Don Juan, Canto the Seventeenth. London, Thomas Cooper and Co., 1870. (In this curious production the author has spread his scanty materials over 56 pages, by the simple expedient of leaving about a quarter of them blank.)
Some Rejected Stanzas of Don Juan, with Byron’s own curious notes. From an unpublished manuscript in the possession of Captain Medwin. A very limited number printed at Charles Clarke’s private press, Great Totham, Essex, 1845.
This consists of twenty stanzas relating to the early history of Ireland, is coarse in its language, and of no general interest.
The Royal Progress, a Canto, with notes written on the occasion of his Majesty’s visit to Ireland, August, 1821, London, 1821.
Dedicated to Lord Byron, and written in imitation of his ottava rima metre in Don Juan. p.p. 95.
Don Juan, Canto the third, London. Printed by R. Greenlaw, Holborn, 1821. p.p. 103. (An imitation.)
An Apology for Don Juan, by John W. Thomas, London, Partridge and Oakey, 1850.
New Don Juan, and the Last Canto of the Original ‘Don Juan.’ From the papers of the Contessa Guiccioli. 12mo. pp. 61, 1876.
The Vampire. This publication was at one time ascribed to Byron, but a letter of his exists, denying this. It is dated April 27, 1819, from Venice. This Letter is not to be found in Moore’s Collection of Byron’s Letters, its discovery having been first announced in the Academy, April 23, 1881.
“I am not the author, and never heard of the work in question until now. In a more recent paper I perceive a formal annunciation of ‘The Vampire,’ with the addition of an account of my ‘residence in the Island of Mitylene,’ an island which I have occasionally sailed by in the course of travelling some years ago through the Levant—and where I should have no objection to reside—but where I have never yet resided.… Neither of these performances are mine, and I presume that it is neither unjust nor ungracious to request that you will favour me by contradicting the advertisement to which I allude. If the book is clever it would be hard to deprive the real writer—whoever he may be—of his honours; and if stupid—I desire the responsibility of nobody’s dulness but my own.… The imputation is of no great importance, and as long as it was confined to surmises and reports I should have received it as I have received many others—in silence. But the formality of a public advertisement of a book I never wrote—and a residence where I never resided—is a little too much, particularly as I have no notion of the contents of one, nor the incidents of the other. I have, besides, a personal dislike to ‘Vampires,’ and the little acquaintance I have with them would by no means induce me to divulge their secrets.”