also occasioned him extreme delight. He had a great
affection for Lord Clare, and was very happy during the short visit that
he paid him at Leghorn. The day on which they separated was a melancholy
one for Lord Byron. 'I have a presentiment that I shall never see him
more,' he said, and his eyes filled with tears. The same melancholy came
over him during the first weeks that succeeded to Lord Clare's
departure, whenever his conversation happened to fall upon this
friend."[90]

Of his feelings on the death of his daughter Allegra, this lady gives
the following account:--"On the occasion also of the death of his
natural daughter, I saw in his grief the excess of paternal kindness.
His conduct towards this child was always that of a fond father; but no
one would have guessed from his expressions that he felt this affection
for her. He was dreadfully agitated by the first intelligence of her
illness; and when afterwards that of her death arrived, I was obliged to
fulfil the melancholy task of communicating it to him. The memory of
that frightful moment is stamped indelibly on my mind. For several
evenings he had not left his house, I therefore went to him. His first
question was relative to the courier he had despatched for tidings of
his daughter, and whose delay disquieted him. After a short interval of
suspense, with every caution which my own sorrow suggested, I deprived
him of all hope of the child's recovery. 'I understand,' said he,--'it
is enough, say no more.' A mortal paleness spread itself over his face,
his strength failed him, and he sunk into a seat. His look was fixed,
and the expression such that I began to fear for his reason; he did not
shed a tear, and his countenance manifested so hopeless, so profound, so
sublime a sorrow, that at the moment he appeared a being of a nature
superior to humanity. He remained immovable in the same attitude for an
hour, and no consolation which I endeavoured to afford him seemed to
reach his ears, far less his heart. But enough of this sad episode, on
which I cannot linger, even after the lapse of so many years, without
renewing in my own heart the awful wretchedness of that day. He desired
to be left alone, and I was obliged to leave him. I found him on the
following morning tranquillised, and with an expression of religious
resignation on his features. 'She is more fortunate than we are,' he
said; 'besides, her position in the world would scarcely have allowed
her to be