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To the charge brought against Lord Byron by some English travellers of being, in general, repulsive and inhospitable to his own countrymen, I have already made allusion; and shall now add to the testimony then cited in disproof of such a charge some particulars, communicated to me by Captain Basil Hall, which exhibit the courtesy and kindliness of the noble poet’s disposition in their true, natural light.

“On the last day of August, 1818 (says this distinguished writer and traveller), I was taken ill with an ague at Venice, and having heard enough of the low state of the medical art in that country, I was not a little anxious as to the advice I should take.  I was not acquainted with any person in Venice to whom I could refer, and had only one letter of introduction, which was to Lord Byron; but as there were many stories floating about of his Lordship’s unwillingness to be pestered with tourists, I had felt unwilling, before this moment, to intrude myself in that shape.  Now, however, that I was seriously unwell, I felt sure that this offensive character would merge in that of a countryman in distress, and I sent the letter by one of my travelling companions to Lord Byron’s lodgings, with a note, excusing the liberty I was taking, explaining that I was in want of medical assistance, and saying I should not send to any one till I heard the name of the person who, in his Lordship’s opinion, was the best practitioner in Venice.

“Unfortunately for me, Lord Byron was still in bed, though it was near noon, and still more unfortunately, the bearer of my message scrupled to awake him, without first coming back to consult me.  By this time I was in all the agonies of a cold ague fit, and, therefore, not at all in a condition to be consulted upon any thing—­so I replied pettishly, ’Oh, by no means disturb Lord Byron on my account—­ring for the landlord, and send for any one he recommends.’  This absurd injunction being forthwith and literally attended to, in the course of an hour I was under the discipline of mine host’s friend, whose skill and success it is no part of my present purpose to descant upon:—­it is sufficient to mention that I was irrevocably in his hands long before the following most kind note was brought to me, in great haste, by Lord Byron’s servant.

     “’Venice, August 31. 1818.

     “’Dear Sir,

“’Dr. Aglietti is the best physician, not only in Venice, but in Italy:  his residence is on the Grand Canal, and easily found; I forget the number, but am probably the only person in Venice who don’t know it.  There is no comparison between him and any of the other medical people here.  I regret very much to hear of your indisposition, and shall do myself the honour of waiting upon you the moment I am up.  I write this in bed, and have only just received the letter and note.  I beg you to believe that nothing but the extreme lateness of my hours could have prevented me from replying immediately, or coming in person.  I have not been called a minute.—­I have the honour to be, very truly,

     “’Your most obedient servant,