When admitted to any degree of intimacy with Count Pozzo, you were particularly struck with the energy of his manners and his vigorous mode of expression; his handsome though swarthy countenance was shaded by greyish hair, always arranged in a picturesque manner, as Gerard has represented him in one of his admirable portraits. His conversation was at first reserved and guarded, but gradually became animated and full of imagery and wit which sparkled through a slightly Corsican accent; his memory resembled a vast bazaar, full of the varied recollections of a long and troubled life. If you were desirous of seeing the mind of Count Pozzo in its full glory, you had only to speak to him of Corsica, ask him questions concerning the history of Paoli, or turn the conversation upon the national republic established in the island, and the _Consulta_ which chose him as secretary to the government, and then you would be struck with the animation of his voice and gestures; his piercing eyes seemed to seek in your mind the emotions that glowed in his own, till you actually felt as if present with him at the assembly where the Corsican people proclaimed their independence. He did not indulge in anecdotes to the degree Talleyrand used to do in his long evening conversations, but he was more serious and truthful in his reminiscences, and did not play with facts, but always took a serious view of them. Without the habitual tact that characterised him, he might have been drawn into further confessions, for he was scarcely master of himself when speaking of his early political life. He was a man whose memory was so full of facts, that they oozed out at every pore; a spirit I took great delight in consulting, because the great struggle of Europe against Napoleon was shadowed forth by him, in a very different point of view from that assumed by the bad pamphlets of the imperial school. I saw him depart for London in the full enjoyment of his powerful faculties, retaining his eagle glance, the elevated expression of his noble brow, and his bright searching eyes, while his mouth was expressive of mildness and goodness. But he was evidently out of spirits, and he quitted Paris with the idea that some misfortune would occur before he should see it again. In London he transacted the affairs of his government with the same devotion and activity as ever, but he took no pleasure in his employment; the friendship of the Duke of Wellington, his companion in more than one battle-field, was his only enjoyment; they passed whole days together at Apsley House talking over the affairs of Europe, and their recollections; speaking, the one of the caprice of the people who broke his windows, the other of the ingratitude of a court incapable of comprehending that order, and peace with a powerful nation like France, are essential to the tranquillity of Europe.