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delirium tremens. Dr. Bruno, having for the last two days endeavoured in vain to persuade him to submit to bleeding, Mr. Milingen, a young surgeon, was sent for, to prevail on the patient to undergo the operation. Mr. Milingen says he tried every means that reasoning could suggest towards attaining his object, but his efforts were fruitless.

"Is it not," said Byron, "asserted by Dr. Reid, that less slaughter is effected by the lance than the lancet, that minute instrument of mighty mischief? And do not those other words of his apply to my case," he continued, "where he says, 'the drawing of blood from a nervous patient is like loosening the chords of a musical instrument whose tones already fail for want of sufficient tension?' Who is nervous if I am not? do with me whatever else you like, but bleed me you shall not. I have had several inflammatory fevers in my time, when more robust and plethoric, yet I got through them without bleeding; this time also will I take my chance."

After much entreaty, however, Mr. Milingen extorted a promise, that if his symptoms increased he would submit to the remedy.

On the 16th he was alarmingly ill, and almost constantly delirious. "He spoke," says Parry, "English and Italian, and very wildly. I implored the doctors not to bleed him, and to keep his extremities warm, for in them there was already the coldness of coming death. I was told there was no doubt of his recovery, and I might attend to my business without apprehension."

Mr. Milingen now pressed on him the necessity of submitting to be bled, and he certainly employed the argument that was most likely to weigh with Byron; he gave him plainly to understand that utter and permanent dé

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privation of reason might be the consequence of his refusal. "I had now," says Mr. Milingen, "hit on the sensible chord, and, partly annoyed by our importunities, partly persuaded, he cast at us both the fiercest glance of vexation, and, throwing out his arm, said in an angry tone, 'There; you are, I see, a dd set of butcherstake away as much blood as you like, but have done with it.'

"We seized the moment," continues Mr. Milingen, "and drew about twenty ounces; on coagulating, the blood presented a strong buffy coat, yet the relief obtained did not correspond to the hopes we had formed. The restlessness and agitation increased, and the patient spoke several times in an incoherent manner.' 99

No doubt his symptoms were increased; and as little doubt is there that the inference that was drawn from the buffiness of the blood was fallacious, inasmuch as any appearance of coagulated blood in a hot climate is an imperfect criterion of febrile action; and even in this country, few physicians, we apprehend, would consider the buffiness of the blood an indication for further depletion without other concomitant phenomena in the temperature, the appearance and the temperament of the patient, to corroborate the proof of inflammation.

On the 17th the bleeding was twice repeated, "and the appearance of inflammation on the brain," says Moore, "were now hourly increasing." If there was any inflammation in the case, it is strange that the cerebral symptoms should on every occasion have been aggravated after the bleeding. "Each time after the depletion," says Parry, "he fainted; his debility became so excessive that his delirium assumed the appearance of a wild rambling manner, and he complained bitterly of

want of sleep. Blisters were applied to the lower extremities, but their application was too late to have proved beneficial."

It appears that there was neither order nor quiet in his apartment: that all the comforts of the sick chamber were wanting; that his attendants were so bewildered as to be totally disqualified for their painful duty, and that Parry, the only one of them whose attendance might have been beneficial to his friend, was either otherwise employed, or his presence little desired, except by the invalid. But in Parry's occasional visits the two or three last days of his life, he speaks of "such confusion and discomfort in the sick man's chamber as he never wished to see again."

On the 18th, in the afternoon, he rose, and supported by his servant, was able to walk across the chamber, and when seated, asked for a book, read for a few minutes, and found himself exhausted: he then took Tita's arm and tottered to his bed. A consultation was proposed; Byron on being told that Mavrocordato advised it, unwillingly gave his consent. Dr. Frieber, Mr. Milingen's assistant, and Luca Vaya, a Greek physician, were accordingly admitted, on condition of asking no questions. They promised to be silent: the business of the finishing ceremony was gravely performed; one of the doctors was about to speak, but Byron reproved him. "Recollect," said he, "your promise, and go away."

The following is Mr. Miilngen's account of the consultation. "Doctors Bruno and Luca proposed having recourse to anti-spasmodics and other remedies, employed in the last stage of typhus; Frieber and I maintained that they would hasten the fatal termination; that nothing could be more empirical than flying from one ex

treme to the other; that if we all thought the complaint was owing to the metastasis of rheumatic inflammation, the existing symptoms only depended on the rapid and extensive progress it had made in an organ previously so weakened and irritable. Antiphlogistic means could never prove hurtful in this case; they would become useless only if disorganisation were already operated; but then, since all hopes were gone, what means would not prove superfluous? We recommended the application of several leeches behind the ears and along the course of the jugular veins; a large blister between the shoulders, and sinapisms to the feet, as affording the last hope of Dr. Bruno being the patient's physician, had the casting vote, and prepared the anti-spasmodic potion which Dr. Luca and he had agreed upon: it was a strong infusion of valerian and ether. After its administration, the convulsive movement, the delirium increased, but notwithstanding my representations, a second dose was given, and after articulating confusedly a few broken phrases, the patient sunk shortly after into a comatose sleep, which the next day terminated in death. He expired on the 19th of April, at six o'clock in the afternoon."

success.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

BYRON CONTINUED.

Now in Parry's account, Dr. Frieber, so far from coinciding in opinion with Mr. Millingen, had warmly condemned the mode in which Lord Byron had been treated. "It was by his recommendation and advice," says Parry, "I believe that it was now resolved to administer the bark. I was sent for to persuade Lord Byron to take it." From an intimate acquaintance of several years with Dr. Frieber, as he is termed, but whose true name was Schrieber, we are enabled to corroborate the observation of Captain Parry. Parry may have been mistaken about the medicine, but at the period of its administration, whatever it might have been, it was too late to have produced any effect: when Parry was inducing him to swallow a few mouthfuls of it he found his hands were deadly cold. It was now evident Byron knew he was dying. Tita, his affectionate servant, stood weeping by his bed, holding his hand, and turning away his face from his master, while Byron, looking at him steadily, exclaimed, “O questa e un bella scena!" When Fletcher came to him he endeavoured to express his last wishes, and between his anxiety, says Moore, to make his servant understand him, and the rapid failure of his powers of utterance, a most painful scene ensued. On Fletcher asking him whether he should bring pen and paper to take down his words, "O no!" he replied, "there is no time;" his voice became

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