itement as it was
most flatteringly evident he experienced at this moment.

I was a good deal struck, however, by the alteration that had taken
place in his personal appearance. He had grown fatter both in person and
face, and the latter had most suffered by the change,--having lost, by
the enlargement of the features, some of that refined and spiritualised
look that had, in other times, distinguished it. The addition of
whiskers, too, which he had not long before been induced to adopt, from
hearing that some one had said he had a "faccia di musico," as well as
the length to which his hair grew down on his neck, and the rather
foreign air of his coat and cap,--all combined to produce that
dissimilarity to his former self I had observed in him. He was still,
however, eminently handsome: and, in exchange for whatever his features
might have lost of their high, romantic character, they had become more
fitted for the expression of that arch, waggish wisdom, that Epicurean
play of humour, which he had shown to be equally inherent in his
various and prodigally gifted nature; while, by the somewhat increased
roundness of the contours, the resemblance of his finely formed mouth
and chin to those of the Belvedere Apollo had become still more
striking.

His breakfast, which I found he rarely took before three or four o'clock
in the afternoon, was speedily despatched,--his habit being to eat it
standing, and the meal in general consisting of one or two raw eggs, a
cup of tea without either milk or sugar, and a bit of dry biscuit.
Before we took our departure, he presented me to the Countess Guiccioli,
who was at this time, as my readers already know, living under the same
roof with him at La Mira; and who, with a style of beauty singular in an
Italian, as being fair-complexioned and delicate, left an impression
upon my mind, during this our first short interview, of intelligence and
amiableness such as all that I have since known or heard of her has but
served to confirm.

We now started together, Lord Byron and myself, in my little Milanese
vehicle, for Fusina,--his portly gondolier Tita, in a rich livery and
most redundant mustachios, having seated himself on the front of the
carriage, to the no small trial of its strength, which had already once
given way, even under my own weight, between Verona and Vicenza. On our
arrival at Fusina, my noble friend, from his familiarity with all the
details of the place, had it in his powe