, having the whole arranged in his head, repeated to them a sketch
of the story[120] one evening,--but, from the narrative being in prose,
made but little progress in filling up his outline. The most memorable
result, indeed, of their story-telling compact, was Mrs. Shelley's wild
and powerful romance of Frankenstein,--one of those original conceptions
that take hold of the public mind at once, and for ever.

Towards the latter end of June, as we have seen in one of the preceding
letters, Lord Byron, accompanied by his friend Shelley, made a tour in
his boat round the Lake, and visited, "with the Heloise before him," all
those scenes around Meillerie and Clarens, which have become consecrated
for ever by ideal passion, and by that power which Genius alone
possesses, of giving such life to its dreams as to make them seem
realities. In the squall off Meillerie, which he mentions, their danger
was considerable[121]. In the expectation, every moment, of being
obliged to swim for his life, Lord Byron had already thrown off his
coat, and, as Shelley was no swimmer, insisted upon endeavouring, by
some means, to save him. This offer, however, Shelley positively
refused; and seating himself quietly upon a locker, and grasping the
rings at each end firmly in his hands, declared his determination to go
down in that position, without a struggle.[122]

Subjoined to that interesting little work, the "Six Weeks' Tour," there
is a letter by Shelley himself, giving an account of this excursion
round the Lake, and written with all the enthusiasm such scenes should
inspire. In describing a beautiful child they saw at the village of
Nerni, he says, "My companion gave him a piece of money, which he took
without speaking, with a sweet smile of easy thankfulness, and then with
an unembarrassed air turned to his play." There were, indeed, few
things Lord Byron more delighted in than to watch beautiful children at
play;--"many a lovely Swiss child (says a person who saw him daily at
this time) received crowns from him as the reward of their grace and
sweetness."

Speaking of their lodgings at Nerni, which were gloomy and dirty, Mr.
Shelley says, "On returning to our inn, we found that the servant had
arranged our rooms, and deprived them of the greater portion of their
former disconsolate appearance. They reminded my companion of
Greece:--it was five years, he said, since he had slept in such beds."

Luckily for Shelley's full enjoyment of t