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health, and worse spirits, when I was at Geneva; but quiet and the lake, physicians better than Polidori, soon

set me up. I never led so moral a life as during my "residence in that country; but I gained no credit by "it. Where there is a mortification, there ought to be "reward. On the contrary, there is no story so absurd "that they did not invent at my cost. I was watched by glasses on the opposite side of the Lake, and by glasses "too that must have had very distorted optics. I was waylaid in my evening drives-I was accused of corrupting all the grisettes in the Rue Basse. I believe "that they looked upon me as a man-monster, worse "than the piqueur.

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"Somebody possessed Madame de Staël with an opinion "of my immorality. I used occasionally to visit her at Coppet; and once she invited me to a family-dinner, " and I found the room full of strangers, who had come "to stare at me as at some outlandish beast in a raree"show. One of the ladies fainted, and the rest looked

as if his Satanic Majesty had been among them. Ma"dame de Staël took the liberty to read me a lecture "before this crowd; to which I only made her a low " bow.

C

"I knew very few of the Genevese. Hentsh was very "civil to me; and I have a great respect for Sismondi. "I was forced to return the civilities of one of their Pro❝fessors by asking him, and an old gentleman, a friend "of Gray's, to dine with me. I had gone out to sail

early in the morning, and the wind prevented me from returning in time for dinner. I understand that I offend"ed them mortally. Polidori did the honours.

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Among our countrymen I made no new acquaintances; Shelley, Monk Lewis, and Hobhouse were almost the only English people I saw. No wonder; I shewed a "distaste for society at that time, and went little among

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the Genevese; besides, I could not speak French. "What is become of my boatman and boat? I suppose she is rotten; she was never worth much. When I "went the tour of the Lake in her with Shelley and Hobhouse, she was nearly wrecked near the very spot "where St. Preux and Julia were in danger of being drowned. It would have been classical to have been "lost there, but not so agreeable. Shelley was on the

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Lake much oftener than I, at all hours of the night and

day he almost lived on it; his great rage is a boat. "We are both building now at Genoa, I a yacht, and he an open boat.'

We played at billiards till the carriage was announced, and I accompanied him in his drive. Soon after we got off the stones, we mounted our horses, which were waiting for us. Lord Byron is an admirable horseman, combining grace with the security of his seat. He prides himself much on this exercise. He conducted us for some miles till we came to a farm-house, where he practises pistol-firing every evening. This is his favourite amusement, and may indeed be called almost a pursuit. He always has pistols in

by the first makers in

his holster, and eight or ten pair London carried by his courier. We had each twelve rounds of ammunition, and in a diameter of four inches he put eleven out of twelve shots. I observed his hand shook exceedingly. He said that when he first began at Manton's he was the worst shot in the world, and Manton was per

haps the best. The subject turned upon duelling, and he contended for its necessity, and quoted some strong arguments in favour of it.

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many

duels as

"I have been concerned," said he, second, but only in two as principal; one was with "Hobhouse before I became intimate with him. The "best marksmen at a target are not the surest in the

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field. Cecil's and Stackpoole's affair proved this. They

fought after a quarrel of three years, during which they were practising daily. Stackpoole was so good a shot that he used to cut off the heads of the fowls for dinner as they drank out of the coops about. He had every "wish to kill his antagonist, but he received his death"blow from Cecil, who fired rather fine, or rather was the quickest shot of the two. All he said when falling was,

'D—n it, have I missed him?' Shelley is a much "better shot than I am, but he is thinking of metaphysics " rather than of firing."

I understand that Lord Byron is always in better spirits after having culped (as he calls it) the targe often, or hit a five-franc piece, the counterpart of which is always given to the farmer, who is making a little fortune. All the pieces struck, Lord Byron keeps to put, as he says, in his

museum.

We now continued our ride, and returned to Pisa by the Lucca gate.

"Pisa with its hanging tower and Sophia-like dome re"minds me," said Lord Byron, " of an eastern place."

He then remarked the heavy smoke that rolled away from the city, spreading in the distance a vale of mist, through which the golden clouds of evening appeared.

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"It is fine," said Lord Byron, "but no sunsets are to be compared with those of Venice. They are too gorgeous "for any painter, and defy any poet. My rides, indeed, would have been nothing without the Venetian sunsets. "Ask Shelley."

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"Stand on the marble bridge," said Shelley, "cast your eye, if you are not dazzled, on its river glowing as with fire, then follow the graceful curve of the palaces on the Lung' Arno till the arch is naved by the massy dungeontower (erroneously called Ugolino's), forming in dark relief, and tell me if any thing can surpass a sunset at Pisa.”

The history of one, is that of almost every day. It is impossible to conceive a more unvaried life than Lord Byron led at this period. I continued to visit him at the same hour daily. Billiards, conversation, or reading, filled up the intervals till it was time to take our evening drive, ride, and pistol-practice.

On our return, which was al