attainedto a far earlier and more intimate knowledge of theBible than falls to the lot of most young people.
In a letter which he wrote from Ataly to Mr.Murray, three years before his death, asking thatgentleman to send him a Bible , he adds. “ Don’tforget this, for I am a great reader and admirer ofthose books, and had read them through andthrough before I was eight years old; that is tosay, the ‘Old Testament, ’ for tbe New struck meas a task, but the other as a pleasure. I speak asa boy, from the recollected impression of thatperiod at Aberdeen in 1796.”
We now approach the most unhappy event inLord Byron ’s unhappy and eventful life. We referto his marriage with Miss Millbank. only daughterand heiress of Sir Ralph Millbank.
Byron ' was very susceptible of attachment towomen, and yet it is clear that he never felt any-thing deserving the name of love for Miss Millbank.At a very early age he thought himself in love.Before he had completed his eighth year, a feelingpartaking more of the nature of the “grandpassion 5 .than it is easy to believe possible in soyoung achild, took entire possession of his thoughts.The object of this boyish preference was a prettyScotch girl, named Mary Duff. In his diary, writtenmany years after his childish passion hadceased to be anything but an interesting remem-brance, he observes, “ I have been thinking latelya good deal of Mary Duff. How very odd that Ishould have been so utterly devotedly fond of thatgirl, at an age when I could neither feel passionnor know the meaniug of the word! And theeffect! My mother used always to rally m.- aboutthis 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 fromMiss Abercromby; and your old sweetheart, MaryDuff, is married to Mr. Coe.’ (Mr. Robert Oockbum,an eminent wine merchant, who removed fromEdinburgh to London ). And what was my an-swer ? I really cannot explain or account for myfeelings at that moment, but they nearly threw meinto convulsions, and alarmed my mother so muchthat, after I grew better, she avoided the subject toim. n '