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About this time he sat for his picture to Mr. West, an American artist, who has himself given, in one of our periodical publications, the following account of his noble sitter:—­

“On the day appointed, I arrived at two o’clock, and began the picture.  I found him a bad sitter.  He talked all the time, and asked a multitude of questions about America—­how I liked Italy, what I thought of the Italians, &c.  When he was silent, he was a better sitter than before; for he assumed a countenance that did not belong to him, as though he were thinking of a frontispiece for Childe Harold.  In about an hour our first sitting terminated, and I returned to Leghorn, scarcely able to persuade myself that this was the haughty misanthrope whose character had always appeared so enveloped in gloom and mystery; for I do not remember ever to have met with manners more gentle and attractive.

“The next day I returned and had another sitting of an hour, during which he seemed anxious to know what I should make of my undertaking.  Whilst I was painting, the window from which I received my light became suddenly darkened, and I heard a voice exclaim ‘e troppo bello!’ I turned, and discovered a beautiful female stooping down to look in, the ground on the outside being on a level with the bottom of the window.  Her long golden hair hung down about her face and shoulders, her complexion was exquisite, and her smile completed one of the most romantic-looking heads, set off as it was by the bright sun behind it, which I had ever beheld.  Lord Byron invited her to come in, and introduced her to me as the Countess Guiccioli.  He seemed very fond of her, and I was glad of her presence, for the playful manner which he assumed towards her made him a much better sitter.

“The next day, I was pleased to find that the progress which I had made in his likeness had given satisfaction, for, when we were alone, he said that he had a particular favour to request of me—­would I grant it?  I said I should be happy to oblige him; and he enjoined me to the flattering task of painting the Countess Guiccioli’s portrait for him.  On the following morning I began it, and, after, they sat alternately.  He gave me the whole history of his connection with her, and said that he hoped it would last for ever; at any rate, it should not be his fault if it did not.  His other attachments had been broken off by no fault of his.

“I was by this time sufficiently intimate with him to answer his question as to what I thought of him before I had seen him.  He laughed much at the idea which I had formed of him, and said, ’Well, you find me like other people, do you not?’ He often afterwards repeated, ’And so you thought me a finer fellow, did you?’ I remember once telling him, that notwithstanding his vivacity, I thought myself correct in at least one estimate which I had made of him, for I still conceived that he was