' &c. &c.," it is all very fine and very well, but, till you can persuade me that there is no credit, and no self-applause to be obtained by being of use to a 'celebrated man, I must retain the same opinion of 'the human species, which I do of our friend M'. 'Specie.'

step.

In the month of August, Madame Guiccioli had joined her father at Pisa, and was now superintending the preparations at the Casa Lanfranchi,-one of the most ancient and spacious palaces of that city,-for the reception of her noble lover. He left Ravenna,' says this lady, with great regret, and with a pre'sentiment that his departure would be the forerunner ' of a thousand evils to us. In every letter he then 'wrote to me, he expressed his displeasure at this "If your father should be recalled," he said, I immediately return to Ravenna; and if he is re'called previous to my departure, I remain." In this hope he delayed his journey for several months; but 'at last, no longer having any expectation of our im'mediate return, he wrote to me, saying-" I set out 'most unwillingly, foreseeing the most evil results for 'all of you, and principally for yourself. I say no more, but you will see." And in another letter he says: "I leave Ravenna so unwillingly, and with 'such a persuasion on my mind that my departure 'will lead from one misery to another, each greater 'than the former, that I have not the heart to utter 'another word on the subject." He always wrote to me at that time in Italian, and I transcribe his exact 'words. How entirely were these presentiments ' verified by the event *!'

* Egli era partito con molto riverescimento da Ravenna, e col pres

After describing his mode of life while at Ravenna, the lady thus proceeds.

This sort of simple life he led until the fatal day of his departure for Greece, and the few variations he made from it may be said to have arisen solely from the greater or smaller number of occasions 'which were offered him of doing good, and from the generous actions he was continually performing. Many families (in Ravenna principally) owed to him the few prosperous days they ever enjoyed. His arrival in that town was spoken of as a piece of public good fortune, and his departure as a public calamity; and this is the life which many attempted to asperse as that of a libertine. But the world 'must at last learn how, with so good and generous a heart, Lord Byron, susceptible, it is true, of the most energetic passions, yet, at the same time, of the 'sublimest and most pure, and rendering homage in his acts to every virtue-how he, I say, could afford such scope to malice and to calumny. Circum'stances, and also, probably, an eccentricity of dispo'sition (which, nevertheless, had its origin in a virtu'ous feeling, an excessive abhorrence for hypocrisy ' and affectation) contributed perhaps to cloud the

⚫ sentimento che la sua partenza da Ravenna ci sarebbe cagione di molti mali. In ogni lettera che egli mi scriveva allora egli mi esprimeva il suo dispiacere di lasciare Ravenna. "Se papà è richiamato (mi scriveva egli) io torno in quel istante a Ravenna, e se è richiamato prima 'della mia partenza, io non parto." In questa speranza egli differì varii 'mesi a partire. Ma, finalmente, non potendo più sperare il nostro ritorno prossimo, egli mi scriveva-"Io parto molto mal volontieri prevedendo dei mali assai grandi per voi altri e massime per voi; altro non 'dico,-lo vedrete." E in un altra lettera, "Io lascio Ravenna così mal volontieri, e così persuaso che la mia partenza non può che condurre da un male ad un altro più grande che non ho cuore di scrivere altro in questo punto." Egli mi scriveva allora sempre in Italiano e trascrivo le sue precise parole-ma come quei suoi pressentimenti si verificarono 'poi in appresso!'

splendour of his exalted nature in the opinion of many. But you will well know how to analyse these 'contradictions in a manner worthy of your noble 'friend and of yourself, and you will prove that the goodness of his heart was not inferior to the grandeur of his genius*.'

At Bologna, according to the appointment made between them, Lord Byron and Mr. Rogers met; and the record which this latter gentleman has, in his Poem on Italy, preserved of their meeting, conveys so vivid a picture of the poet at this period, with, at the same time, so just and feeling a tribute to his memory, that, narrowed as my limits are now becoming, I cannot refrain from giving the sketch entire.

"BOLOGNA.

"Twas night; the noise and bustle of the day
Were o'er. The mountebank no longer wrought
Miraculous cures-he and his stage were gone;
And he who, when the crisis of his tale

Came, and all stood breathless with hope and fear,
Sent round his cap; and he who thrumm'd his wire
And sang, with pleading look and plaintive strain
Melting the passenger. Thy thousand criest,
So well portray'd and by a son of thine,

Whose voice had swell'd the hubbub in his youth,
Were hush'd, BOLOGNA, silence in the streets,
The squares, when hark, the clattering of fleet hoofs;
And soon a courier, posting as from far,
Housing and holster, boot and belted coat
And doublet stain'd with many a various soil,
Stopt and alighted. 'Twas where hangs aloft
That ancient sign, the Pilgrim, welcoming
All who arrive there, all perhaps save those
Clad like himself, with staff and scallop-shell,
Those on a pilgrimage: and now approach'd

*The leaf that contains the original of this extract I have unluckily mislaid.

"See the Cries of Bologna, as drawn by Annibal Caracci. He was of very humble origin; and, to correct his brother's vanity, once sent "him a portrait of their father, the tailor, threading his needle."

Wheels, through the lofty porticoes resounding,
Arch beyond arch, a shelter or a shade
As the sky changes. To the gate they came;
And, ere the man had half his story done,
Mine host received the Master-one long used
To sojourn among strangers, every where
(Go where he would, along the wildest track)
Flinging a charm that shall not soon be lost,
And leaving footsteps to be traced by those
Who love the haunts of Genius; one who saw,
Observed, nor shunn'd the busy scenes of life,
But mingled not; and mid the din, the stir,
Lived as a separate Spirit.

"Much had pass'd

Since last we parted; and those five short years—
Much had they told! His clustering locks were turn'd
Gray; nor did aught recall the youth that swam
From Sestos to Abydos. Yet his voice,
Still it was sweet; still from his eye the thought
Flash'd lightning-like, nor lingered on the way,
Waiting for words. Far, far into the night
We sat, conversing-no unwelcome hour,
The hour we met; and, when Aurora rose,
Rising, we climb'd the rugged Apennine.

Well I remember how the golden sun
Fill'd with its beams the unfathomable gulfs,
As on we travell'd, and along the ridge,
'Mid groves of cork, and cistus, and wild fig,
His motley household came.-Not last nor least,
Battista, who upon the moonlight-sea

Of Venice had so ably, zealously

Served, and at parting, thrown his oar away

To follow through the world; who without stain
Had worn so long that honourable badge*,

The gondolier's, in a Patrician House

Arguing unlimited trust.-Not last nor least,
Thou, though declining in thy beauty and strength,
Faithful Moretto, to the latest hour

Guarding his chamber-door, and now along

The silent, sullen strand of MISSOLONGHI

Howling in grief.

"He had just left that Place

"The principal gondolier, il fante di poppa, was almost always in the "confidence of his master, and employed on occasions that required judg

"ment and address."