bered seeing me? Somehow, people always remember my features; even those have detected my identity who have not seen me since I was a month old; so I have hopes that, when I go to heaven, I shall easily be recognized by my old friends. "Do you know, we lose many letters? having spies (not Government ones) about us in plenty. They made a desperate push to do us a desperate mischief lately, but succeeded no further than to blacken us amongst the English; so, if you receive a fresh batch (or green bag) of scandal against us, I assure you it will be a lie. Poor souls! we live innocently, as well know; if we did not, ten to one we should not be so unfortunate."

you

In a letter dated September 4th, 1820, Horace Smith communicates to Shelley his opinion of two of his recent works:

"I got from Ollier last week a copy of the Prometheus Unbound, which is certainly a most original, grand, and occasionally sublime work, evincing, in my opinlon, a higher order of talent than any of your previous productions; and yet, contrary to your own estimation, I must say I prefer the Cenci, because it contains a deep and sustained human interest, of which we feel a want in the other. Prometheus himself certainly touches us nearly; but we see very little of him after his liberation; and, though I have no doubt it will be more admired than anything you have written, I question whether it will be so much read as the Cenci.

“Your letter, stating your sudden intention of going to Paris, turned up the other day, with all the postmarks of the world upon it, except, I believe, Jerusalem and Seringapatam. Did you intrust it to the Wandering Jew?"

FROM SHELLEY TO MR. JOHN GISBORNE.

"DEAR FRIEND,

"Pisa, Oct. 29th, 1820.

"CAN you tell me anything about Arabic grammars, dictionaries, and manuscripts, and whether they are vendible at Leghorn, and whether there are any native Arabs capable of teaching the language? Do not give yourself any trouble about the subject; but if you could answer or discover an answer to these questions without any pains, I should be very much obliged to you. My kind regards to Mrs. G. and Henry. “Yours very truly,

"P. B. SHELLEY."

CHAPTER XI.

SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA.

EARLY in the year 1821, the Shelleys made the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Williams, the former of whom was drowned with the poet. Mrs. Shelley says of him that no man 66 ever existed more gentle, generous, and fearless." Like his illustrious friend, he was a great lover of boating, and the two were frequently on the water together, before the day which proved fatal to both. Shelley, indeed, enjoyed a good deal of his favorite recreation during this year. The shallow waters of the Arno, on which no ordinary vessel can float, did not prove any obstacle to him; he contrived a boat "such as the huntsmen carry about with them in the Maremma, to cross the sluggish but deep streams that intersect the forest -a boat of laths and pitched canvas.' In this he frequently took little trips on the Arno, though his Italian friends, seeing the peril which he ran, used to remonstrate with him, and to prophesy — with too much truth—that

* Mrs. Shelley.

the amusement would lead to his death. On one occasion, when he had been with a friend down the Arno and round the coast to Leghorn, he returned by the canal, when the skiff got entangled amongst some weeds, and was upset. The intense cold made Shelley faint; but no further harm was done. "Once," writes Mrs. Shelley, "I went down with him to the mouth of the Arno, where the stream, then high and swift, met the tideless sea, and disturbed its sluggish waters. It was a waste and dreary scene; the desert sand stretched into a point surrounded by waves that broke idly, though perpetually, around.”

But the water was far from engrossing Shelley's thoughts at this time. The south of Europe had awakened from its lethargy into a state of high political excitement, and it seemed as if the age of liberty were dawning in several places. Spain and Naples had been revolutionized in the previous year; and the northern and central parts of Italy now endeavored to follow the example. Several insurrectionary movements were attended by temporary success; Tuscany alone, owing to the benevolent rule of its prince, remained tranquil; but, in the end, the patriots were crushed beneath the weight of Austrian armies. At the same period, however, a revolution began in a country farther east, which was destined to result, to a certain extent, in success, though Shelley did not live long enough to behold the issue. Greece declared itself independent of Ottoman domination; and these combined attacks on the general foe filled Shelley with the utmost enthusiasm. Some Greeks were at that time at Pisa; and amongst them was Prince Mavrocor

dato, to whom Hellas is dedicated. On the 1st of April, this gentleman called on the Shelleys, and told them that his cousin, Prince Ipsilanti, had issued a proclamation (a copy of which he brought with him), and that Greece thenceforward would be free. The emotions of joy and hope kindled by this intelligence in the mind of the poet produced the lyrical drama of Hellas, of which Shelley records, in his preface, that it was "written at the suggestion of the events of the moment, is a mere improvise, and derives its interest (should it be found to possess any) solely from the intense sympathy which the author feels with the cause he would celebrate." Nevertheless, it contains passages of great power, and lyrics of the

utmost sweetness.

In the same year, Shelley wrote that piece of radiant mysticism and rapturous melody, Epipsychidion. The subject of this poem "the noble and unfortunate Lady Emilia V -," was the daughter of an Italian count, and was shut up in a convent by her father until such time as he could find for her a husband of whom he approved. In this dreary prison, Shelley saw her, and was struck by her amazing beauty, by the highly cultivated grace of her mind, and by the misery which she suffered in being debarred from all sympathy. She was subsequently married to a gentleman chosen for her by her father; and, after pining in his society, and in the marshy solitudes of the Maremma, for six years, she left him, with the consent of her parent, and died of consumption in a dilapidated old mansion at Florence. This occurred long after the death of Shelley, who used