'We arrived at one of the beautiful bays that encircle the island, like a wavy wreath of silver sand studded with gold and emerald in a field of liquid pearl, and embarked in the collector's boat for the opposite shore of Santa Eufemia, where, on arrival, we were received by its courteous chief, Mr. Toole, in a sort of state--with his whole establishment, French and English, uncovered and bowing. He had had notice of the illustrious poet's expected arrival, and had prepared one of the usual luxurious feasts in his honour--feasts which Lord Byron said "played the devil" with him, for he could not abstain when good eating was within his reach. The apartment assigned to us was small, and the table could not accommodate the whole party. There were, accordingly, small side or "children's tables," for such guests as might choose to be willing to take seats at them. "Ha!" said Lord Byron, "England all over--places for Tommy and Billy, and Lizzie and Molly, if there were any. Mr. ----" (addressing me), "will you be my Tommy?"--pointing to the two vacant seats at a small side-table, close to the chair of our host. Down I sat, delighted, opposite to my companion, and had a _tête-à-tête_ dinner apart from the head-table, from which, as usual, we were profusely helped to the most recherché portions. "Verily," said his lordship, "I cannot abstain." His conversation, however, was directed chiefly to his host, from whom he received much local information, and had his admiration of Sir Thomas Maitland increased by some particulars of his system of government. There were no vacant apartments within the station, but we learned that quarters had been provided for us at a monastery on the hill of Samos, across the bay. Thither we were all transported at twilight, and ascended to the large venerable abode of some dozen of friars, who were prepared for our arrival and accommodation. Outside the walls of the building there were some open sarcophagi and some pieces of carved frieze and fragments of pottery. 'I walked with his lordship and Count Gamba to examine them, speculating philosophically on their quondam contents. Something to our surprise, Lord Byron clambered over into the deepest, and lay in the bottom at full length on his back, muttering some English lines. I may have been wrong, or idly and unjustifiably curious, but I leaned over to hear what the lines might be. I found they were unconnected fragments of the scene in "Hamlet," where he moralizes with Horatio on the skull: '"Imperious Cæsar, dead and turned to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away; O, that that earth, which held the world in awe, Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!"