The new intimacy of which he here announces the commencement, and which it was gratifying to me, as the common friend of all, to find that he had formed, was a source of much pleasure to him during the stay of his noble acquaintances at Genoa. So long, indeed, had he persuaded himself that his countrymen abroad all regarded him in no other light than as an outlaw or a show, that every new instance he met of friendly reception from them was as much a surprise as pleasure to him; and it was evident that to his mind the revival of English associations and habitudes always brought with it a sense of refreshment, like that of inhaling his native air. With the view of inducing these friends to prolong their stay at Genoa, he suggested their taking a pretty villa called "Il Paradiso," in the neighbourhood of his own, and accompanied them to look at it. Upon that occasion it was that, on the lady expressing some intentions of residing there, he produced the following impromptu, which--but for the purpose of showing that he was not so "chary of his fame" as to fear failing in such trifles--I should have thought hardly worth transcribing. "Beneath ----'s eyes The reclaim'd Paradise Should be free as the former from evil; But, if the new Eve For an apple should grieve, What mortal would not play the devil?"[1] [Footnote 1: The Genoese wits had already applied this threadbare jest to himself. Taking it into their heads that this villa (which was also, I believe, a Casa Saluzzo) had been the one fixed on for his own residence, they said "Il Diavolo e ancora entrato in Paradise."] Another copy of verses addressed by him to the same lady, whose beauty and talent might well have claimed a warmer tribute from such a pen, is yet too interesting, as descriptive of the premature feeling of age now stealing upon him, to be omitted in these pages. "TO THE COUNTESS OF B----. 1. "You have ask'd for a verse:--the request In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny, But my Hippocrene was but my breast, And my feelings (its fountain) are dry. 2. "Were I now as I was, I had sung What Lawrence has painted so well; But the strain would expire on my tongue, And the theme is too soft for my shell. 3. "I am ashes where once I was fire, And the bard in my bosom is dead; What I loved I _now_ merely admire, And my heart is as grey as my head. 4. "My life is not dated by years-- There are _moments_ which act as a plough, And there is not a furrow appears But is deep in my soul as my brow. 5. "Let the young and the brilliant aspire To sing what I gaze on in vain; For sorrow has torn from my lyre The string which was worthy the strain. "B." The following letters written during the stay of this party at Genoa will be found,--some of them at least,--not a little curious. LETTER 512. TO THE EARL OF B----. "April 5. 1823. "My dear Lord,