Thus closed one distinct period of his life and of his authorship. A change came over the spirit of his dream. UNHAPPY MARRIAGE.--In 1815, urged by his friends, and thinking it due to his position, he married Miss Milbanke; but the union was without affection on either side, and both were unhappy. One child, a daughter, was born to them; and a year had hardly passed when they were separated, by mutual consent and for reasons never truly divulged; and which, in spite of modern investigations, must remain mysterious. He was licentious, extravagant, of a violent temper: his wife was of severe morals, cold, and unsympathetic. We need not advance farther into the horrors recently suggested to the world. The blame has rested on Byron; and, at the time, the popular feeling was so strong, that it may be said to have driven him from England. It awoke in him a dark misanthropy which returned English scorn with an unnatural hatred. He sojourned at various places on the continent. At Geneva he wrote a third canto of _Childe Harold_, and the touching story of Bonnivard, entitled _The Prisoner of Chillon_, and other short poems. In 1817 he was at Venice, where he formed a connection with the Countess Guiccioli, to the disgrace of both. In Venice he wrote a fourth canto of _Childe Harold_, the story of _Mazeppa_, the first two cantos of _Don Juan_, and two dramas, _Marino Faliero_ and _The Two Foscari_. For two years he lived at Ravenna, where he wrote some of his other dramas, and several cantos of _Don Juan_. In 1821 he removed to Pisa; thence, after a short stay, to Genoa, still writing dramas and working at _Don Juan_. PHILHELLENISM: HIS DEATH.--The end of his misanthropy and his debaucheries was near; but his story was to have a ray of sunset glory--his death was to be connected with a noble effort and an exhibition of philanthropic spirit which seem in some degree to palliate his faults. Unlike some writers who find in his conduct only a selfish whim, we think that it casts a beautiful radiance upon the early evening of a stormy life. The Greeks were struggling for independence from Turkish tyranny: Byron threw himself heart and soul into the movement, received a commission from the Greek government, recruited a band of Suliotes, and set forth gallantly to do or die in the cause of Grecian freedom: he died, but not in battle. He caught a fever of a virulent type, from his exposure, and after very few days expired, on the 19th of April, 1824, amid the mourning of the nation. Of this event, Macaulay--no mean or uncertain critic--could say, in his epigrammatical style: "Two men have died within our recollection, who, at a time of life at which few people have completed their education, had raised themselves, each in his own department, to the height of glory. One of them died at Longwood; the other at Missolonghi."