l," said the
physician, "what is there you can do that I cannot?"--"Why, since you
force me to say," answered the other, "I think there are three things I
can do which you cannot." Polidori defied him to name them. "I can,"
said Lord Byron, "swim across that river--I can snuff out that candle
with a pistol-shot at the distance of twenty paces--and I have written a
poem[118] of which 14,000 copies were sold in one day."

The jealous pique of the Doctor against Shelley was constantly breaking
out; and on the occasion of some victory which the latter had gained
over him in a sailing-match, he took it into his head that his
antagonist had treated him with contempt; and went so far, in
consequence, notwithstanding Shelley's known sentiments against
duelling, as to proffer him a sort of challenge, at which Shelley, as
might be expected, only laughed. Lord Byron, however, fearing that the
vivacious physician might still further take advantage of this
peculiarity of his friend, said to him, "Recollect, that though Shelley
has some scruples about duelling, _I_ have none; and shall be, at all
times, ready to take his place."

At Diodati, his life was passed in the same regular round of habits and
occupations into which, when left to himself, he always naturally fell;
a late breakfast, then a visit to the Shelleys' cottage and an excursion
on the Lake;--at five, dinner[119] (when he usually preferred being
alone), and then, if the weather permitted, an excursion again. He and
Shelley had joined in purchasing a boat, for which they gave twenty-five
_louis_,--a small sailing vessel, fitted to stand the usual squalls of
the climate, and, at that time, the only keeled boat on the Lake. When
the weather did not allow of their excursions after dinner,--an
occurrence not unfrequent during this very wet summer,--the inmates of
the cottage passed their evenings at Diodati, and, when the rain
rendered it inconvenient for them to return home, remained there to
sleep. "We often," says one, who was not the least ornamental of the
party, "sat up in conversation till the morning light. There was never
any lack of subjects, and, grave or gay, we were always interested."

During a week of rain at this time, having amused themselves with
reading German ghost-stories, they agreed, at last, to write something
in imitation of them. "You and I," said Lord Byron to Mrs. Shelley,
"will publish ours together." He then began his tale of the Vampire;
and