The daily morning journal and courier., 1897-09-01
BYRoN,s SWORD.
How 1t Came to Hang in a Chicago
 Dining Room.

How 1t Came to Hang in a Chicago
 Dining Room.
 Between the windows of a pleasant Chicago dining room hang three cross ed weapons. Worthy companion blades are these. each drawn in the cause of freedom; two by plain Maine Yankees and one by an English peer. They and her fathers portrait are the most cher ished possessions of gentle, white haired widow They are the precious relics she strained every nerve to save on that October day quarter of cen tury back, when she saw her home and her husbands business and the whole great city go up in flame.
 One weapon is a yataghan gallantly wielded by her father in the war for Grecian independence; another is a plain United States army sabre, worn by her husband in our own civil war: the third was carried by more illus trious and a more unhappy, though no braver, soldier, George Gordon Noel Byron, sixth Lord Byron of Rochdale. and greatest poet of his age.
 This one has an embossed silver scab- bard, Damascus blade with golden sentence in Arabic engraved upon it, which it chances has never been trans lated. It may be something quite com monplace: Great is Allah, and Ma homet is his prophet" or perhaps the mere name of the maker; still, it never has been translated, and adds one more element of romance to the coronet and the initial B upon the hilt
 Byron, as every one knows, never liv- ed to draw that sword himself for Greece, though he threw himself into her quarrel full of military ardor, | though he gave her his fortune. his mighty name, and, in the end his life. As his friend Trelawney wrathfully puts it, he was induced to stick for three months at Missolonghi, that mudbank, shut in by circle of stag nant pools which might be called the belt of death" Here he raised loans. | drilled troops, negotiated the release of prisoners, labored to reconcile the va rious Greek factions, faithfully per formed all the less showy parts of war, | till fever clutched him, and suddenly the news of his death shocked Europe. It was the extinction of lumnary at the zenith. It was the useless sacrifice l of splendid genius in the prime of fame and of manhood Scott said it seemed as if the world had come to an end. No man but Napoleon ever filled such a place in the thoughts of his con- | temporaries.
 About the time that indignant Ire lawney beside the miserable bier of his friend was gathering up his last let | ters the profile of his daughter Ada. with other tokens that the pilgrim had most cherished scattered on the fioor,' an American volunteer was preparing to join the Greek forces. Shortly after J his death Jonathan Peckham Miller of Montpelier, came inquiripg his way to | Byron's house at Missolonghi. now used as meeting place for the gov- ernment of western Greece. He had served two years in the United States army, and was almost immediately giv- en the rank of colonel on the staff of George Jarvis, New Yorker, who had command of Lord Byrons brigade. There were other Americans fighting the Turks; indeed, foreigners of all kinds were scattered through the ranks | Trelawney. his fellow countryman, Col onel Gordon; Colonel Fabvier, the gal lant Frenchman; Dr. Mayer, the Swiss.
 who kept valuable journal of the
 siege of Missolonghi, were but few l ho1 Cn1nna al Miller served to the end of the war with
 an intrepidity that won him the nick
 name of the American daredevil" "
 Many exploits of his are narrated but
 no man who went through the famous siege of Missolonghi needs a certificate of courage.