derful person, that no importance ought to be attached to the words of the dying man-"Vous voyez bien qu'il n'a plus sa tête.".

The day before we left Switzerland I met Madame de Staël in Geneva. Taking leave, she said, "God bless you! stay for me in Italy," alluding to a fanciful project of joining us on the other side of the Alps; and on the same evening I had a note from her concluding with these words: "I shall never forget the two friends."

When I revisited Geneva in 1828 I passed by Coppet, and paused a short time to gaze on the vine-covered slopes under the villa Diodati. I could discover the little pathway down which I had many a time rambled to the cove where Lord Byron's boat was anchored. The well-known scenes on either side of the lake were indeed as magnificent and lovely as ever-"but all the guests departed." It is seldom that death in so few years has dealt so many blows in a circle where old age was scarcely to be seen. Of the inmates and habitual visitors at Diodati, Lord Byron, Mr. Shelley, Mr. Lewis, Dr. Polidori were gone. Of those I saw at Coppet, Madame de Staël herself, her son, her friend Rocca, and Schlegel, all had passed away. I am speaking of the year 1828, but when I last saw the same scenes, in 1842, many other names might be added to the list.*

* Mr. de Bonstetten died on the 3rd of February, 1832, as I learn from a pleasing account of him published at Lausanne in this year. The name of the author is Aimé Steinlen.-1860.