[Footnote 108: The following was the advertisement enclosed:-- "Neatly printed and hot-pressed, 2s. 6d. "Lord Byron's Farewell to England, with Three other Poems--Ode to St. Helena, to My Daughter on her Birthday, and To the Lily of France. "Printed by J. Johnston, Cheapside, 335.; Oxford, 9. "The above beautiful Poems will be read with the most lively interest, as it is probable they will be the last of the author's that will appear in England." ] [Footnote 109: The motto is-- He left a name to all succeeding times, Link'd with one virtue and a thousand crimes." ] * * * * * LETTER 244. TO MR. ROGERS. "Diodati, near Geneva, July 29. 1816. "Do you recollect a book, Mathieson's Letters, which you lent me, which I have still, and yet hope to return to your library? Well, I have encountered at Copet and elsewhere Gray's correspondent, that same Bonstetten, to whom I lent the translation of his correspondent's epistles, for a few days; but all he could remember of Gray amounts to little, except that he was the most 'melancholy and gentlemanlike' of all possible poets. Bonstetten himself is a fine and very lively old man, and much esteemed by his compatriots; he is also a _litterateur_ of good repute, and all his friends have a mania of addressing to him volumes of letters--Mathieson, Muller the historian, &c.&c. He is a good deal at Copet, where I have met him a few times. All there are well, except Rocca, who, I am sorry to say, looks in a very bad state of health. Schlegel is in high force, and Madame as brilliant as ever. "I came here by the Netherlands and the Rhine route, and Basle, Berne, Moral, and Lausanne. I have circumnavigated the Lake, and go to Chamouni with the first fair weather; but really we have had lately such stupid mists, fogs, and perpetual density, that one would think Castlereagh had the Foreign Affairs of the kingdom of Heaven also on his hands. I need say nothing to you of these parts, you having traversed them already. I do not think of Italy before September. I have read Glenarvon, and have also seen Ben. Constant's Adolphe, and his preface, denying the real people. It is a work which leaves an unpleasant impression, but very consistent with the consequences of not being in love, which is, perhaps, as disagreeable as any thing, except being so. I doubt, however, whether all such _liens_ (as he calls them) terminate so wretchedly as his hero and heroine's.