ood many English in Pisa, he could
not avoid becoming acquainted with various friends of Shelley, among
which number was Mr. Medwin. They followed him in his rides, dined with
him, and felt themselves happy, of course, in the apparent intimacy in
which they lived with so renowned a man; but not one of them was
admitted to any part of his friendship, which, indeed, he did not easily
accord. He had a great affection for Shelley, and a great esteem for his
character and talents; but he was not his friend in the most extensive
sense of that word. Sometimes, when speaking of his friends and of
friendship, as also of love, and of every other noble emotion of the
soul, his expressions might inspire doubts concerning his sentiments and
the goodness of his heart. The feeling of the moment regulated his
speech, and, besides, he liked to play the part of singularity,--and
sometimes worse,--more especially with those whom he suspected of
endeavouring to make discoveries as to his real character; but it was
only mean minds and superficial observers that could be deceived in him.
It was necessary to consider his actions to perceive the contradiction
they bore to his words: it was necessary to be witness of certain
moments, during which unforeseen and involuntary emotion forced him to
give himself entirely up to his feelings; and whoever beheld him then,
became aware of the stores of sensibility and goodness of which his
noble heart was full.

"Among the many occasions _I_ had of seeing him thus overpowered, I
shall mention one relative to his feelings of friendship. A few days
before leaving Pisa, we were one evening seated in the garden of the
Palazzo Lanfranchi. A soft melancholy was spread over his countenance;
he recalled to mind the events of his life; compared them with his
present situation, and with that which it might have been if his
affection for me had not caused him to remain in Italy, saying things
which would have made earth a paradise for me, but that even then a
presentiment that I should lose all this happiness tormented me. At this
moment a servant announced Mr. Hobhouse. The slight shade of melancholy
diffused over Lord Byron's face gave instant place to the liveliest joy;
but it was so great, that it almost deprived him of strength. A fearful
paleness came over his cheeks, and his eyes were filled with tears as he
embraced his friend. His emotion was so great that he was forced to sit
down.

"Lord Clare's visit