[Footnote 30:  “Nell’ Aprile del 1819, io feci la conoscenza di Lord Byron; e mi fu presentato a Venezia dalla Contessa Benzoni nella di lei societa.  Questa presentazione che ebbe tante consequenze per tutti e due fu fatta contro la volonta d’entrambi, e solo per condiscendenza l’abbiamo permessa.  Io stanca piu che mai quella sera par le ore tarde che si costuma fare in Venezia andai con molta ripugnanza e solo per ubbidire al Conte Guiccioli in quella societa.  Lord Byron che scansava di fare nuove conoscenze, dicendo sempre che aveva interamente rinunciato alle passioni e che non voleva esporsi piu alle loro consequenze, quando la Contessa Benzoni la prego di volersi far presentare a me egli recuso, e solo per la compiacenza glielo permise.  La nobile e bellissima sua fisonomia, il suono della sua voce, le sue maniere, i mille incanti che lo circondavano lo rendevano un essere cosi differente, cosi superiore a tutti quelli che io aveva sino allora veduti che non potei a meno di non provarne la piu profonda impressione.  Da quella sera in poi in tutti i giorni che mi fermai in Venezia ei siamo seinpre veduti.”—­MS.]

* * * * *

LETTER 328.  TO MR. MURRAY.

     “Venice, May 15. 1819.

     “I have got your extract, and the ‘Vampire.’  I need not say it is
     not mine.  There is a rule to go by:  you are my publisher (till we
     quarrel), and what is not published by you is not written by me.

“Next week I set out for Romagna—­at least, in all probability.  You had better go on with the publications, without waiting to hear farther, for I have other things in my head.  ‘Mazeppa’ and the ‘Ode’ separate?—­what think you? Juan anonymous, without the Dedication; for I won’t be shabby, and attack Southey under cloud of night.

     “Yours,” &c.

* * * * *

In another letter on the subject of the Vampire, I find the following interesting particulars:—­

     “TO MR. ——.

“The story of Shelley’s agitation is true.[31] I can’t tell what seized him, for he don’t want courage.  He was once with me in a gale of wind, in a small boat, right under the rocks between Meillerie and St. Gingo.  We were five in the boat—­a servant, two boatmen, and ourselves.  The sail was mismanaged, and the boat was filling fast.  He can’t swim.  I stripped off my coat, made him strip off his, and take hold of an oar, telling him that I thought (being myself an expert swimmer) I could save him, if he would not struggle when I took hold of him—­unless we got smashed against the rocks, which were high and sharp, with an awkward surf on them at that minute.  We were then about a hundred yards from shore, and the boat in peril.  He answered me with the greatest coolness, ’that he had no notion of being saved, and that I would have enough to do