This was the last ebullition of a mind which was now tottering to its final decadence; though it occasionally broke out in those meteor-like flashes, which had belonged to its early vigor. On the 12th of April, a fever, of whose premonitory symptoms he had not been sufficiently heedful, confined him to his bed, and his physician, Dr. Bruno, proposed bleeding him, as the only means of saving his life. This, however, he repeatedly refused; declaring, that he had only a common cold, and that he would not permit the doctor to bleed him for the mere purpose of getting the reputation of curing his disease. At length, on the 14th, after some controversy among the physicians, who now all saw the necessity of bleeding, he consented to the operation; and also on the 16th, saying as he stretched out his arm, 'I fear they know nothing about my disorder; but, here, take my arm, and do whatever you like.' On the 17th, his countenance changed, and he became slightly delirious; he complained that the want of sleep would drive him mad; 'and,' he exclaimed to his valet, Fletcher, 'I would ten times sooner shoot myself than be mad; for I am not afraid of dying—I am more fit to die than people imagine.' It was not, however, till the 18th, that he began to think himself in danger, when he called Fletcher to his bed-side, and bid him receive his last instructions. 'Shall I fetch pen, ink, and paper?' said the valet, as he approached; 'Oh, my God! no;' was his reply; 'you will lose too much time, and I have it not to spare.' He then exclaimed, 'Oh! my poor dear child!—my dear Ada—could I have but seen her—give her my blessing.' And, after muttering something unintelligibly, he suddenly raised his voice, and said, 'Fletcher, now, if you do not execute every order which I have given you, I will torment you here-*after, if possible.' The valet replying that he had not understood one word of what his lordship had been saying, 'Oh, my God?' he exclaimed, 'then all is lost, for it is now too late, and all is over: yet, as you say, God's will, not mine, be done—but, I will try to—my wife! my child! my sister!—you know all—you must say all—you know my wishes.' Here his words became unintelligible. Stimulants were now, in direct opposition to the opinion of Dr. Bruno, administered to him, after taking which, he said, 'I must sleep now,' and never spoke again. For twenty-four hours he lay in a state of lethargy, with the rattles occasionally in his throat; and at six o'clock in the evening of the 19th, an exclamation of Fletcher, who saw him open and then shut his eyes, without moving hand or foot, announced that his master was no more.
The death of lord Byron created a mournful sensation in all parts of the civilized world; his failings were forgotten in his recent struggles for the delivery of Greece, and one universal sound of admiration and regret was echoed throughout Europe. The authorities of Missolonghi paid every token of respect to his memory that reverence could suggest, and before his remains were deposited in their final resting place, some of the most celebrated men of the present century had, in glowing terms, expressed their sense of his merits. His body after having been brought to England, and refused interment in Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's, was conveyed to Hucknell church, near Newstead, in conformity to a wish of the poet, that his dust might be mingled with his mother's. As the procession passed through the streets of London, a sailor was observed walking, uncovered, near the hearse, and on being asked what he was doing there, replied, that he had served lord Byron in the Levant, and had come
