upon, of hearing him say that it had
been pleasant and happy. Finally, when she asked his advice with regard
to her future conduct, he displayed, at twenty-six years of age, the
wisdom that seldom comes before the advent of gray hairs. In short, by
word and by action, he manifested that nobleness of soul which always
unveiled itself to pure open natures, but which closed against
artificial ones; and which makes Miss S---- say at the beginning as well
as at the end of her account:--"There has been but one Byron on earth:
how could I not love him?"

But it is especially on account of the great love she felt for him, on
going over it, reflecting, comparing the depth of feelings she had been
unable to hide from him, with the conduct of this young man of
twenty-six, who drew from duty alone a degree of strength superior to
his age and sex, that she expressed herself thus. She can still see his
looks of tenderness; she can judge what the struggle was, the combat
that was going on in him as soft and stern glances chased each other; at
length she sees honor gain the victory, and remain triumphant.

It is this spectacle of such great moral beauty, still before her eyes,
that can be so well appreciated after the lapse of long years, and which
justifies the words that begin and close her recital by divesting it of
all semblance of exaggeration:--"There has been but one Byron!"

When we have known such beings, admiration and love outlive all else.
And while the causes that may have led to transient emotions in a long
career--an error, a fault--pass away and are forgotten like some
beautiful vision, these glorious remembrances, these more than human
images, tower above, living and radiant, in memory, and even come to
visit us in our dreams, sometimes to reproach us with our useless and
imprudent doubts, ever to sustain us amid the sadnesses of life; and if
the love has been reciprocal, then to console us with the prospect of
another life, in that blessed abode where we shall meet again forever.

After this long narrative, it would be useless and perhaps wearisome for
the reader if we quoted many other similar facts in Lord Byron's life.
They might differ in circumstances, but would all wear the same moral
character.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 87: She had dedicated to him a small collection of poems,
which she sent to Pisa, in 1821, with a letter, _to which she received
no answer_.]

[Footnote 88: "All that," says she, "lives in