The life he led at this period was dull and unvaried.  Billiards, conversations, reading, and occasionally writing, constituted the regular business of the day.  In the cool of the afternoon, he sometimes went out in his carriage, oftener on horseback, and generally amused himself with pistol practice at a five-paul piece.  He dined at half an hour after sunset, and then drove to Count Gamba’s, where he passed several hours with the Countess Guiccioli, who at that time still resided with her father.  On his return he read or wrote till the night was far spent, or rather till the morning was come again, sipping at intervals spirits diluted with water, as medicine to counteract some nephritic disorder to which he considered himself liable.

Notwithstanding the tranquillity of this course of life, he was accidentally engaged in a transaction which threatened unpleasant consequences, and had a material effect on his comfort.  On the 21st of March, 1822, as he was returning from his usual ride, in company with several of his friends, a hussar officer, at full speed, dashed through the party, and violently jostled one of them.  Lord Byron, with his characteristic impetuosity, instantly pushed forwards, and the rest followed, and overtook the hussar.  His Lordship inquired what he meant by the insult; but for answer, received the grossest abuse: on which he and one of his companions gave their cards, and passed on.  The officer followed, hallooing, and threatening with his hand on his sabre.  They were now near the Paggia gate.  During this altercation, a common artilleryman interfered, and called out to the hussar, “Why don’t you arrest them?—command us to arrest them.”  Upon which the officer gave the word to the guard at the gate.  His Lordship, hearing the order, spurred his horse, and one of his party doing the same, they succeeded in forcing their way through the soldiers, while the gate was closed on the rest of the party, with whom an outrageous scuffle ensued.