“I cannot thank you as you ought to be thanked for the lines which my young friend, Mr. Sterling, sent me of yours; and it would but ill become me to pretend to exchange verses with him who, for fifty years, has been the undisputed sovereign of European literature. You must therefore accept my most sincere acknowledgments in prose—and in hasty prose too; for I am at present on my voyage to Greece once more, and surrounded by hurry and bustle, which hardly allow a moment even to gratitude and admiration to express themselves.
“I sailed from Genoa some days ago, was driven back by a gale of wind, and have since sailed again and arrived here, ‘Leghorn,’ this morning, to receive on board some Greek passengers for their struggling country.
“Here also I found your lines and Mr. Sterling’s letter, and I could not have had a more favourable omen, a more agreeable surprise, than a word of Goëthe, written by his own hand.
“I am returning to Greece, to see if I can be of any little use there: if ever I come back I will pay a visit to Weimar, to offer the sincere homage of one of the many millions of your admirers. I have the honour to be, ever and most,
