ief of the
Coalheavers. They arrested a servant of mine for a street quarrel
with an officer (they drew upon one another knives and pistols),
but as _the officer_ was out of uniform, and in the _wrong_
besides, on my protesting stoutly, he was released. I was not
present at the affray, which happened by night near my stables. My
man (an Italian), a very stout and not over-patient personage,
would have taken a fatal revenge afterwards, if I had not prevented
him. As it was, he drew his stiletto, and, but for passengers,
would have carbonadoed the captain, who, I understand, made but a
poor figure in the quarrel, except by beginning it. He applied to
me, and I offered him any satisfaction, either by turning away the
man, or otherwise, because he had drawn a knife. He answered that
a reproof would be sufficient. I reproved him; and yet, after
this, the shabby dog complained to the _Government_,--after being
quite satisfied, as he said. _This_ roused me, and I gave them a
remonstrance which had some effect. The captain has been
reprimanded, the servant released, and the business at present
rests there."

* * * * *

Among the victims of the "black sentence and proscription" by which the
rulers of Italy were now, as appears from the above letters, avenging
their late alarm upon all who had even in the remotest degree
contributed to it, the two Gambas were, of course, as suspected Chiefs
of the Carbonari of Romagna, included. About the middle of July, Madame
Guiccioli, in a state of despair, wrote to inform Lord Byron that her
father, in whose palazzo she was at that time residing, had just been
ordered to quit Ravenna within twenty-four hours, and that it was the
intention of her brother to depart the following morning. The young
Count, however, was not permitted to remain even so long, being arrested
that very night, and conveyed by soldiers to the frontier; and the
Contessa herself, in but a few days after, found that she also must join
the crowd of exiles. The prospect of being again separated from her
noble friend seems to have rendered banishment little less fearful, in
her eyes, than death. "This alone," she says in a letter to him, "was
wanting to fill up the measure of my despair. Help me, my dear Byron,
for I am in a situation most terrible; and without you, I can resolve
upon nothing. * * has ju