he hoped:--

"If the roads and weather allow, I shall go out on horseback to-morrow.
It is high time; already we have had a week of this work: snow and
sirocco one day, ice and snow the other. A sad climate for Italy; but
these two winters have been extraordinary."

The next day, he got up "_dull and drooping_." The weather had not
changed. Lord Byron absolutely required to breathe a little fresh air
every day, to take exercise on horseback. His health was excellent, but
on these two conditions; otherwise, it failed. His temper clouded over,
without air and exercise. During the wretched days he was obliged to
remain at home, he had not even the diversion letters and newspapers
might have afforded, since no post came in. His sole amusement consisted
in stirring the fire, and playing with Lion, his mastiff, or with his
little menagerie. So much did he suffer from it all, that his kind heart
bestowed pity even on his horses:--

" ... Horses must have exercise--get a ride as soon as weather serves;
deuced muggy still. An Italian winter is a sad thing, but all the other
seasons are charming."

On the 7th of January, he adds:--

"Still rain, mist, snow, drizzle, and all the incalculable combinations
of a climate where heat and cold struggle for mastery."

If the weather cleared up one day, it was only to become more inclement
the next.

On the 12th he wrote in his journal:--

"The weather still so humid and impracticable, that London, in its most
oppressive fogs, were a summer bower to this mist and sirocco, which has
now lasted (but with one day's interval), checkered with snow or heavy
rain only, since the 30th of December, 1820. It is so far lucky that I
have a literary turn; but it is very tiresome not to be able to stir
out, in comfort, on any horse but Pegasus, for so many days. The roads
are even worse than the weather, by the long splashing, and the heavy
soil, and the inundations."

And on the 19th:--

"Winter's wind somewhat more unkind than ingratitude itself, though
Shakspeare says otherwise.... Rather low in spirits--certainly
hippish--liver touched--will take a dose of salts."

There was, however, too much elasticity of spirits in him, and his
melancholy was not sufficiently deep for it to last. His evening visit
to Countess G---- at eight o'clock (the day's event consoling for all
else), a few simple airs played by her on the piano, some slight
diversion, such as a ray of sunshine between two show