In July, when at Leghorn, the Gambas received orders to leave Tuscany; and on his return to Pisa, Byron, being persecuted by the police, began to prepare for another change.  After entertaining projects about Greece, America, and Switzerland—­Trelawny undertaking to have the “Bolivar” conveyed over the Alps to the Lake of Geneva—­he decided on following his friends to Genoa.  He left in September with La Guiccioli, passed by Lerici and Sestri, and then for the ten remaining mouths of his Italian life took up his quarters at Albaro, about a mile to the east of the city, in the Villa Saluzzo, which Mrs. Shelley had procured for him and his party.  She herself settled with the Hunts—­who travelled about the same time, at Byron’s expense, but in their own company—­in the neighbouring Casa Negroto.  Not far off, Mr. Savage Landor was in possession of the Casa Pallavicini, but there was little intercourse between the three.  Landor and Byron, in many respects more akin than any other two Englishmen of their age, were always separated by an unhappy bar or intervening mist.  The only family with whom the poet maintained any degree of intimacy was that of the Earl of Blessington, consisting of the Earl himself—­a gouty old gentleman, with stories about him of the past—­the Countess, and her sister, Miss Power, and the “cupidon dechaine,” the Anglo-French Count Alfred d’Orsay—­who were to take part in stories of the future.  In the spring of 1823, Byron persuaded them to occupy the Villa Paradiso, and was accustomed to accompany them frequently on horseback excursions along the coast to their favourite Nervi.  It has been said that Lady Blessington’s Conversations with Lord Byron are, as regards trustworthiness, on a par with Landor’s Imaginary Conversations.  Let this be so, they are still of interest on points of fact which it must have been easier to record than to imagine.  However adorned, or the reverse, by the fancies of a habitual novelist, they convey the impressions of a goodhumoured, lively, and fascinating woman, derived from a more or less intimate association with the most brilliant man of the age.  Of his personal appearance—­a matter of which she was a good judge—­we have the following:  “One of Byron’s eyes was larger than the other; his nose was rather thick, so he was best seen in profile; his mouth was splendid, and his scornful expression was real, not affected; but a sweet smile often broke through his melancholy.  He was at this time very pale and thin (which indicates the success of his regimen of reduction since leaving Venice).  His hair was dark brown, here and there turning grey.  His voice was harmonious, clear and low.  There is some gaucherie in his walk, from his attempts to conceal his lameness.  Ada’s portrait is like him, and he is pleased at the likeness, but hoped she would not turn out to be clever—­at any events not poetical.  He is fond of gossip, and apt to speak slightingly of some of his friends, but