hieved celebrity--when fame lit up his noble brow--the sex was
dazzled. They did not wait to be sought, but themselves made the first
advances. His table was literally strewn with expressions of feminine
admiration.

Dallas relates that one day he found Lord Byron so absorbed in answering
a letter that he seemed almost to have lost the consciousness of what
was passing around him.

"I went to see him again next day," says he, "and Lord Byron named the
person to whom he had written.

"While we were together, the page of the lady in question brought him a
fresh letter. Apparently it was a young boy of thirteen or fourteen
years of age, with a fresh, delicate face, that might have belonged to
the _lady herself_. He was dressed in a hussar jacket, and trowsers of
scarlet, with silver buttons and embroidery; curls of fair hair
clustered over part of the forehead and cheeks, and he held in his hand
a little cap with feathers, which completed the theatrical appearance of
this childish Pandarus. I could not help suspecting it was a disguise."

The suspicions were well founded, and they caused Dallas's hair to stand
on end, for, added to his Puritanism, was the hope of becoming the young
nobleman's Mentor, and he fancied he saw him already on the road to
perdition. But was it likely that Lord Byron, with all his imagination,
sensibility, and warm heart, should remain unmoved--neither touched nor
flattered by the advances of persons uniting beauty and wit to the
highest rank? The world talked, commented, exaggerated. Whether actuated
by jealousy, rancor, noble or despicable sentiments, all took advantage
of the occasion afforded for censure.

Feminine overtures still continued to be made to Lord Byron, but the
fumes of incense never hid from him the sight of his ideal. And as the
comparison was not favorable to realities, disenchantment took place on
his side, without a corresponding result on the other. THENCE many
heart-breakings. Nevertheless there was no ill-nature, no indelicacy,
none of those proceedings that the world readily forgives, but which his
feelings as a man of honor would have condemned. Calantha, in despair at
being no longer loved, resolved on vengeance. She invented a tale, but
what does she say when the truth escapes her?

"If in his manners he (Glenarvon) had shown any of that freedom or
wounding familiarity so frequent with men, she might, perhaps, have been
alarmed, affrighted. But what was it she wo