le, and then the destiny of Greece would
be assured. She would take the place that belongs to her as a member of
Christendom in Europe."

One day, at Missolonghi, a Prussian officer came to complain to Lord
Byron, saying, that his _rank_ would not allow him to remain under
command of Mr. Parry, who was his inferior both in a civil and military
capacity, and consequently that he was going to retire. After having
done all he could to bring the German to more reasonable sentiments,
after having even joked him on his quarterings of nobility, and the
folly of wishing to introduce such prejudices into a country like
Greece, Lord Byron did not scruple adding:--

"As to me, I should be quite willing to serve as a simple soldier, in
any corps, if that were considered useful to the cause."

But if Lord Byron's absence of ambition under the two first categories,
as established by Bacon, is well proved; the same can not be said with
regard to the third. To deny it would be not only contrary to truth, but
especially would it be contrary to all justice; for the third order of
ambition ceases to be a fault; it is the love of glory, and, according
to Bacon, that is a virtue. At least it is a quality pertaining to noble
minds; and could it, then, be wanting in Lord Byron? He had always had a
presentiment that glory would not fail him. But he was not satisfied
with obtaining it, his special wish was to _deserve_ it with just and
undeniable right. While yet a child in his fourteenth year, he wrote, in

A FRAGMENT.

"When to their airy hall my fathers' voice
Shall call my spirit
* * * * * * *
Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured urns
To mark the spot where earth to earth returns!
No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone;
My epitaph shall be my name alone:
If _that_ with honor fail to crown my clay,
Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay!
_That_, only _that_, shall single out the spot;
By that remember'd, or with that forgot."

Another time, replying in verse to a poetic composition of one of his
comrades which spoke of _the common lot of mortals as lying in Lethe's
wave_, Lord Byron, after some charming couplets, ends thus:--

"What, though the sculpture be destroy'd,
From dark oblivion meant to guard;
A bright renown shall be enjoy'd
By those whose virtues claim reward.

"Then do not say the common lot
Of all lies deep in Lethe's wave;
Some few, who