to turn, one evening, upon the statue of Washington, by Canova, which had been just shipped off for the United States, Madame A *, who was then engaged in compiling a Description Raisonnee of Canova’s works, and was anxious for information respecting the subject of this statue, requested that some of her learned guests would detail to her all they knew of him.  This task a Signor * * (author of a book on Geography and Statistics) undertook to perform, and, after some other equally sage and authentic details, concluded by informing her that “Washington was killed in a duel by Burke.”—­“What,” exclaimed Lord Byron, as he stood biting his lips with impatience during this conversation, “what, in the name of folly, are you all thinking of?”—­for he now recollected the famous duel between Hamilton and Colonel Burr, whom, it was evident, this learned worthy had confounded with Washington and Burke!

In addition to the motives easily conceivable for exchanging such a society for one that offered, at least, repose from such erudite efforts, there was also another cause more immediately leading to the discontinuance of his visits to Madame A * *.  This lady, who has been sometimes honoured with the title of “The De Stael of Italy,” had written a book called “Portraits,” containing sketches of the characters of various persons of note; and it being her intention to introduce Lord Byron into this assemblage, she had it intimated to his Lordship that an article in which his portraiture had been attempted was to appear in a new edition she was about to publish of her work.  It was expected, of course, that this intimation would awaken in him some desire to see the sketch; but, on the contrary, he was provoking enough not to manifest the least symptoms of curiosity.  Again and again was the same hint, with as little success, conveyed; till, at length, on finding that no impression could be produced in this manner, a direct offer was made, in Madame A * ’s own name, to submit the article to his perusal.  He could now contain himself no longer.  With more sincerity than politeness, he returned for answer to the lady, that he was by no means ambitious of appearing in her work; that, from the shortness, as well as the distant nature of their acquaintance, it was impossible she could have qualified herself to be his portrait-painter, and that, in short, she could not oblige him more than by committing the article to the flames.

Whether the tribute thus unceremoniously treated ever met the eyes of Lord Byron, I know not; but he could hardly, I think, had he seen it, have escaped a slight touch of remorse at having thus spurned from him a portrait drawn in no unfriendly spirit, and, though affectedly expressed, seizing some of the less obvious features of his character,—­as, for instance, that diffidence so little to be expected from a career like his, with the discriminating niceness of a female hand.  The following are extracts from this Portrait:—­