its
environs, but he never seduced or deceived any. Early in life he adopted
the good habit of examining himself most rigidly; and so strict was his
conscience, that, where his companions saw reason to excuse him, he, on
the contrary, found cause for self-reproach.

It was this same imperious, innate want of his nature, which, combined
with certain circumstances, made him ill for a time. The malady was one
quite foreign to his temperament, springing from self-depreciation, and
because he did not then find sufficient gratification in society. A sort
of misanthropy stole over his soul, chaining him to the East for two
years, as a land where both soul and heart were less tried.

On his return home, the impressionability belonging to his ardent,
enthusiastic nature may have produced undue excitement, but no bad
feeling could ever dim the lustre of the nobler passion that held sway
over him.

For him truth was more than a virtue, it was an imperative duty.
Indulgent as he ever showed himself toward all weaknesses in general,
and especially toward the faults committed by his servants, he could not
forgive _a lie_.

At Ravenna, a young woman attached to the service of his little Allegra,
being unwilling to avow, for fear of dismissal, that Allegra had had a
fall, though the child bore the mark of it, told an untruth instead. No
intercession could prevail on Lord Byron to pardon her, and she was sent
away.[196]

Though eager for glory--especially at an age when not having yet arrived
at it, he ignored the bite of the serpent that often lurks within a
garland of roses--he yet repelled all undue praise, and was much more
indignant at receiving it, than when unmerited blame was heaped upon
him. Once, having been compared to a man of high standing in French
literature, he, anxious to prove that there could be no resemblance
between him and this great man, replied:--"If the thing were true, it
might flatter me; but it is impossible to accept fictions with
pleasure."

When Dallas--who only knew him then by his family name--read his early
productions, he was enchanted with poetry that often rose to the
sublime, and was always chivalrous in feeling, "which denoted," he said,
"a heart full of honorable sentiments, and formed for virtue." This is a
precious verdict, coming as it does, from a man so bigoted in all
respects as the elder Dallas. He adds afterward that the perusal of
these verses, and the sentiments contained in the