of life' which was conducting me from the 'yellow leaf' to the ground with all deliberate speed. I am better in health and morals."

At Venice he wrote Beppo, Mazeppa, and the early cantos of Don Juan. The Venetians called him "the English fish," and declared that he "dived for his poetry "! They had good reason: one day he swam from the Lido to the farther end of the grand canal, being four hours and twenty minutes in the water without touching bottom. His income about this time amounted to about £4,000 a year: he gave away a quarter of it in charity. Many who regularly received his benefactions never knew from whom they came. Though so cynical and with good reason - Byron was remarkably kind to every one. His servants adored him.

At a reception at the Countess Benzoni's in April, 1819, Byron was presented to the sixteen-year-old wife of Count Guiccioli - a pretty blonde with fair skin and yellow hair. Her husband was about four times as old as she, and very rich.

Byron became her cicisbeo or legalized lover. This curious state of things was peculiar to Italy: the marriage de convenance demanded a correction in some acknowledgment of human nature. The lady with a husband whom she did not love had a cavalier servente whom she did love.

Byron wrote to Mr. Murray:

"Their system has its rules and its fitnesses and its decorums, so as to be reduced to a kind of discipline or game at hearts, which admits few deviations, unless you wish to lose it. They transfer marriage to adul

tery and strike the not out of that commandment. The reason is that they marry for their parents and love for themselves."

Byron prefaced this explanation by declaring that the Englishman could not appreciate such an order of things. "Their moral is not your moral, their life is not your life; you would not understand it." Byron himself at first found it hard to understand it. The count came to call upon him and took him out to drive in his coach and six. He showed no jealousy when the countess accom. panied Byron on an excursion that lasted several days. He tried to borrow money of him. He even lodged him at his palace at Ravenna, and made him pay dear for the privilege. Byron was warned that the count might cause him to be assassinated, and for some time he went armed.

After a sudden fit of propriety, in which the husband demanded that there should be no more communication between the lady and her lover, the lady fell ill. Then even her father begged Byron to hasten to her side; the count became complaisant again and remained so till July, 1820, when the Pope, at the solicitation of herself and friends, pronounced a separation beween the husband and wife.

Byron had made the count's house a headquarters for the revolutionary movement. When the Carbonari insurrection was supressed, several of the countess's family were involved. The Gambas were banished from the Romagna, and took refuge first in Florence, then in Pisa.

Byron joined them there in November, 1882. Shelley wrote about this time:

"He has completely recovered his health, and lives a life totally the reverse of that which he led in Venice. . . Poor fellow! he is completely immersed in politics and literature is greatly improved in every respect, in genius, in temper, in moral views, in health and happiness. His connection with La Guiccioli has been an inestimable benefit to him."

With all respect to Shelley, we may doubt if his judgment on such a point be accepted as correct. Still the countess doubtless caused him to modify Don Juan for the better. It was during these months that he wrote his dramatic works.

Byron had found an object in life. Disappointed in not having succeeded in home politics, he knew that he was meant for public affairs. He threw himself into the popular cause of Italy. He foresaw what it would be if freed and unified. But at that time it was still only a dream. The Austrian monster with its two heads still held the country in its gripe.

Byron spent almost a year in Pisa. While there he received a letter from an English clergyman informing him of a prayer for his conversion offered by his recently deceased wife. Byron replied: "I would not exchange the prayer of this pure and virtuous being in my behalf for the united glory of Homer, Cæsar, and Napoleon." While there he also wrote the pathetic letter to his wife asking reconciliation on account of their daughter. It was never sent. The daughter Ada was growing up in utter ignorance of her father. Only a few weeks before her death in 1852, she read her father's poems and learned how she whom he had never seen had

been the very idol of his heart. Then she asked to be buried near him. This seems the most touching thing in the whole sad story.

Leigh Hunt came to Pisa, and was Byron's pensioner, afterwards repaying his generosity by scurrilous abuse. He and Byron entered into a sort of literary partnership; they established the Liberal, to which Byron contributed The Vision of Judgment and a few other poems.

It was not a successful venture.

During the summer of 1822 Shelley was drowned in the Gulf of Spezzia. Byron was present at the cremation of the body, and after it was over was seized with a strange delirious hilarity. He afterwards wrote that perhaps the world which had been ill-naturedly, ignorantly, and brutally mistaken about Shelley, would now, when it was too late, do him justice. This same summer his natural daughter Allegra, whom he was bringing up in the Roman Catholic faith, died.

In July the Gambas were exiled from Pisa, and Byron went with them to Genoa, where he wrote two of the last extant cantos of Don Juan. Cantos six to eleven were written at Pisa. At this time Lady Blessington, who saw much of him, thus described his appearance :

"One of Byron's eyes was larger than the other; his nose was rather thick, so he was best seen in profile; his mouth was splendid, and his scornful expression was real, not affected, but a sweet smile often broke through his melancholy. He was at this time very pale and thin. His hair was dark brown, here and there turning to gray. His voice was harmonious, clear, and low."

The war of Greece against Turkey had been going on for two years. Byron's attention was drawn to it. He

threw himself into the noble cause with the greatest ardor. He was perhaps tired of his shallow Italian mistress, with whom he had thought of emigrating to America. He longed for action. Newstead had been sold, and after paying Lady Byron her share (which she took without scruple), he had a small fortune remaining. In 1822 his mother-at-law (as he called his wife's mother) died, and he, without any scruple, added the Wentworth name of Noel to his own, and took his half of the estate. This gave him enough ready money to enable him to go to Greece in the guise of a general paymaster.

He hired the brig Hercules, and, accompanied by Trelawny, Count Pietro Gamba (La Guiccioli's brother, who had conceived a strong affection for him), and several servants, he embarked for Greece, July 14, 1822. On board he had two small cannon and other arms, five horses, medicines, and $50,000 in Spanish coin.

Coming in sight of the Morea, he remarked that it seemed to him as if the eleven long years of bitterness which he had just passed through were taken from his shoulders.

Byron's services in the Greek campaign were quickly cut short by his illness at Mesolonghi. But in the few weeks of his presence he displayed remarkable sagacity and wisdom in dealing with refractory elements. He saw that united action was necessary, and he bent all his energies to bringing about peace between rival factions.

He spent his money with liberality but with diplomacy. If he had lived to see the success of Greece, he would not unlikely have been offered the throne.