"naird." He then said, "Now I have told

66 you all."

"My Lord," replied Fletcher, "I have not understood a word your Lord

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ship has been saying." Lord Byron looked most distressed at this, and said, "Not "understand me? What a pity-then it is "too late-all is over."-" I hope not," answered Fletcher; "but the Lord's will "be done." Byron continued, "Yes, not "mine." He then tried to utter a few words, of which none were intelligible except "my sister-my child."

Since their last consultation, the majority of the medical men had thought that the crisis of the disorder was now come; and 1. that the principal danger now was the extreme weakness of the patient; and that restoratives should be administered. Dr. Bruno thought otherwise; but it was resolved to give a draught of claret and bark and opium, and to apply mustard blisters

to the soles of the feet. Byron took the draught readily, but refused the blisters: accordingly, I was sent for to persuade him, and I returned in all haste with Mr. Parry. On my arrival they informed me that he was asleep, and that he had suffered the blisters to be applied not to his feet, but elsewhere. The physicians augured well of this sleep-perhaps it was but the effect of the medicine, and only hastened his death.

He awoke in half an hour. I wished to go to him—but I had not the heart. Mr. Parry went, and Byron knew him again, and squeezed his hand, and tried to express his last wishes. He mentioned names, as before, and also sums of money: he spoke sometimes in English, sometimes in Italian. From those about him, I collected that, either at this time, or in his former interval of reason, he could be understood to say"Poor Greece!-poor town!-my poor

"servants !" Also, "Why was I not "aware of this sooner?" and "My hour "is come!-I do not care for death-but

66

why did I not go home before I came "here?" At another time he said, "There "are things which make the world dear "to me [lo lascio qualche cosa di caro nel

66

mondo]: for the rest, I am content to "die." He spoke also of Greece, saying, “I have given her my time, my means, my "health-and now I give her my life!— "what could I do more?"

It was about six o'clock in the evening when he said, "I want to go to sleep now;" and immediately turning round, he fell into that slumber, from which, alas! he never awoke. From that moment he seemed incapable of sense or motion: but there were Coccasional symptoms of suffocation, and a rattling in the throat, which induced his servants now and then to raise his head.

Means were taken to rouse him from his lethargy, but in vain *. He continued in this state for four-and-twenty hours; and it was just a quarter past six o'clock on the next day, the 19th, that he was seen to open eyes, and immediately shut them again. The physicians felt his pulse-he was gone!

his

In vain should I attempt to describe the deep, the distressing sorrow that overwhelmed us all. I will not speak of myself, but of those who loved him less, because they had seen him less. Not only Mavrocordato and his immediate circle, but the whole city and all its inhabitants were, as it seemed, stunned by this blow-it had been so sudden, so unexpected. His illness, indeed, had been known; and for the three last days none of us could walk in the streets without anxious inquiries from every one

* A great many leeches were applied to his temples, and the blood flowed copiously all night.

who met us, of "How is my Lord?" We did not mourn the loss of the great geniusno, nor that of the supporter of Greeceour first tears were for our father, our patron, our friend. He died in a strange land, and amongst strangers; but more loved, more sincerely wept, he could never have been, wherever he had breathed his last. Such was the attachment, mingled with a sort of reverence and enthusiasm, with which he inspired those around him, that there was not one of us who would not, for his sake, have willingly encountered any danger in the world. The Greeks of every class and every age, from Mavrocordato to the meanest citizen, sympathised with our sorrows. It was in vain that, when we met, we tried to keep up our spirits--our attempts at consolation always ended in mutual tears.

The proclamation issued by Prince Mavrocordato, on the day of Lord Byron's