We have the counterpoise to this in the song of another earlier day. It is in the same mood, however, that the poet composed "Dipsychus," "the Music of the Soul and of the World," and other poems, while the opposite pole of feeling may be found in the "Hidden Love," "Sic Itur," "Qui laborat, orat," and others.

Of Matthew Arnold, the third of this illustrious trio, it might almost be said that modern speculation has moulded and shaped and enriched the poetic feeling, if not, in some cases, its chief occasion and inspiration. Certainly, it is no exaggeration to say that it is out of the woof of restless melancholy in a cultivated mind that has been woven much of what is sublime and tender in his poems. Despondency is, in fact, the perpetual undertone of his emotion; he has written altogether in the minor key. "Epepedocles on Etna" (ancient only in name), deals with some of the difficulties of the modern intellect. Throughout his smaller poems there are constantly recurring reproaches against this time of "change, alarm, surprise." Listen to this:

"The sea of faith

Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore

Lay the folds of a bright girdle furl'd;

But now I only hear

Its melancholy, lowly, withdrawing roar,

Retreating to the breadth

Of the night-wind down the vast edge drear

And naked shingles of the world."

There are plenty of notes of unrest, too, set vibrating by the boundless vistas opened to the scientific view. For instance:

"Yet while I languish,
Everywhere countless

Prospects unroll themselves

And countless beings

Past countless moods."

The restlessness produced by the hurry of our modern life, and the multiplicity of our needs and aims, is repeatedly alluded "Too fast we live, too much are tired," he sings in one place, and again,

to.

ARTICLE III.-DR. MILLINGEN'S REMINISCENCES OF LORD BYRON IN GREECE.

Memoirs of the Affairs of Greece. By Dr. J. MILLINGEN, Surgeon to the Byron Brigade at Mesolonghi, etc.

IN the course of last December, the American and English newspapers contained extended notices of the death of Dr. J. M. Millingen on the first of that month, at Constantinople.

The interest of the general public in Dr. Millingen rests in part upon his connection as physician with the Courts of five Sultans, but chiefly on his connection in early life with Lord Byron.

When the Greeks revolted against the Turks, Dr. Millingen shared the enthusiasm which that event excited in the civilized world; and fresh from his medical studies in Edinburgh, he placed his professional services at the disposal of the Committee formed in London to assist the cause of Hellenic freedom. Proceeding to Greece, he had frequent opportunites of meeting Lord Byron, who had espoused the cause of the oppressed; and was one of the physicians who attended the poet on his death-bed.

At the close of the war, during which Dr. Millingen was taken prisoner at the capture of the fortress of Navarino by the Turkish forces, he published, in 1831, an account of his experiences in Greece, under the title given above.

It is full of valuable information regarding the then condition of Greece, and contains reminiscences of the poet. Our readers, we feel sure, will be interested in perusing what Dr. Millingen bas left on record regarding that eminent literary character, and accordingly we place before them the passages in the above work which relate to Lord Byron, as they have been put together with a few additional particulars by Dr. Millingen's son, the Rev. A. V. Millingen, Professor in Robert College, Constantinople.

As intimated, Dr. Millingen was long a resident of the Turkish capital, and became as conversant with Turkish affairs

as he had been with those of Greece in earlier days. It was his intention to leave behind him MSS. for publication after his decease, but they were lost in the great fire of 1870 in Constantinople. His sympathy with the cause of missions, and of civil and religious freedom in Turkey, only grew more and more intense with advancing years. He died praying that the nations among which his lot had been cast might all be made free by the Truth.

Dr. Millingen in company with a party of German officers on their way to join the Greek forces, met Lord Byron for the first time in Cephalonia, early in November of 1823.

"He received us with the greatest affability, exhibiting the most gentlemanly and elegant manners, bordering perhaps a little on affectation, but not to be surpassed by the most finished courtier." While commending the zeal of those before him for the Greek cause, he astonished them by his unflattering description of the people they had come to serve.

After this interview, Dr. Millingen spent several days in the village of Metaxata, where Lord Byron was staying, at the poet's invitation. "On my arrival I found him on the balcony of the house, wrapt in his Stuart tartan cloak, with a cap on his head which he affected to wear as the Scotch bonnet, attentively contemplating the extensive and variegated view before him, terminated by the blue mountains of Etolia, Acarnania and Achaia. The valley below the village is highly luxuriant and even at this advanced epoch of the year was covered with verdure, and embellished by the ever-green olive, orange, and lemon trees, and cypresses towering above the never-fading laurel and myrtle. Being on the point of taking his usual ride he invited me to accompany him. Greece and the London Committee formed, till our return, the principal topics of conversation. Having in the course of conversation often expressed my surprise at the prodigious difference between his notions with regard to the Greek character and those prevalent in England, and at the fact that notwithstanding his unfavorable opinion he had devoted his all to the Greek cause, he replied: "Heartily weary of the monotonous life I had led in Italy for several years; sickened with pleas

ure; more tired of scribbling than the public, perhaps, is of reading my lucubrations, I felt the urgent need of giving a completely new direction to the course of my ideas; and the active, dangerous, yet glorious scenes of the military career struck my fancy, and became congenial to my tastes.

After all, should this new mode of existence fail to afford me the satisfaction I anticipate, it will at least present me with the means of making a dashing exit from the scene of this world, where the part I was acting had grown excessively dull."

On dinner being served up, although several dishes of meat were upon the table, Lord Byron did not partake of any, his custom being to eat meat only once a month. Soup, a few vegetables, a considerable portion of English cheese, with some fried crusts of bread, and fruit, constituted his daily fare. He ate with great rapidity and drank freely. There happened to be on the table a roasted capon, the good looks of which so powerfully tempted him, that after wistfully eyeing it he was on the point of taking a leg; but suddenly recollecting the rule he had imposed upon himself, he left it in the dish, desir ing his servant to let the capon be left till the next day, when his month would be out." Lord Byron's motive for this abstemiousness was the fear of becoming corpulent, which haunted him continually. I frequently heard him say, “I especially dread in this world two things, to which I have reason to believe I am equally predisposed-growing fat and growing mad; and it would be difficult for me to decide, were I forced to make a choice, which of these conditions I would choose in preference." To avoid corpulence he also had recourse almost daily to strong drastic pills; and if he observed the slightest increase in the size of his wrists or waist which he measured with scrupulous exactness every morning, he immediately sought to reduce it by taking a large dose of Epsom salts, besides the usual pills. No petit-maitre could pay more sedulous attention than he did to external appearance, or consult with more complacency the looking-glass. Even when en negligé, he studied the nature of the postures he assumed as attentively as if he had been sitting for his picture; and so much did he attach to the whiteness of his hands that

he constantly and even within doors wore gloves. The lameness, which he had from his birth, was a source of actual misery to him. Sooner than confess that nature had been guilty of this original defect he preferred attributing his lameness to the improper treatment of a sprained ankle while he was yet a child.

He rose at half-past ten o'clock, when by way of breakfast he took a large basinful of a strong infusion of green tea, without either sugar or milk; a drink which could not but prove exceedingly prejudicial to a constitution so essentially nervous. At half past eleven he would set out on a two hours' ride; and on his return his singular and only meal was served up. Having dined, he immediately withdrew to his study, where he remained till dark, when, more willingly than at any other time he would indulge in conversation. Afterwards he would play at draughts for a while, or take up some volume on light subjects such as novels, memoirs, or travels. He had unfortunately contracted the habit of drinking immoderately every evening. He would then pace up and down the room till three or four in the morning; and these hours, he often confessed, were the most propitious to the inspirations of his muse.

From the moment Lord Byron embarked in the Greek cause his mind seemed so completely absorbed by the subject that it rendered him deaf to the calls of poetry; at least he repeatedly assured us, that since his departure from Genoa he had not written a single line; and though it appeared from his conversation that he was arranging in his head the materials of a future canto of Don Juan, he did not feel his poetical vein sufficiently strong to induce him to venture on the undertaking.

It was an invariable habit with him to write by fits and starts. If he ever wrote anything worth perusing he had done. it, he said, spontaneously and at once, and the value of his poems might according to him be rated by the facility he had experienced in composing them; his worst productions (his dramatic pieces) being those which had given him most trouble. The Bride of Abydos was composed in less than a week; the Corsair in the same space of time; and the Lamentations of Tasso, which he wrote at the request of Teresa of Ravenna, was the business of only two nights.