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 felt at the moment that tie of country which unites all when they meet on a far distant shore. When the song ceased, Byron, with a melancholy smile, observed, "Why, positively, we are all quite sentimental this evening, and I-I, who have sworn against sentimentality, find the old leaven still in my nature, and quite ready to make a fool of me. Tell it not in Gath,' that is to say, breathe it not in London, or to English ears polite, or never again shall I be able to enact the stoic philosopher. Come, come, this will never do, we must forswear moonlight, fine views, and above all, hearing a national air sung. Little does his gracious Majesty Big Ben, as Moore calls him, imagine what loyal subjects he has at Genoa, and least of all that I am among their number."

Byron attempted to be gay, but the effort was not successful, and he wished us good-night with a trepidation of manner that marked his feelings. And this is the man that I have heard considered unfeeling! How often are our best qualities turned against us, and made the instruments for wounding us in the most vulnerable part, until, ashamed of betraying our susceptibility, we affect an insensibility we are far from possessing, and, while we deceive others, nourish in secret the feelings that prey only on our own hearts!

It is difficult to judge when Lord Byron is