life, and a fondness for his memory.'

Literature has never yet seen the instance of a person, of Lady Byron's
rank in life, placed before the world in a position more humiliating to
womanly dignity, or wounding to womanly delicacy.

The direct implication is, that she has no feelings to be hurt, no heart
to be broken, and is not worthy even of the consideration which in
ordinary life is to be accorded to a widow who has received those awful
tidings which generally must awaken many emotions, and call for some
consideration, even in the most callous hearts.

The woman who we are told walked the room, vainly striving to control the
sobs that shook her frame, while she sought to draw from the servant that
last message of her husband which she was never to hear, was not thought
worthy even of the rights of common humanity.

The first volume of the 'Memoir' came out in 1830. Then for the first
time came one flash of lightning from the silent cloud; and she who had
never spoken before spoke out. The libels on the memory of her dead
parents drew from her what her own wrongs never did. During all this
time, while her husband had been keeping her effigy dangling before the
public as a mark for solemn curses, and filthy lampoons, and secretly-
circulated disclosures, that spared no sacredness and violated every
decorum, she had not uttered a word. She had been subjected to nameless
insults, discussed in the assemblies of drunkards, and challenged to
speak for herself. Like the chaste lady in 'Comus,' whom the vile wizard
had bound in the enchanted seat to be 'grinned at and chattered at' by
all the filthy rabble of his dehumanised rout, she had remained pure,
lofty, and undefiled; and the stains of mud and mire thrown upon her had
fallen from her spotless garments.

Now that she is dead, a recent writer in 'The London Quarterly' dares
give voice to an insinuation which even Byron gave only a suggestion of
when he called his wife Clytemnestra; and hints that she tried the power
of youth and beauty to win to her the young solicitor Lushington, and a
handsome young officer of high rank.

At this time, such insinuations had not been thought of; and the only and
chief allegation against Lady Byron had been a cruel severity of virtue.

At all events, when Lady Byron spoke, the world listened with respect,
and believed what she said.

Here let us, too, read her statement, and give it the careful attention
she solicits (Moor