ily enabled to do, as his
friend, notwithstanding what he had intimated, borrowed two hundred
pounds from Lord Byron, and remitted to him. He reached Leghorn soon
after his Lordship had taken up his temporary residence at Monte
Nero.

The meeting with his Lordship was in so many respects remarkable,
that the details of it cannot well be omitted. The day was very hot;
and when Hunt reached the house he found the hottest-looking
habitation he had ever seen. Not content with having a red wash over
it, the red was the most unseasonable of all reds--a salmon-colour;
but the greatest of all heats was within.

Lord Byron was grown so fat that he scarcely knew him; and was
dressed in a loose nankeen jacket and white trousers, his neckcloth
open, and his hair in thin ringlets about his throat; altogether
presenting a very different aspect from the compact, energetic, and
curly-headed person whom Hunt had known in England.

His Lordship took the stranger into an inner room, and introduced him
to a young lady who was in a state of great agitation. This was the
Guiccioli; presently her brother also, in great agitation, entered,
having his arm in a sling. This scene and confusion had arisen from
a quarrel among the servants, in which the young Count, having
interfered, had been stabbed. He was very angry, the Countess was
more so, and would not listen to the comments of Lord Byron, who was
for making light of the matter. Indeed, it looked somewhat serious,
for though the stab was not much, the inflicter threatened more, and
was at that time revengefully keeping watch, with knotted brows,
under the portico, with the avowed intention of assaulting the first
person who issued forth. He was a sinister-looking, meager caitiff,
with a red cap--gaunt, ugly, and unshaven; his appearance altogether
more squalid and miserable than Englishmen would conceive it possible
to find in such an establishment. An end, however, was put to the
tragedy by the fellow throwing himself on a bench, and bursting into
tears--wailing and asking pardon for his offence, and perfecting his
penitence by requesting Lord Byron to kiss him in token of
forgiveness. In the end, however, he was dismissed; and it being
arranged that Mr Hunt should move his family to apartments in the
Lanfranchi palace at Pisa, that gentleman returned to Leghorn.

The account which Mr Hunt has given, in his memoir of Lord Byron, is
evidently written under offended feeling; a