'I was not antiquary enough to know to what object of antiquity our visit was made, but I saw Lord Byron in earnest conversation with a very antique old Greek monk in full clerical habit. He was a Bishop, sitting oil a stone of the ruined wall close by, and he turned out to be the _Esprit fort_ mentioned in a note at the end of the second canto of "Childe Harold"--a freethinker, at least a freespeaker, when he called the sacrifice of the Maso _una Coglioneria_. 'When we embarked on our return to Vathi, Lord Byron seemed moody and sullen, but brightened up as he saw a ripple on the water, a mast and sail raised in the cutter, and Trelawny seated in the stern with the tiller in hand. In a few minutes we were scudding, gunwale under, in a position infinitely more beautiful than agreeable to landsmen, and Lord Byron obviously enjoying the not improbable idea of a swim for life. His motions, as he sat, tended to increase the impulse of the breeze, and tended also to sway the boat to leeward. "I don't know," he said, "if you all swim, gentlemen; but if you do, you will have fifty fathoms of blue water to support you; and if you do not, you will have it over you. But as you may not all be prepared, starboard, Trelawny--bring her up. There! she is trim; and now let us have a glass of grog after the gale. _Tita, i fiaschi!_" This was followed by a reproduction of the gin-and-water jars, and a round of the immortal swizzle. To my very great surprise, it was new to the company that the liquor which they were enjoying was the product of Scotland, in the shape of what is called "low-wines," or semi-distilled whisky--chiefly from the distillery of mine ancient friend, James Haig of Lochrin; but the communication seemed to gratify the noble drinker, and led to the recitation by one of the company, in pure lowland Scotch, of Burns's Petition to the House of Commons in behalf of the national liquor. The last stanza, beginning '"Scotland, my auld respeckit mither," very much pleased Lord Byron, who said that he too was more than half a Scotchman. 'The conversation again turned on the "Waverley Novels," and on this occasion Lord Byron spoke of "The Bride of Lammermoor," and cited the passage where the mother of the cooper's wife tells her husband (the cooper) that she "kent naething aboot what he might do to his wife; but the deil a finger shall ye lay on my dochter, and _that ye may foond upon_." Shortly afterwards, the conversation having turned upon poetry, his lordship mentioned the famous ode on the death of Sir John Moore as the finest piece of poetry in any language. He recited some lines of it. One of the company, with more presumption than wisdom, took him up, as his memory seemed to lag, by filling in the line: