auty. But whatever may
have been the cause of this sensibility, it sufficed in any case to make
him feel a generous compassion for all those afflicted with any defect
analogous to his own. Lord Harrington, then Colonel Stanhope, says:--

"Contrary to what we observe in most people, Lord Byron, who was always
very sensitive to the sufferings of others, showed greatest sympathy for
those who had any imperfection akin to his own." At Ravenna, his
favorite beggar limped. And on him Lord Byron bestowed the privilege of
picking up all the largest coins struck down by his dexterous
pistol-shots in the forest of pines. We have said he never laughed at
any involuntary defect, not even at a person falling (as is so often the
case), for fear it might have been caused by bodily weakness, neither
did he ridicule any of the weaknesses or shortcomings of intelligence.

He did not laugh at a bad poet on account of his bad verses. When he was
at Pisa, an Irishman there was engaged in translating the "Divine
Comedy." The translation was very heavy and faulty; but the translator
was most enthusiastic about the great poet, and absolutely lived on the
hope of getting his work published. All the English at Pisa, including
the kind Shelley, were turning him into ridicule. Lord Byron alone would
not join in the laugh. T----'s sincerity won for him grace and
compassion. Indeed Lord Byron did still more; for he wrote and entreated
Murray to publish the work, so as to give the poor poet this
consolation. Not content with that step, he wrote to Moore to beg
Jeffrey not to criticise him, undertaking himself to ask Gifford the
same thing, through Murray. "Perhaps they might speak of the
commentaries without touching on the text," said he; and then he added
with his usual pleasantry, "However, we must not trust to it. _Those
dogs! the text is too tempting._"[152]

Nor did he laugh at exaggerated devotion, even if it were extravagant or
superstitious, provided he thought it sincere. Countess G----, paternal
aunt of Countess G----, the greatest beauty of Romagna in 1800, had
fallen into such extreme mystical devotion, through the brutal jealousy
of her husband, that she died in the odor of sanctity. This lady wrote
to her brother, Count G----, at Genoa, saying how happy she was, and
giving no end of praise to "the good Jesuit Fathers," and speaking of
her devotion to St. Teresa. Madame G----, having sent one of these
letters to Lord Byron, he answere