The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1869-08-19


and insane dread of detection. Two years after
his refusal by Miss Millbanke his various
friends, seeing that for some cause he was
wretched, pressed marriage upon him. Mar
rage has often been represented as the proper
goal and terminus of wild and disspated
career, and it has been supposed to be the
appointed mission of good women to receive
wandering prodigals with all the rags and
dlsgraces of their old life upon them, and put
rings on their hands and shoes on their feet,
and introduce them, clothed and in their right
minds, to an honorable career in society
Marriage was therefore universally recon-
mended to Lord Byron by his numerous
friends and vel-wishers; and 50 he deter
mined to marry. and in an hour of reckless
desperation, sat down and wrote proposals to
two ladies'. One was declined. The other
which was accepted. was to Miss Millbanke
The world knows well that he had the gift of
expression, and viii not be surprised that he
wrote a very beautiful letter, and that the
woman who had already learned to love him
fell at once into the snare.
Her answer was frank, outspoken avowal
of her love for him. giving herself to him
heart and hand. The good in Lord Byron
was not so utterly obliterated that he could
receive such a letter without emotion, or
practice such untairnoss on a loving, trust
ing heart without pangs OF remorse. He had
sent the letter in mere reckessness he had
not seriously oXl ccted to be accepted and
the discovery OF the treasure of affection
which he had secured was like vision of lost
heaven to a soul in hell. But, nevertheless
in his letters written about the engagement
there are sufficient evidences that his self
love was tatGed at the preference ac-
corded him by so superior a women
and one who had been so much
sought. lie mentions with an air of COM
pacency that she has employed the last two
years IN refusing five or six of his acquaint-
ance: that he had no idea she loved him, adj
mitting that it was an old attachment on his
part; he dwells ON her virtues with sort Of
pride of ownership. There is a sort of child
ish levity about the franlness of these letters,
very Characteristic of the man who skinned
over the deepest abysses with the lightest
jests. Before the world and to his intimates
he was acting the part of the successful f0ace,
conscious all the while of the deadly secret
that lay cold at the bottom of his heart
When he went to visit Miss NIillbanke's
parents, as her accepted lover, she was
struck with his manner and appear
ance; she saw him moody and gloomy,
evidently wrestling with dark and despe-
rate thoughts, and anything but what happy
and accepted lover should be. She sought an
with him alone, and told him that
engagement, and. unagnanimously added that,
if on review he found he had been mistaken
in the nature of his feelings, she would inn
release him, and they should remain
only friends Overcome with the conflict of
his feelings, Lord Byron tainted away. Miss
NIillbanke was Convinced that his heart must
really be deeply involved in an attachment
with reference to which he showed such
strength of emotion, and she spoke no more
Of the dissolution OF the engagement.
There is no reason to doubt that Byron was,
as he relates in his Dream, profoundly
agonized and agitated, when he stood before
Gods altar. with the trusting young creature
whom he was leading to q fate so awfuly
tragic; yet ii was not the memory of Mary
Chaworth, but another guilty and more damn
ing memory that overshadowed that hour
The moment the carriage doors we're shut
upon the bridegroom and the bride, the pa
roxysm of remorse and despair-unrepentan
remorso and ANGRY despair-broke forth upon
her gentle head You might have saved me
from this, madam. you had all in your own
power when / offered myself to you first.
Then you might have made me what you
pleased; but now you will find that you have
married a dovil.' In Miss Martineau's
sketches, recently published, is an account of
the termination of this wedding Journey,
NL4lNL D1ObELAt ilN1l4 " VIC u l4tNlJ IJJIOl >
ancestral country seats, where they were to
spend the honeymoon. Miss Martineau says:-
cat the altar she did not know that she was n
saurnCe; but before sunset Of that winter day she
knew it, If Judgment may be formed from her face
and attitude OF despair when she altghted from the
was not the traces OF tears which won the sympathy
Of the old butler, who stood at the open door. The
bridegroom jumped ont or the carriage ana walked
away. The bride atghted and came up the steps
alone, with cOuurCuanCe and frame agOniZcd and
hstlesS with evident horror and despair. The Old
servant Ongcd 10 uhnr ms arm to the young, lonely
creature, as an assurance of sympathy and proteC-
ton. From this shock she certainly raj
lied, and soon. Tie pecuniary difficulties
devoted spirit like hers was fitted to encounter
Her husband bore testimony after the catastrophe
ihaJ brighter being, more sympathiZng and
agreeable companions never blessed any mans
nome. When Ac afterwards called her cold and
mathematician, ana over pious, ana so forth. il was
wren puDhG opA'oh had gone against him. and
When he had US'uye cred that her fidelity ana mcrcy
her silence and uagnanmity, might be relied on so
that ne was at lu liberty TO make his part good as
far as she was concerned. Silent she was even TO
g ner own parents whose feelings she mognanmously
she had been most rash in marrying him"
Not at once did the full KNOWLEDGE Of tbe
dreadful reality into which she had entered
come upon the young wife. She knew
vaguely, from the wild avowals of the first
hours of their marriage, that there was a
dreadful secret OF guilt, that Byrons soul was
torn with agonies Of remorse and that he had
no love to give to her in return for a love
which was ready to do and dare all for him
Yet brayely she addressed herself to the task
OF soothing and pleasing and calming the man
| whom she had taken ''for better or worse
Young and gifted, with a peculiar air OF
refined and spiritual beauty; graceful il
every movement, possessed Of exquisite
taste, perfect companion to his mint
IN all the higher walks of literary