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diff --git a/7948-h/7948-h.htm b/7948-h/7948-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c21c097 --- /dev/null +++ b/7948-h/7948-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6157 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title>Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey, by Washington Irving</title> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" /> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg’s Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey, by Washington Irving + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey + +Author: Washington Irving + +Posting Date: October 8, 2012 [EBook #7948] +Release Date: April, 2005 +First Posted: June 4, 2003 +Last Updated: June 1, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABBOTSFORD AND NEWSTEAD ABBEY *** + + + + +Etext produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Tiffany Vergon, Charles +Franks, and the Online Distributed Proofreaders Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + ABBOTSFORD AND NEWSTEAD ABBEY + </h1> + <h2> + By Washington Irving + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ARRIVAL AT THE ABBEY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE ABBEY GARDEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> PLOUGH MONDAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> OLD SERVANTS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> SUPERSTITIONS OF THE ABBEY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ANNESLEY HALL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE LAKE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> ROBIN HOOD AND SHERWOOD FOREST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE ROOK CELL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE LITTLE WHITE LADY. </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ABBOTSFORD. + </h2> + <p> + I sit down to perform my promise of giving you an account of a visit made + many years since to Abbotsford. I hope, however, that you do not expect + much from me, for the travelling notes taken at the time are so scanty and + vague, and my memory so extremely fallacious, that I fear I shall + disappoint you with the meagreness and crudeness of my details. + </p> + <p> + Late in the evening of August 29, 1817, I arrived at the ancient little + border town of Selkirk, where I put up for the night. I had come down from + Edinburgh, partly to visit Melrose Abbey and its vicinity, but chiefly to + get sight of the “mighty minstrel of the north.” I had a letter of + introduction to him from Thomas Campbell, the poet, and had reason to + think, from the interest he had taken in some of my earlier scribblings, + that a visit from me would not be deemed an intrusion. + </p> + <p> + On the following morning, after an early breakfast, I set off in a + postchaise for the Abbey. On the way thither I stopped at the gate of + Abbotsford, and sent the postilion to the house with the letter of + introduction and my card, on which I had written that I was on my way to + the ruins of Melrose Abbey, and wished to know whether it would be + agreeable to Mr. Scott (he had not yet been made a Baronet) to receive a + visit from me in the course of the morning. + </p> + <p> + While the postilion was on his errand, I had time to survey the mansion. + It stood some short distance below the road, on the side of a hill + sweeping down to the Tweed; and was as yet but a snug gentleman’s cottage, + with something rural and picturesque in its appearance. The whole front + was overrun with evergreens, and immediately above the portal was a great + pair of elk horns, branching out from beneath the foliage, and giving the + cottage the look of a hunting lodge. The huge baronial pile, to which this + modest mansion in a manner gave birth was just emerging into existence; + part of the walls, surrounded by scaffolding, already had risen to the + height of the cottage, and the courtyard in front was encumbered by masses + of hewn stone. + </p> + <p> + The noise of the chaise had disturbed the quiet of the establishment. Out + sallied the warder of the castle, a black greyhound, and, leaping on one + of the blocks of stone, began a furious barking. His alarum brought out + the whole garrison of dogs: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, + And curs of low degree;” + </pre> + <p> + all open-mouthed and vociferous.—I should correct my quotation;—not + a cur was to be seen on the premises: Scott was too true a sportsman, and + had too high a veneration for pure blood, to tolerate a mongrel. + </p> + <p> + In a little while the “lord of the castle” himself made his appearance. I + knew him at once by the descriptions I had read and heard, and the + likenesses that had been published of him. He was tall, and of a large and + powerful frame. His dress was simple, and almost rustic. An old green + shooting-coat, with a dog-whistle at the buttonhole, brown linen + pantaloons, stout shoes that tied at the ankles, and a white hat that had + evidently seen service. He came limping up the gravel walk, aiding himself + by a stout walking-staff, but moving rapidly and with vigor. By his side + jogged along a large iron-gray stag-hound of most grave demeanor, who took + no part in the clamor of the canine rabble, but seemed to consider himself + bound, for the dignity of the house, to give me a courteous reception. + </p> + <p> + Before Scott had reached the gate he called out in a hearty tone, + welcoming me to Abbotsford, and asking news of Campbell. Arrived at the + door of the chaise, he grasped me warmly by the hand: “Come, drive down, + drive down to the house,” said he, “ye’re just in time for breakfast, and + afterward ye shall see all the wonders of the Abbey.” + </p> + <p> + I would have excused myself, on the plea of having already made my + breakfast. “Hout, man,” cried he, “a ride in the morning in the keen air + of the Scotch hills is warrant enough for a second breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + I was accordingly whirled to the portal of the cottage, and in a few + moments found myself seated at the breakfast-table. There was no one + present but the family, which consisted of Mrs. Scott, her eldest daughter + Sophia, then a fine girl about seventeen, Miss Ann Scott, two or three + years younger, Walter, a well-grown stripling, and Charles, a lively boy, + eleven or twelve years of age. I soon felt myself quite at home, and my + heart in a glow with the cordial welcome I experienced. I had thought to + make a mere morning visit, but found I was not to be let off so lightly. + “You must not think our neighborhood is to be read in a morning, like a + newspaper,” said Scott. “It takes several days of study for an observant + traveller that has a relish for auld world trumpery. After breakfast you + shall make your visit to Melrose Abbey; I shall not be able to accompany + you, as I have some household affairs to attend to, but I will put you in + charge of my son Charles, who is very learned in all things touching the + old ruin and the neighborhood it stands in, and he and my friend Johnny + Bower will tell you the whole truth about it, with a good deal more that + you are not called upon to believe—unless you be a true and + nothing-doubting antiquary. When you come back, I’ll take you out on a + ramble about the neighborhood. To-morrow we will take a look at the + Yarrow, and the next day we will drive over to Dryburgh Abbey, which is a + fine old ruin well worth your seeing”—in a word, before Scott had + got through his plan, I found myself committed for a visit of several + days, and it seemed as if a little realm of romance was suddenly opened + before me. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + After breakfast I accordingly set oft for the Abbey with my little friend + Charles, whom I found a most sprightly and entertaining companion. He had + an ample stock of anecdote about the neighborhood, which he had learned + from his father, and many quaint remarks and sly jokes, evidently derived + from the same source, all which were uttered with a Scottish accent and a + mixture of Scottish phraseology, that gave them additional flavor. + </p> + <p> + On our way to the Abbey he gave me some anecdotes of Johnny Bower to whom + his father had alluded; he was sexton of the parish and custodian of the + ruin, employed to keep it in order and show it to strangers;—a + worthy little man, not without ambition in his humble sphere. The death of + his predecessor had been mentioned in the newspapers, so that his name had + appeared in print throughout the land. When Johnny succeeded to the + guardianship of the ruin, he stipulated that, on his death, his name + should receive like honorable blazon; with this addition, that it should + be from, the pen of Scott. The latter gravely pledged himself to pay this + tribute to his memory, and Johnny now lived in the proud anticipation of a + poetic immortality. + </p> + <p> + I found Johnny Bower a decent-looking little old man, in blue coat and red + waistcoat. He received us with much greeting, and seemed delighted to see + my young companion, who was full of merriment and waggery, drawing out his + peculiarities for my amusement. The old man was one of the most authentic + and particular of cicerones; he pointed out everything in the Abbey that + had been described by Scott in his “Lay of the Last Minstrel:” and would + repeat, with broad Scottish accent, the passage which celebrated it. + </p> + <p> + Thus, in passing through the cloisters, he made me remark the beautiful + carvings of leaves and flowers wrought in stone with the most exquisite + delicacy, and, notwithstanding the lapse of centuries, retaining their + sharpness as if fresh from the chisel; rivalling, as Scott has said, the + real objects of which they were imitations: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Nor herb nor flowret glistened there + But was carved in the cloister arches as fair.” + </pre> + <p> + He pointed out, also, among the carved work a nun’s head of much beauty, + which he said Scott always stopped to admire—“for the shirra had a + wonderful eye for all sic matters.” + </p> + <p> + I would observe that Scott seemed to derive more consequence in the + neighborhood from being sheriff of the county than from being poet. + </p> + <p> + In the interior of the Abbey Johnny Bower conducted me to the identical + stone on which Stout “William of Deloraine” and the monk took their seat + on that memorable night when the wizard’s book was to be rescued from the + grave. Nay, Johnny had even gone beyond Scott in the minuteness of his + antiquarian research, for he had discovered the very tomb of the wizard, + the position of which had been left in doubt by the poet. This he boasted + to have ascertained by the position of the oriel window, and the direction + in which the moonbeams fell at night, through the stained glass, casting + the shadow to the red cross on the spot; as had all been specified in the + poem. “I pointed out the whole to the shirra,” said he, “and he could na’ + gainsay but it was varra clear.” I found afterward that Scott used to + amuse himself with the simplicity of the old man, and his zeal in + verifying every passage of the poem, as though it had authentic history, + and that he always acquiesced in his deductions. I subjoin the description + of the wizard’s grave, which called forth the antiquarian research of + Johnny Bower. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Lo warrior! now the cross of red, + Points to the grave of the mighty dead; + Slow moved the monk to the broad flag-stone, + Which the bloody cross was traced upon: + He pointed to a sacred nook: + An iron bar the warrior took; + And the monk made a sign with his withered hand, + The grave’s huge portal to expand. + + “It was by dint of passing strength, + That he moved the massy stone at length. + I would you had been there to see, + How the light broke forth so gloriously, + Streamed upward to the chancel roof, + And through the galleries far aloof! + And, issuing from the tomb, + Showed the monk’s cowl and visage pale, + Danced on the dark brown warrior’s mail, + And kissed his waving plume. + + “Before their eyes the wizard lay, + As if he had not been dead a day: + His hoary beard in silver rolled, + He seemed some seventy winters old; + A palmer’s amice wrapped him round; + With a wrought Spanish baldrie bound, + Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea; + His left hand held his book of might; + A silver cross was in his right: + The lamp was placed beside his knee.” + </pre> + <p> + The fictions of Scott had become facts with honest Johnny Bower. From + constantly living among the ruins of Melrose Abbey, and pointing out the + scenes of the poem, the “Lay of the Last Minstrel” had, in a manner, + become interwoven with his whole existence, and I doubt whether he did not + now and then mix up his own identity with the personages of some of its + cantos. + </p> + <p> + He could not bear that any other production of the poet should be + preferred to the “Lay of the Last Minstrel.” “Faith,” said he to me, “it’s + just e’en as gude a thing as Mr. Scott has written—an’ if he were + stannin’ there I’d tell him so—an’ then he’d lauff.” + </p> + <p> + He was loud in his praises of the affability of Scott. “He’ll come here + sometimes,” said he, “with great folks in his company, an’ the first I + know of it is his voice, calling out ‘Johnny!—Johnny Bower!’—and + when I go out, I am sure to be greeted with a joke or a pleasant word. + Hell stand and crack and lauff wi’ me, just like an auld wife—and to + think that of a man who has such an awfu’ knowledge o’ history!” + </p> + <p> + One of the ingenious devices on which the worthy little man prided + himself, was to place a visitor opposite to the Abbey, with his back to + it, and bid him bend down and look at it between his legs. This, he said, + gave an entire different aspect to the ruin. Folks admired the plan + amazingly, but as to the “leddies,” they were dainty on the matter, and + contented themselves with looking from under their arms. As Johnny Bower + piqued himself upon showing everything laid down in the poem, there was + one passage that perplexed him sadly. It was the opening of one of the + cantos: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “If thou would’st view fair Melrose aright, + Go visit it by the pale moonlight: + For the gay beams of lightsome day, + Gild but to flout the ruins gray.” etc. +</pre> + <p> + In consequence of this admonition, many of the most devout pilgrims to the + ruin could not be contented with a daylight inspection, and insisted it + could be nothing unless seen by the light of the moon. Now, unfortunately, + the moon shines but for a part of the month; and, what is still more + unfortunate, is very apt in Scotland to be obscured by clouds and mists. + Johnny was sorely puzzled, therefore, how to accommodate his poetry-struck + visitors with this indispensable moonshine. At length, in a lucky moment, + he devised a substitute. This was a great double tallow candle stuck upon + the end of a pole, with which he could conduct his visitors about the + ruins on dark nights, so much to their satisfaction that, at length, he + began to think it even preferable to the moon itself. “It does na light up + a’ the Abbey at since, to be sure,” he would say, “but then you can shift + it about and show the auld ruin bit by bit, whiles the moon only shines on + one side.” + </p> + <p> + Honest Johnny Bower! so many years have elapsed since the time I treat of, + that it is more than probable his simple head lies beneath the walls of + his favorite Abbey. It is to be hoped his humble ambition has been + gratified, and his name recorded by the pen of the man he so loved and + honored. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + After my return from Melrose Abbey, Scott proposed a ramble to show me + something of the surrounding country. As we sallied forth, every dog in + the establishment turned out to attend us. There was the old stag-hound + Maida, that I have already mentioned, a noble animal, and a great favorite + of Scott’s, and Hamlet, the black greyhound, a wild, thoughtless + youngster, not yet arrived to the years of discretion; and Finette, a + beautiful setter, with soft, silken hair, long pendent ears, and a mild + eye, the parlor favorite. When in front of the house, we were joined by a + superannuated greyhound, who came from the kitchen wagging his tail, and + was cheered by Scott as an old friend and comrade. + </p> + <p> + In our walks, Scott would frequently pause in conversation to notice his + dogs and speak to them, as if rational companions; and indeed there + appears to be a vast deal of rationality in these faithful attendants on + man, derived from their close intimacy with him. Maida deported himself + with a gravity becoming his age and size, and seemed to consider himself + called upon to preserve a great degree of dignity and decorum in our + society. As he jogged along a little distance ahead of us, the young dogs + would gambol about him, leap on his neck, worry at his ears, and endeavor + to tease him into a frolic. The old dog would keep on for a long time with + imperturbable solemnity, now and then seeming to rebuke the wantonness of + his young companions. At length he would make a sudden turn, seize one of + them, and tumble him in the dust; then giving a glance at us, as much as + to say, “You see, gentlemen, I can’t help giving way to this nonsense,” + would resume his gravity and jog on as before. + </p> + <p> + Scott amused himself with these peculiarities. “I make no doubt,” said he, + “when Maida is alone with these young dogs, he throw’s gravity aside, and + plays the boy as much as any of them; but he is ashamed to do so in our + company, and seems to say, ‘Ha’ done with your nonsense, youngsters: what + will the laird and that other gentleman think of me if I give way to such + foolery?’” + </p> + <p> + Maida reminded him, he said, of a scene on board an armed yacht in which + he made an excursion with his friend Adam Ferguson. They had taken much + notice of the boatswain, who was a fine sturdy seaman, and evidently felt + flattered by their attention. On one occasion the crew were “piped to + fun,” and the sailors were dancing and cutting all kinds of capers to the + music of the ship’s band. The boatswain looked on with a wistful eye, as + if he would like to join in; but a glance at Scott and Ferguson showed + that there was a struggle with his dignity, fearing to lessen himself in + their eyes. At length one at his messmates came up, and seizing him by the + arm, challenged him to a jig. The boatswain, continued Scott, after a + little hesitation complied, made an awkward gambol or two, like our friend + Maida, but soon gave it up. “It’s of no use,” said he, jerking up his + waistband and giving a side glance at us, “one can’t dance always + nouther.” + </p> + <p> + Scott amused himself with the peculiarities of another of his dogs, a + little shamefaced terrier, with large glassy eyes, one of the most + sensitive little bodies to insult and indignity in the world. If ever he + whipped him, he said, the little fellow would sneak off and hide himself + from the light of day, in a lumber garret, whence there was no drawing him + forth but by the sound of the chopping-knife, as if chopping up his + victuals, when he would steal forth with humble and downcast look, but + would skulk away again if any one regarded him. + </p> + <p> + While we were discussing the humors and peculiarities of our canine + companions, some object provoked their spleen, and produced a sharp and + petulant barking from the smaller fry, but it was some time before Maida + was sufficiently aroused to ramp forward two or three bounds and join in + the chorus, with a deep-mouthed bow-wow! + </p> + <p> + It was but a transient outbreak, and he returned instantly, wagging his + tail, and looking up dubiously in his master’s face; uncertain whether he + would censure or applaud. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, aye, old boy!” cried Scott, “you have done wonders. You have shaken + the Eildon hills with your roaring; you may now lay by your artillery for + the rest of the day. Maida is like the great gun at Constantinople,” + continued he; “it takes so long to get it ready, that the small guns can + fire off a dozen times first, but when it does go off it plays the very d——l.” + </p> + <p> + These simple anecdotes may serve to show the delightful play of Scott’s + humors and feelings in private life. His domestic animals were his + friends; everything about him seemed to rejoice in the light of his + countenance; the face of the humblest dependent brightened at his + approach, as if he anticipated a cordial and cheering word. I had occasion + to observe this particularly in a visit which we paid to a quarry, whence + several men were cutting stone for the new edifice; who all paused from + their labor to have a pleasant “crack wi’ the laird.” One of them was a + burgess of Selkirk, with whom Scott had some joke about-the old song: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Up with the Souters o’ Selkirk, + And down with the Earl of Horne.” + </pre> + <p> + Another was precentor at the Kirk, and, besides leading the psalmody on + Sunday, taught the lads and lasses of the neighborhood dancing on week + days, in the winter time, when out-of-door labor was scarce. + </p> + <p> + Among the rest was a tall, straight old fellow, with a healthful + complexion and silver hair, and a small round-crowned white hat. He had + been about to shoulder a nod, but paused, and stood looking at Scott, with + a slight sparkling of his blue eye, as if waiting his turn; for the old + fellow knew himself to be a favorite. + </p> + <p> + Scott accosted him in an affable tone, and asked for a pinch of snuff. The + old man drew forth a horn snuff-box. “Hoot, man,” said Scott, “not that + old mull: where’s the bonnie French one that I brought you from Paris?” + “Troth, your honor,” replied the old fellow, “sic a mull as that is nae + for week-days.” + </p> + <p> + On leaving the quarry, Scott informed me that when absent at Paris, he had + purchased several trifling articles as presents for his dependents, and + among others the gay snuff-box in question, which was so carefully + reserved for Sundays, by the veteran. “It was not so much the value of the + gifts,” said he, “that pleased them, as the idea that the laird should + think of them when so far away.” + </p> + <p> + The old man in question, I found, was a great favorite with Scott. If I + recollect right, he had been a soldier in early life, and his straight, + erect person, his ruddy yet rugged countenance, his gray hair, and an arch + gleam in his blue eye, reminded me of the description of Edie Ochiltree. I + find that the old fellow has since been introduced by Wilkie, in his + picture of the Scott family. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + We rambled on among scenes which had been familiar in Scottish song, and + rendered classic by pastoral muse, long before Scott had thrown the rich + mantle of his poetry over them. What a thrill of pleasure did I feel when + first I saw the broom-covered tops of the Cowden Knowes, peeping above the + gray hills of the Tweed: and what touching associations were called up by + the sight of Ettrick Vale, Galla Water, and the Braes of Yarrow! Every + turn brought to mind some household air—some almost forgotten song + of the nursery, by which I had been lulled to sleep in my childhood; and + with them the looks and voices of those who had sung them, and who were + now no more. It is these melodies, chanted in our ears in the days of + infancy, and connected with the memory of those we have loved, and who + have passed away, that clothe Scottish landscape with such tender + associations. The Scottish songs, in general, have something intrinsically + melancholy in them; owing, in all probability, to the pastoral and lonely + life of those who composed them: who were often mere shepherds, tending + their flocks in the solitary glens, or folding them among the naked hills. + Many of these rustic bards have passed away, without leaving a name behind + them; nothing remains of them but their sweet and touching songs, which + live, like echoes, about the places they once inhabited. Most of these + simple effusions of pastoral poets are linked with some favorite haunt of + the poet; and in this way, not a mountain or valley, a town or tower, + green shaw or running stream, in Scotland, but has some popular air + connected with it, that makes its very name a key-note to a whole train of + delicious fancies and feelings. + </p> + <p> + Let me step forward in time, and mention how sensible I was to the power + of these simple airs, in a visit which I made to Ayr, the birthplace of + Robert Burns. I passed a whole morning about “the banks and braes of + bonnie Doon,” with his tender little love verses running in my head. I + found a poor Scotch carpenter at work among the ruins of Kirk Alloway, + which was to be converted into a school-house. Finding the purpose of my + visit, he left his work, sat down with me on a grassy grave, close by + where Burns’ father was buried, and talked of the poet, whom he had known + personally. He said his songs were familiar to the poorest and most + illiterate of the country folk, “<i>and it seemed to him as if the country + had grown more beautiful, since Burns had written his bonnie little songs + about it.</i>” + </p> + <p> + I found Scott was quite an enthusiast on the subject of the popular songs + of his country, and he seemed gratified to find me so alive to them. Their + effect in calling up in my mind the recollections of early times and + scenes in which I had first heard them, reminded him, he said, of the + lines of his poor Mend, Leyden, to the Scottish muse: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In youth’s first morn, alert and gay, + Ere rolling years had passed away, + Remembered like a morning dream, + I heard the dulcet measures float, + In many a liquid winding note, + Along the bank of Teviot’s stream. + + “Sweet sounds! that oft have soothed to rest + The sorrows of my guileless breast, + And charmed away mine infant tears; + Fond memory shall your strains repeat, + Like distant echoes, doubly sweet, + That on the wild the traveller hears.” + </pre> + <p> + Scott went on to expatiate on the popular songs of Scotland. “They are a + part of our national inheritance,” said he, “and something that we may + truly call our own. They have no foreign taint; they have the pure breath + of the heather and the mountain breeze. All genuine legitimate races that + have descended from the ancient Britons; such as the Scotch, the Welsh, + and the Irish, have national airs. The English have none, because they are + not natives of the soil, or, at least, are mongrels. Their music is all + made up of foreign scraps, like a harlequin jacket, or a piece of mosaic. + Even in Scotland, we have comparatively few national songs in the eastern + part, where we have had most influx of strangers. A real old Scottish song + is a cairngorm—a gem of our own mountains; or rather, it is a + precious relic of old times, that bears the national character stamped + upon it—like a cameo, that shows what the national visage was in + former days, before the breed was crossed.” + </p> + <p> + While Scott was thus discoursing, we were passing up a narrow glen, with + the dogs beating about, to right and left, when suddenly a blackcock burst + upon the wing. + </p> + <p> + “Aha!” cried Scott, “there will be a good shot for Master Walter; we must + send him this way with his gun, when we go home. Walter’s the family + sportsman now, and keeps us in game. I have pretty nigh resigned my gun to + him; for I find I cannot trudge about as briskly as formerly.” + </p> + <p> + Our ramble took us on the hills commanding an extensive prospect. “Now,” + said Scott, “I have brought you, like the pilgrim in the Pilgrim’s + Progress, to the top of the Delectable Mountains, that I may show you all + the goodly regions hereabouts. Yonder is Lammermuir, and Smalholme; and + there you have Gallashiels, and Torwoodlie, and Gallawater; and in that + direction you see Teviotdale, and the Braes of Yarrow; and Ettrick stream, + winding along, like a silver thread, to throw itself into the Tweed.” + </p> + <p> + He went on thus to call over names celebrated in Scottish song, and most + of which had recently received a romantic interest from his own pen. In + fact, I saw a great part of the border country spread out before me, and + could trace the scenes of those poems and romances which had, in a manner, + bewitched the world. I gazed about me for a time with mute surprise, I may + almost say with disappointment. I beheld a mere succession of gray waving + hills, line beyond line, as far as my eye could reach; monotonous in their + aspect, and so destitute of trees, that one could almost see a stout fly + walking along their profile; and the far-famed Tweed appeared a naked + stream, flowing between bare hills, without a tree or thicket on its + banks; and yet, such had been the magic web of poetry and romance thrown + over the whole, that it had a greater charm for me than the richest + scenery I beheld in England. + </p> + <p> + I could not help giving utterance to my thoughts. Scott hummed for a + moment to himself, and looked grave; he had no idea of having his muse + complimented at the expense of his native hills. “It may be partiality,” + said he, at length; “but to my eye, these gray bills and all this wild + border country have beauties peculiar to themselves. I like the very + nakedness of the land; it has something bold, and stern, and solitary + about it. When I have been for some time in the rich scenery about + Edinburgh, which is like ornamented garden land, I begin to wish myself + back again among my own honest gray hills; and if I did not see the + heather at least once a year, <i>I think I should die!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The last words were said with an honest warmth, accompanied with a thump + on the ground with his staff, by way of emphasis, that showed his heart + was in his speech. He vindicated the Tweed, too, as a beautiful stream in + itself, and observed that he did not dislike it for being bare of trees, + probably from having been much of an angler in his time, and an angler + does not like to have a stream overhung by trees, which embarrass him in + the exercise of his rod and line. + </p> + <p> + I took occasion to plead, in like manner, the associations of early life, + for my disappointment in respect to the surrounding scenery. I had been so + accustomed to hills crowned with forests, and streams breaking their way + through a wilderness of trees, that all my ideas of romantic landscape + were apt to be well wooded. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, and that’s the great charm of your country,” cried Scott. “You love + the forest as I do the heather—but I would not have you think I do + not feel the glory of a great woodland prospect. There is nothing I should + like more than to be in the midst of one of your grand, wild, original + forests with the idea of hundreds of miles of untrodden forest around me. + I once saw, at Leith, an immense stick of timber, just landed from + America. It must have been an enormous tree when it stood on its native + soil, at its full height, and with all its branches. I gazed at it with + admiration; it seemed like one of the gigantic obelisks which are now and + then brought from Egypt, to shame the pigmy monuments of Europe; and, in + fact, these vast aboriginal trees, that have sheltered the Indians before + the intrusion of the white men, are the monuments and antiquities of your + country.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation here turned upon Campbell’s poem of “Gertrude of + Wyoming,” as illustrative of the poetic materials furnished by American + scenery. Scott spoke of it in that liberal style in which I always found + him to speak of the writings of his contemporaries. He cited several + passages of it with great delight. “What a pity it is,” said he, “that + Campbell does not write more and oftener, and give full sweep to his + genius. He has wings that would bear him to the skies; and he does now and + then spread them grandly, but folds them up again and resumes his perch, + as if he was afraid to launch away. He don’t know or won’t trust his own + strength. Even when he has done a thing well, he has often misgivings + about it. He left out several fine passages of his Lochiel, but I got him + to restore some of them.” Here Scott repeated several passages in a + magnificent style. “What a grand idea is that,” said he, “about prophetic + boding, or, in common parlance, second sight— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Coming events cast their shadows before.’ +</pre> + <p> + “It is a noble thought, and nobly expressed, And there’s that glorious + little poem, too, of ‘Hohenlinden;’ after he had written it, he did not + seem to think much of it, but considered some of it’d—d drum and + trumpet lines.’ I got him to recite it to me, and I believe that the + delight I felt and expressed had an effect in inducing him to print it. + The fact is,” added he, “Campbell is, in a manner, a bugbear to himself. + The brightness of his early success is a detriment to all his further + efforts. <i>He is afraid of the shadow that his own fame casts before him</i>.” + </p> + <p> + While we were thus chatting, we heard the report of a gun among the hills. + “That’s Walter, I think,” said Scott; “he has finished his morning’s + studies, and is out with his gun. I should not be surprised if he had met + with the blackcock; if so, we shall have an addition to our larder, for + Walter is a pretty sure shot.” I inquired into the nature of Walter’s + studies. “Faith,” said Scott, “I can’t say much on that head. I am not + over bent upon making prodigies of any of my children. As to Walter, I + taught him, while a boy, to ride, and shoot, and speak the truth; as to + the other parts of his education, I leave them to a very worthy young man, + the son of one of our clergymen, who instructs all my children.” + </p> + <p> + I afterward became acquainted with the young man in question, George + Thomson, son of the minister of Melrose, and found him possessed of much + learning, intelligence, and modest worth. He used to come every day from + his father’s residence at Melrose to superintend the studies of the young + folks, and occasionally took his meals at Abbotsford, where he was highly + esteemed. Nature had cut him out, Scott used to say, for a stalwart + soldier, for he was tall, vigorous, active, and fond of athletic + exercises, but accident had marred her work, the loss of a limb in boyhood + having reduced him to a wooden leg. He was brought up, therefore, for the + Church, whence he was occasionally called the Dominie, and is supposed, by + his mixture of learning, simplicity, and amiable eccentricity, to have + furnished many traits for the character of Dominie Sampson. I believe he + often acted as Scott’s amanuensis, when composing his novels. With him the + young people were occupied in general during the early part of the day, + after which they took all kinds of healthful recreations in the open air; + for Scott was as solicitous to strengthen their bodies as their minds. + </p> + <p> + We had not walked much further before we saw the two Miss Scotts advancing + along the hillside to meet us. The morning studies being over, they had + set off to take a ramble on the hills, and gather heather blossoms, with + which to decorate their hair for dinner. As they came bounding lightly + like young fawns, and their dresses fluttering in the pure summer breeze, + I was reminded of Scott’s own description of his children in his + introduction to one of the cantos of Marmion— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild, + As best befits the mountain child, + Their summer gambols tell and mourn, + And anxious ask will spring return, + And birds and lambs again be gay, + And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray? + + “Yes, prattlers, yes, the daisy’s flower + Again shall paint your summer bower; + Again the hawthorn shall supply + The garlands you delight to tie; + The lambs upon the lea shall bound. + The wild birds carol to the round, + And while you frolic light as they, + Too short shall seem the summer day.” + </pre> + <p> + As they approached, the dogs all sprang forward and gambolled around them. + They played with them for a time, and then joined us with countenances + full of health and glee. Sophia, the eldest, was the most lively and + joyous, having much of her father’s varied spirit in conversation, and + seeming to catch excitement from his words and looks. Ann was of quieter + mood, rather silent, owing, in some measure, no doubt, to her being some + years younger. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + At dinner Scott had laid by his half-rustic dress, and appeared clad in + black. The girls, too, in completing their toilet, had twisted in their + hair the sprigs of purple heather which they had gathered on the hillside, + and looked all fresh and blooming from their breezy walk. + </p> + <p> + There was no guest at dinner but myself. Around the table were two or + three dogs in attendance. Maida, the old stag-hound, took his seat at + Scott’s elbow, looking up wistfully in his master’s eye, while Finette, + the pet spaniel, placed herself near Mrs. Scott, by whom, I soon + perceived, she was completely spoiled. + </p> + <p> + The conversation happening to turn on the merits of his dogs, Scott spoke + with great feeling and affection of his favorite, Camp, who is depicted by + his side in the earlier engravings of him. He talked of him as of a real + friend whom he had lost, and Sophia Scott, looking up archly in his face, + observed that Papa shed a few tears when poor Camp died. I may here + mention another testimonial of Scott’s fondness for his dogs, and his + humorous mode of showing it, which I subsequently met with. Rambling with + him one morning about the grounds adjacent to the house, I observed a + small antique monument, on which was inscribed, in Gothic characters— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Cy git le preux Percy.” (Here lies the brave Percy.) +</pre> + <p> + I paused, supposing it to be the tomb of some stark warrior of the olden + time, but Scott drew me on. “Pooh!” cried he, “it’s nothing but one of the + monuments of my nonsense, of which you’ll find enough hereabouts.” I + learnt afterward that it was the grave of a favorite greyhound. Among the + other important and privileged members of the household who figured in + attendance at the dinner, was a large gray cat, who, I observed, was + regaled from time to time with tit-bits from the table. This sage + grimalkin was a favorite of both master and mistress, and slept at night + in their room; and Scott laughingly observed, that one of the least wise + parts of their establishment was, that the window was left open at night + for puss to go in and out. The cat assumed a kind of ascendancy among the + quadrupeds—sitting in state in Scott’s arm-chair, and occasionally + stationing himself on a chair beside the door, as if to review his + subjects as they passed, giving each dog a cuff beside the ears as he went + by. This clapper-clawing was always taken in good part; it appeared to be, + in fact, a mere act of sovereignty on the part of grimalkin, to remind the + others of their vassalage; which they acknowledged by the most perfect + acquiescence. A general harmony prevailed between sovereign and subjects, + and they would all sleep together in the sunshine. + </p> + <p> + Scott was full of anecdote and conversation during dinner. He made some + admirable remarks upon the Scottish character, and spoke strongly in + praise of the quiet, orderly, honest conduct of his neighbors, which one + would hardly expect, said he, from the descendants of moss troopers, and + borderers, in a neighborhood famed in old times for brawl and feud, and + violence of all kinds. He said he had, in his official capacity of + sheriff, administered the laws for a number of years, during which there + had been very few trials. The old feuds and local interests, and + rivalries, and animosities of the Scotch, however, still slept, he said, + in their ashes, and might easily be roused. Their hereditary feeling for + names was still great. It was not always safe to have even the game of + foot-ball between villages, the old clannish spirit was too apt to break + out. The Scotch, he said, were more revengeful than the English; they + carried their resentments longer, and would sometimes lay them by for + years, but would be sure to gratify them in the end. + </p> + <p> + The ancient jealousy between the Highlanders and the Lowlanders still + continued to a certain degree, the former looking upon the latter as an + inferior race, less brave and hardy, but at the same time, suspecting them + of a disposition to take airs upon themselves under the idea of superior + refinement. This made them techy and ticklish company for a stranger on + his first coming among them; ruffling up and putting themselves upon their + mettle on the slightest occasion, so that he had in a manner to quarrel + and fight his way into their good graces. + </p> + <p> + He instanced a case in point in a brother of Mungo Park, who went to take + up his residence in a wild neighborhood of the Highlands. He soon found + himself considered as an intruder, and that there was a disposition among + these cocks of the hills, to fix a quarrel on him, trusting that, being a + Lowlander, he would show the white feather. + </p> + <p> + For a time he bore their flings and taunts with great coolness, until one, + presuming on his forbearance, drew forth a dirk, and holding it before + him, asked him if he had ever seen a weapon like that in his part of the + country. Park, who was a Hercules in frame, seized the dirk, and, with one + blow, drove it through an oaken table:—“Yes,” replied he, “and tell + your friends that a man from the Lowlands drove it where the devil himself + cannot draw it out again.” All persons were delighted with the feat, and + the words that accompanied it. They drank with Park to a better + acquaintance, and were staunch friends ever afterwards. + </p> + <p> + After dinner we adjourned to the drawing-room, which served also for study + and library. Against the wall on one side was a long writing-table, with + drawers; surmounted by a small cabinet of polished wood, with folding + doors richly studded with brass ornaments, within which Scott kept his + most valuable papers. Above the cabinet, in a kind of niche, was a + complete corslet of glittering steel, with a closed helmet, and flanked by + gauntlets and battle-axes. Around were hung trophies and relics of various + kinds: a cimeter of Tippoo Saib; a Highland broadsword from Flodden Field; + a pair of Rippon spurs from Bannockburn; and above all, a gun which had + belonged to Rob Roy, and bore his initials, R.M.G., an object of peculiar + interest to me at the time, as it was understood Scott was actually + engaged in printing a novel founded on the story of that famous outlaw. + </p> + <p> + On each side of the cabinet were book-cases, well stored with works of + romantic fiction in various languages, many of them rare and antiquated. + This, however, was merely his cottage library, the principal part of his + books being at Edinburgh. + </p> + <p> + From this little cabinet of curiosities Scott drew forth a manuscript + picked up on the field of Waterloo, containing copies of several songs + popular at the time in France. The paper was dabbled with blood—“the + very life-blood, very possibly,” said Scott, “of some gay young officer, + who had cherished these songs as a keepsake from some lady-love in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + He adverted, in a mellow and delightful manner, to the little half-gay, + half-melancholy, campaigning song, said to have been composed by General + Wolfe, and sung by him at the mess table, on the eve of the storming of + Quebec, in which he fell so gloriously: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Why, soldiers, why, + Should we be melancholy, boys? + Why, soldiers, why, + Whose business ’tis to die! + For should next campaign + Send us to him who made us, boys + We’re free from pain: + But should we remain, + A bottle and kind landlady + Makes all well again.” + </pre> + <p> + “So,” added he, “the poor lad who fell at Waterloo, in all probability, + had been singing these songs in his tent the night before the battle, and + thinking of the fair dame who had taught him them, and promising himself, + should he outlive the campaign, to return to her all glorious from the + wars.” + </p> + <p> + I find since that Scott published translations of these songs among some + of his smaller poems. + </p> + <p> + The evening passed away delightfully in this quaint-looking apartment, + half study, half drawing-room. Scott read several passages from the old + romance of “Arthur,” with a fine, deep sonorous voice, and a gravity of + tone that seemed to suit the antiquated, black-letter volume. It was a + rich treat to hear such a work, read by such a person, and in such a + place; and his appearance as he sat reading, in a large armed chair, with + his favorite hound Maida at his feet, and surrounded by books and relics, + and border trophies, would have formed an admirable and most + characteristic picture. + </p> + <p> + While Scott was reading, the sage grimalkin, already mentioned, had taken + his seat in a chair beside the fire, and remained with fixed eye and grave + demeanor, as if listening to the reader. I observed to Scott that his cat + seemed to have a black-letter taste in literature. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said he, “these cats are a very mysterious kind of folk. There is + always more passing in their minds than we are aware of. It comes no doubt + from their being so familiar with witches and warlocks.” He went on to + tell a little story about a gude man who was returning to his cottage one + night, when, in a lonely out-of-the-way place, he met with a funeral + procession of cats all in mourning, bearing one of their race to the grave + in a coffin covered with a black velvet pall. The worthy man, astonished + and half-frightened at so strange a pageant, hastened home and told what + he had seen to his wife and children. Scarce had he finished, when a great + black cat that sat beside the fire raised himself up, exclaimed “Then I am + king of the cats!” and vanished up the chimney. The funeral seen by the + gude man, was one of the cat dynasty. + </p> + <p> + “Our grimalkin here,” added Scott, “sometimes reminds me of the story, by + the airs of sovereignty which he assumes; and I am apt to treat him with + respect from the idea that he may be a great prince incog., and may some + time or other come to the throne.” + </p> + <p> + In this way Scott would make the habits and peculiarities of even the dumb + animals about him subjects for humorous remark or whimsical story. + </p> + <p> + Our evening was enlivened also by an occasional song from Sophia Scott, at + the request of her father. She never wanted to be asked twice, but + complied frankly and cheerfully. Her songs were all Scotch, sung without + any accompaniment, in a simple manner, but with great spirit and + expression, and in their native dialects, which gave them an additional + charm. It was delightful to hear her carol off in sprightly style, and + with an animated air, some of those generous-spirited old Jacobite songs, + once current among the adherents of the Pretender in Scotland, in which he + is designated by the appellation of “The Young Chevalier.” + </p> + <p> + These songs were much relished by Scott, notwithstanding his loyalty; for + the unfortunate “Chevalier” has always been a hero of romance with him, as + he has with many other staunch adherents to the House of Hanover, now that + the Stuart line has lost all its terrors. In speaking on the subject, + Scott mentioned as a curious fact, that, among the papers of the + “Chevalier,” which had been submitted by government to his inspection, he + had found a memorial to Charles from some adherents in America, dated + 1778, proposing to set up his standard in the back settlements. I regret + that, at the time, I did not make more particular inquiries of Scott on + the subject; the document in question, however, in all probability, still + exists among the Pretender’s papers, which are in the possession of the + British Government. In the course of the evening, Scott related the story + of a whimsical picture hanging in the room, which had been drawn for him + by a lady of his acquaintance. It represented the doleful perplexity of a + wealthy and handsome young English knight of the olden time, who, in the + course of a border foray, had been captured and carried off to the castle + of a hard-headed and high-handed old baron. The unfortunate youth was + thrown into a dungeon, and a tall gallows erected before the castle gate + for his execution. When all was ready, he was brought into the castle hall + where the grim baron was seated in state, with his warriors armed to the + teeth around him, and was given his choice, either to swing on the gibbet + or to marry the baron’s daughter. The last may be thought an easy + alternative, but unfortunately, the baron’s young lady was hideously ugly, + with a mouth from ear to ear, so that not a suitor was to be had for her, + either for love or money, and she was known throughout the border country + by the name of Muckle-mouthed Mag! + </p> + <p> + The picture in question represented the unhappy dilemma of the handsome + youth. Before him sat the grim baron, with a face worthy of the father of + such a daughter, and looking daggers and ratsbane. On one side of him was + Muckle-mouthed Mag, with an amorous smile across the whole breadth of her + countenance, and a leer enough to turn a man to stone; on the other side + was the father confessor, a sleek friar, jogging the youth’s elbow, and + pointing to the gallows, seen in perspective through the open portal. + </p> + <p> + The story goes, that after long laboring in mind, between the altar and + the halter, the love of life prevailed, and the youth resigned himself to + the charms of Muckle-mouthed Mag. Contrary to all the probabilities of + romance, the match proved a happy one. The baron’s daughter, if not + beautiful, was a most exemplary wife; her husband was never troubled with + any of those doubts and jealousies which sometimes mar the happiness of + connubial life, and was made the father of a fair and undoubtedly + legitimate hue, which still flourishes on the border. + </p> + <p> + I give but a faint outline of the story from vague recollection; it may, + perchance, be more richly related elsewhere, by some one who may retain + something of the delightful humor with which Scott recounted it. + </p> + <p> + When I retired for the night, I found it almost impossible to sleep; the + idea of being under the roof of Scott; of being on the borders of the + Tweed, in the very centre of that region which had for some time past been + the favorite scene of romantic fiction; and above all, the recollections + of the ramble I had taken, the company in which I had taken it, and the + conversation which had passed, all fermented in my mind, and nearly drove + sleep from my pillow. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + On the following morning, the sun darted his beams from over the hills + through the low lattice window. I rose at an early hour, and looked out + between the branches of eglantine which overhung the casement. To my + surprise Scott was already up and forth, seated on a fragment of stone, + and chatting with the workmen employed on the new building. I had + supposed, after the time he had wasted upon me yesterday, he would be + closely occupied this morning, but he appeared like a man of leisure, who + had nothing to do but bask in the sunshine and amuse himself. + </p> + <p> + I soon dressed myself and joined him. He talked about his proposed plans + of Abbotsford; happy would it have been for him could he have contented + himself with his delightful little vine-covered cottage, and the simple, + yet hearty and hospitable style, in which he lived at the time of my + visit. The great pile of Abbotsford, with the huge expense it entailed + upon him, of servants, retainers, guests, and baronial style, was a drain + upon his purse, a tax upon his exertions, and a weight upon his mind, that + finally crushed him. + </p> + <p> + As yet, however, all was in embryo and perspective, and Scott pleased + himself with picturing out his future residence, as he would one of the + fanciful creations of his own romances. “It was one of his air castles,” + he said, “which he was reducing to solid stone and mortar.” About the + place were strewed various morsels from the ruins of Melrose Abbey, which + were to be incorporated in his mansion. He had already constructed out of + similar materials a kind of Gothic shrine over a spring, and had + surmounted it by a small stone cross. + </p> + <p> + Among the relics from the Abbey which lay scattered before us, was a most + quaint and antique little lion, either of red stone, or painted red, which + hit my fancy. I forgot whose cognizance it was; but I shall never forget + the delightful observations concerning old Melrose to which it + accidentally gave rise. The Abbey was evidently a pile that called up all + Scott’s poetic and romantic feelings; and one to which he was + enthusiastically attached by the most fanciful and delightful of his early + associations. He spoke of it, I may say, with affection. “There is no + telling,” said he, “what treasures are hid in that glorious old pile. It + is a famous place for antiquarian plunder; there are such rich bits of old + time sculpture for the architect, and old time story for the poet. There + is as rare picking in it as a Stilton cheese, and in the same taste—the + mouldier the better.” + </p> + <p> + He went on to mention circumstances of “mighty import” connected with the + Abbey, which had never been touched, and which had even escaped the + researches of Johnny Bower. The heart of Robert Bruce, the hero of + Scotland, had been buried in it. He dwelt on the beautiful story of + Bruce’s pious and chivalrous request in his dying hour, that his heart + might be carried to the Holy Land and placed in the Holy Sepulchre, in + fulfilment of a vow of pilgrimage; and of the loyal expedition of Sir + James Douglas to convey the glorious relic. Much might be made, he said, + out of the adventures of Sir James in that adventurous age; of his + fortunes in Spain, and his death in a crusade against the Moors; with the + subsequent fortunes of the heart of Robert Bruce, until it was brought + back to its native land, and enshrined within the holy walls of old + Melrose. + </p> + <p> + As Scott sat on a stone talking in this way, and knocking with his staff + against the little red lion which lay prostrate before him, his gray eyes + twinkled beneath his shagged eyebrows; scenes, images, incidents, kept + breaking upon his mind as he proceeded, mingled with touches of the + mysterious and supernatural as connected with the heart of Bruce. It + seemed as if a poem or romance were breaking vaguely on his imagination. + That he subsequently contemplated something of the kind, as connected with + this subject, and with his favorite ruin of Melrose, is evident from his + introduction to “The Monastery;” and it is a pity that he never succeeded + in following out these shadowy, but enthusiastic conceptions. + </p> + <p> + A summons to breakfast broke off our conversation, when I begged to + recommend to Scott’s attention my friend the little red lion, who had led + to such an interesting topic, and hoped he might receive some niche or + station in the future castle, worthy of his evident antiquity and apparent + dignity. Scott assured me, with comic gravity, that the valiant little + lion should be most honorably entertained; I hope, therefore, that he + still flourishes at Abbotsford. + </p> + <p> + Before dismissing the theme of the relics from the Abbey, I will mention + another, illustrative of Scott’s varied humors. This was a human skull, + which had probably belonged of yore to one of those jovial friars, so + honorably mentioned in the old border ballad: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “O the monks of Melrose made gude kale + On Fridays, when they fasted; + They wanted neither beef nor ale, + As long as their neighbors lasted.” + </pre> + <p> + This skull he had caused to be cleaned and varnished, and placed it on a + chest of drawers in his chamber, immediately opposite his bed; where I + have seen it, grinning most dismally. It was an object of great awe and + horror to the superstitious housemaids; and Scott used to amuse himself + with their apprehensions. Sometimes, in changing his dress, he would leave + his neck-cloth coiled round it like a turban, and none of the “lasses” + dared to remove it. It was a matter of great wonder and speculation among + them that the laird should have such an “awsome fancy for an auld girning + skull.” + </p> + <p> + At breakfast that morning Scott gave an amusing account of a little + Highlander called Campbell of the North, who had a lawsuit of many years’ + standing with a nobleman in his neighborhood about the boundaries of their + estates. It was the leading object of the little man’s life; the running + theme of all his conversations; he used to detail all the circumstances at + full length to everybody he met, and, to aid him in his description of the + premises, and make his story “mair preceese,” he had a great map made of + his estate, a huge roll several feet long, which he used to carry about on + his shoulder. Campbell was a long-bodied, but short and bandy-legged + little man, always clad in the Highland garb; and as he went about with + this great roll on his shoulder, and his little legs curving like a pair + of parentheses below his kilt, he was an odd figure to behold. He was like + little David shouldering the spear of Goliath, which was “like unto a + weaver’s beam.” + </p> + <p> + Whenever sheep-shearing was over, Campbell used to set out for Edinburgh + to attend to his lawsuit. At the inns he paid double for all his meals and + his night’s lodgings, telling the landlords to keep it in mind until his + return, so that he might come back that way at free cost; for he knew, he + said, that he would spend all his money among the lawyers at Edinburgh, so + he thought it best to secure a retreat home again. + </p> + <p> + On one of his visits he called upon his lawyer, but was told he was not at + home, but his lady was. “It’s just the same thing,” said little Campbell. + On being shown into the parlor, he unrolled his map, stated his case at + full length, and, having gone through with his story, gave her the + customary fee. She would have declined it, but he insisted on her taking + it. “I ha’ had just as much pleasure,” said he, “in telling the whole tale + to you, as I should have had in telling it to your husband, and I believe + full as much profit.” + </p> + <p> + The last time he saw Scott, he told him he believed he and the laird were + near a settlement, as they agreed to within a few miles of the boundary. + If I recollect right, Scott added that he advised the little man to + consign his cause and his map to the care of “Slow Willie Mowbray,” of + tedious memory, an Edinburgh worthy, much employed by the country people, + for he tired out everybody in office by repeated visits and drawling, + endless prolixity, and gained every suit by dint of boring. + </p> + <p> + These little stories and anecdotes, which abounded in Scott’s + conversation, rose naturally out of the subject, arid were perfectly + unforced; though, in thus relating them in a detached way, without the + observations or circumstances which led to them, and which have passed + from my recollection, they want their setting to give them proper relief. + They will serve, however, to show the natural play of his mind, in its + familiar moods, and its fecundity in graphic and characteristic detail. + </p> + <p> + His daughter Sophia and his son Charles were those of his family who + seemed most to feel and understand his humors, and to take delight in his + conversation. Mrs. Scott did not always pay the same attention, and would + now and then make a casual remark which would operate a little like a + damper. Thus, one morning at breakfast, when Dominie Thomson, the tutor, + was present, Scott was going on with great glee to relate an anecdote of + the laird of Macnab, “who, poor fellow,” premised he, “is dead and gone—” + “Why, Mr. Scott,” exclaimed the good lady, “Macnab’s not dead, is he?” + “Faith, my dear,” replied Scott, with humorous gravity, “if he’s not dead + they’ve done him great injustice—for they’ve buried him.” + </p> + <p> + The joke passed harmless and unnoticed by Mrs. Scott, but hit the poor + Dominie just as he had raised a cup of tea to his lips, causing a burst of + laughter which sent half of the contents about the table. After breakfast, + Scott was occupied for some time correcting proof-sheets which he had + received by the mail. The novel of Rob Roy, as I have already observed, + was at that time in the press, and I supposed them to be the proof-sheets + of that work. The authorship of the Waverley novels was still a matter of + conjecture and uncertainty; though few doubted their being principally + written by Scott. One proof to me of his being the author, was that he + never adverted to them. A man so fond of anything Scottish, and anything + relating to national history or local legend, could not have been mute + respecting such productions, had they been written by another. He was fond + of quoting the works of his contemporaries; he was continually reciting + scraps of border songs, or relating anecdotes of border story. With + respect to his own poems, and their merits, however, he was mute, and + while with him I observed a scrupulous silence on the subject. + </p> + <p> + I may here mention a singular fact, of which I was not aware at the time, + that Scott was very reserved with his children respecting his own + writings, and was even disinclined to their reading his romantic poems. I + learnt this, some time after, from a passage in one of his letters to me, + adverting to a set of the American miniature edition of his poems, which, + on my return to England, I forwarded to one of the young ladies. “In my + hurry,” writes he, “I have not thanked you, in Sophia’s name, for the kind + attention which furnished her with the American volumes. I am not quite + sure I can add my own, since you have made her acquainted with much more + of papa’s folly than she would otherwise have learned; for I have taken + special care they should never see any of these things during their + earlier years.” + </p> + <p> + To return to the thread of my narrative. When Scott had got through his + brief literary occupation, we set out on a ramble. The young ladies + started to accompany us, but they had not gone far, when they met a poor + old laborer and his distressed family, and turned back to take them to the + house, and relieve them. + </p> + <p> + On passing the bounds of Abbotsford, we came upon a bleak-looking farm, + with a forlorn, crazy old manse, or farmhouse, standing in naked + desolation. This, however, Scott told me, was an ancient hereditary + property called Lauckend, about as valuable as the patrimonial estate of + Don Quixote, and which, in like manner, conferred an hereditary dignity + upon its proprietor, who was a laird, and, though poor as a rat, prided + himself upon his ancient blood, and the standing of his house. He was + accordingly called Lauckend, according to the Scottish custom of naming a + man after his family estate, but he was more generally known through the + country round by the name of Lauckie Long Legs, from the length of his + limbs. While Scott was giving this account of him, we saw him at a + distance striding along one of his fields, with his plaid fluttering about + him, and he seemed well to deserve his appellation, for he looked all legs + and tartan. + </p> + <p> + Lauckie knew nothing of the world beyond his neighborhood. Scott told me + that on returning to Abbotsford from his visit to France, immediately + after the war, he was called on by his neighbors generally to inquire + after foreign parts. Among the number came Lauckie Long Legs and an old + brother as ignorant as himself. They had many inquiries to make about the + French, whom they seemed to consider some remote and semi-barbarous horde—“And + what like are thae barbarians in their own country?” said Lauckie, “can + they write?—can they cipher?” He was quite astonished to learn that + they were nearly as much advanced in civilization as the gude folks of + Abbotsford. + </p> + <p> + After living for a long time in single blessedness, Lauckie all at once, + and not long before my visit to the neighborhood, took it into his head to + get married. The neighbors were all surprised; but the family connection, + who were as proud as they were poor, were grievously scandalized, for they + thought the young woman on whom he had set his mind quite beneath him. It + was in vain, however, that they remonstrated on the misalliance he was + about to make; he was not to be swayed from his determination. Arraying + himself in his best, and saddling a gaunt steed that might have rivalled + Rosinante, and placing a pillion behind his saddle, he departed to wed and + bring home the humble lassie who was to be made mistress of the venerable + hovel of Lauckend, and who lived in a village on the opposite side of the + Tweed. + </p> + <p> + A small event of the kind makes a great stir in a little quiet country + neighborhood. The word soon circulated through the village of Melrose, and + the cottages in its vicinity, that Lauckie Long Legs had gone over the + Tweed to fetch home his bride. All the good folks assembled at the bridge + to await his return. Lauckie, however, disappointed them; for he crossed + the river at a distant ford, and conveyed his bride safe to his mansion + without being perceived. Let me step forward in the course of events, and + relate the fate of poor Lauckie, as it was communicated to me a year or + two afterward in letter by Scott. From the time of his marriage he had no + longer any peace, owing to the constant intermeddling of his relations, + who would not permit him to be happy in his own way, but endeavored to set + him at variance with his wife. Lauckie refused to credit any of their + stories to her disadvantage; but the incessant warfare he had to wage in + defence of her good name, wore out both flesh and spirit. His last + conflict was with his own brothers, in front of his paternal mansion. A + furious scolding match took place between them; Lauckie made a vehement + profession of faith in favor of her immaculate honesty, and then fell dead + at the threshold of his own door. His person, his character, his name, his + story, and his fate, entitled him to be immortalized in one of Scott’s + novels, and I looked to recognize him in some of the succeeding works from + his pen; but I looked in vain. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + After passing by the domains of honest Lauckie, Scott pointed out, at a + distance, the Eildon stone. There in ancient days stood the Eildon tree, + beneath which Thomas the Rhymer, according to popular tradition, dealt + forth his prophecies, some of which still exist in antiquated ballads. + </p> + <p> + Here we turned up a little glen with a small burn or brook whimpering and + dashing along it, making an occasional waterfall, and overhung in some + places with mountain ash and weeping birch. We are now, said Scott, + treading classic, or rather fairy ground. This is the haunted glen of + Thomas the Rhymer, where he met with the queen of fairy land, and this the + bogle burn, or goblin brook, along which she rode on her dapple-gray + palfrey, with silver bells ringing at the bridle. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” said he, pausing, “is Huntley Bank, on which Thomas the Rhymer lay + musing and sleeping when he saw, or dreamt he saw, the queen of Elfland: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank; + A ferlie he spied wi’ his e’e; + And there he saw a ladye bright, + Come riding down by the Eildon tree. + + “‘Her skirt was o’ the grass-green silk, + Her mantle o’ the velvet fyne; + At ilka tett of her horse’s mane + Hung fifty siller bells and nine.’” + </pre> + <p> + Here Scott repeated several of the stanzas and recounted the circumstance + of Thomas the Rhymer’s interview with the fairy, and his being transported + by her to fairy land— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And til seven years were gone and past, + True Thomas on earth was never seen.” + </pre> + <p> + “It’s a fine old story,” said he, “and might be wrought up into a capital + tale.” + </p> + <p> + Scott continued on, leading the way as usual, and limping up the wizard + glen, talking as he went, but, as his back was toward me, I could only + hear the deep growling tones of his voice, like the low breathing of an + organ, without distinguishing the words, until pausing, and turning his + face toward me, I found he was reciting some scrap of border minstrelsy + about Thomas the Rhymer. This was continually the case in my ramblings + with him about this storied neighborhood. His mind was fraught with the + traditionary fictions connected with every object around him, and he would + breathe it forth as he went, apparently as much for his own gratification + as for that of his companion. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, + + But had its legend or its song.” + </pre> + <p> + His voice was deep and sonorous, he spoke with a Scottish accent, and with + somewhat of the Northumbrian “burr,” which, to my mind, gave a Doric + strength and simplicity to his elocution. His recitation of poetry was, at + times, magnificent. + </p> + <p> + I think it was in the course of this ramble that my friend Hamlet, the + black greyhound, got into a bad scrape. The dogs were beating about the + glens and fields as usual, and had been for some time out of sight, when + we heard a barking at some distance to the left. Shortly after we saw some + sheep scampering on the hills, with the dogs after them. Scott applied to + his lips the ivory whistle, always hanging at his button-hole, and soon + called in the culprits, excepting Hamlet. Hastening up a bank which + commanded a view along a fold or hollow of the hills, we beheld the sable + prince of Denmark standing by the bleeding body of a sheep. The carcass + was still warm, the throat bore marks of the fatal grip, and Hamlet’s + muzzle was stained with blood. Never was culprit more completely caught in + <i>flagrante delicto</i>. I supposed the doom of poor Hamlet to be sealed; + for no higher offence can be committed by a dog in a country abounding + with sheep-walks. Scott, however, had a greater value for his dogs than + for his sheep. They were his companions and friends. Hamlet, too, though + an irregular, impertinent kind of youngster, was evidently a favorite. He + would not for some time believe it could be he who had killed the sheep. + It must have been some cur of the neighborhood, that had made off on our + approach and left poor Hamlet in the lurch. Proofs, however, were too + strong, and Hamlet was generally condemned. “Well, well,” said Scott, + “it’s partly my own fault. I have given up coursing for some time past, + and the poor dog has had no chance after game to take the fire edge off of + him If he was put after a hare occasionally he never would meddle with + sheep.” + </p> + <p> + I understood, afterward, that Scott actually got a pony, and went out now + and then coursing with Hamlet, who, in consequence, showed no further + inclination for mutton. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + A further stroll among the hills brought us to what Scott pronounced the + remains of a Roman camp, and as we sat upon a hillock which had once + formed a part of the ramparts, he pointed out the traces of the lines and + bulwarks, and the pratorium, and showed a knowledge of castramatation that + would not have disgraced the antiquarian Oldbuck himself. Indeed, various + circumstances that I observed about Scott during my visit, concurred to + persuade me that many of the antiquarian humors of Monkbarns were taken + from his own richly compounded character, and that some of the scenes and + personages of that admirable novel were furnished by his immediate + neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + He gave me several anecdotes of a noted pauper named Andrew Gemmells, or + Gammel, as it was pronounced, who had once flourished on the banks of + Galla Water, immediately opposite Abbotsford, and whom he had seen and + talked and joked with when a boy; and I instantly recognized the likeness + of that mirror of philosophic vagabonds and Nestor of beggars, Edie + Ochiltree. I was on the point of pronouncing the name and recognizing the + portrait, when I recollected the incognito observed by Scott with respect + to his novels, and checked myself; but it was one among many things that + tended to convince me of his authorship. + </p> + <p> + His picture of Andrew Gemmells exactly accorded with that of Edie as to + his height, carriage, and soldier-like air, as well as his arch and + sarcastic humor. His home, if home he had, was at Galashiels; but he went + “daundering” about the country, along the green shaws and beside the + burns, and was a kind of walking chronicle throughout the valleys of the + Tweed, the Ettrick, and the Yarrow; carrying the gossip from house to + house, commenting on the inhabitants and their concerns, and never + hesitating to give them a dry rub as to any of their faults or follies. + </p> + <p> + A shrewd beggar like Andrew Gemmells, Scott added, who could sing the old + Scotch airs, tell stories and traditions, and gossip away the long winter + evenings, was by no means an unwelcome visitor at a lonely manse or + cottage. The children would run to welcome him, and place his stool in a + warm corner of the ingle nook, and the old folks would receive him as a + privileged guest. + </p> + <p> + As to Andrew, he looked upon them all as a parson does upon his + parishioners, and considered the alms he received as much his due as the + other does his tithes. “I rather think,” added Scott, “Andrew considered + himself more of a gentleman than those who toiled for a living, and that + he secretly looked down upon the painstaking peasants that fed and + sheltered him.” + </p> + <p> + He had derived his aristocratical notions in some degree from being + admitted occasionally to a precarious sociability with some of the small + country gentry, who were sometimes in want of company to help while away + the time. With these Andrew would now and then play at cards and dice, and + he never lacked “siller in pouch” to stake on a game, which he did with a + perfect air of a man to whom money was a matter of little moment, and no + one could lose his money with more gentlemanlike coolness. + </p> + <p> + Among those who occasionally admitted him to this familiarity, was old + John Scott of Galla, a man of family, who inhabited his paternal mansion + of Torwoodlee. Some distinction of rank, however, was still kept up. The + laird sat on the inside of the window and the beggar on the outside, and + they played cards on the sill. + </p> + <p> + Andrew now and then told the laird a piece of his mind very freely; + especially on one occasion, when he had sold some of his paternal lands to + build himself a larger house with the proceeds. The speech of honest + Andrew smacks of the shrewdness of Edie Ochiltree. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a’ varra weel—it’s a’ varra weel, Torwoodlee,” said he; “but + who would ha’ thought that your father’s son would ha’ sold two gude + estates to build a shaw’s (cuckoo’s) nest on the side of a hill?” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + That day there was an arrival at Abbotsford of two English tourists; one a + gentleman of fortune and landed estate, the other a young clergyman whom + he appeared to have under his patronage, and to have brought with him as a + travelling companion. + </p> + <p> + The patron was one of those well-bred, commonplace gentlemen with which + England is overrun. He had great deference for Scott, and endeavored to + acquit himself learnedly in his company, aiming continually at abstract + disquisitions, for which Scott had little relish. The conversation of the + latter, as usual, was studded with anecdotes and stories, some of them of + great pith and humor; the well-bred gentleman was either too dull to feel + their point, or too decorous to indulge in hearty merriment; the honest + parson, on the contrary, who was not too refined to be happy, laughed loud + and long at every joke, and enjoyed them with the zest of a man who has + more merriment in his heart than coin in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + After they were gone, some comments were made upon their different + deportments. Scott spoke very respectfully of the good breeding and + measured manners of the man of wealth, but with a kindlier feeling of the + honest parson, and the homely but hearty enjoyment with which he relished + every pleasantry. “I doubt,” said he, “whether the parson’s lot in life is + not the best; if he cannot command as many of the good things of this + world by his own purse as his patron can, he beats him all hollow in his + enjoyment of them when set before him by others. Upon the whole,” added + he, “I rather think I prefer the honest parson’s good humor to his + patron’s good breeding; I have a great regard for a hearty laugher.” + </p> + <p> + He went on to speak of the great influx of English travellers which of + late years had inundated Scotland; and doubted whether they had not + injured the old-fashioned Scottish character. “Formerly they came here + occasionally as sportsmen,” said he, “to shoot moor game, without any idea + of looking at scenery; and they moved about the country in hardy simple + style, coping with the country people in their own way; but now they come + rolling about in their equipages, to see ruins, and spend money, and their + lavish extravagance has played the vengeance with the common people. It + has made them rapacious in their dealings with strangers, greedy after + money, and extortionate in their demands for the most trivial services. + Formerly,” continued he, “the poorer classes of our people were, + comparatively, disinterested; they offered their services gratuitously, in + promoting the amusement, or aiding the curiosity of strangers, and were + gratified by the smallest compensation; but now they make a trade of + showing rocks and ruins, and are as greedy as Italian cicerones. They look + upon the English as so many walking money-bags; the more they are shaken + and poked, the more they will leave behind them.” + </p> + <p> + I told him that he had a great deal to answer for on that head, since it + was the romantic associations he had thrown by his writings over so many + out-of-the-way places in Scotland, that had brought in the influx of + curious travellers. + </p> + <p> + Scott laughed, and said he believed I might be in some measure in the + right, as he recollected a circumstance in point. Being one time at + Glenross, an old woman who kept a small inn, which had but little custom, + was uncommonly officious in her attendance upon him, and absolutely + incommoded him with her civilities. The secret at length came out. As he + was about to depart, she addressed him with many curtsies, and said she + understood he was the gentleman that had written a bonnie book about Loch + Katrine. She begged him to write a little about their lake also, for she + understood his book had done the inn at Loch Katrine a muckle deal of + good. + </p> + <p> + On the following day I made an excursion with Scott and the young ladies + to Dryburgh Abbey. We went in an open carriage, drawn by two sleek old + black horses, for which Scott seemed to have an affection, as he had for + every dumb animal that belonged to him. Our road lay through a variety of + scenes, rich in poetical and historical associations, about most of which + Scott had something to relate. In one part of the drive, he pointed to an + old border keep, or fortress, on the summit of a naked hill, several miles + off, which he called Smallholm Tower, and a rocky knoll on which it stood, + the “Sandy Knowe crags.” It was a place, he said, peculiarly dear to him, + from the recollections of childhood. His father had lived there in the old + Smallholm Grange, or farm-house; and he had been sent there, when but two + years old, on account of his lameness, that he might have the benefit of + the pure air of the hills, and be under the care of his grandmother and + aunts. In the introduction of one of the cantos of Marmion, he has + depicted his grandfather, and the fireside of the farm-house; and has + given an amusing picture of himself in his boyish years: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Still with vain fondness could I trace + Anew each kind familiar face, + That brightened at our evening fire; + From the thatched mansion’s gray-haired sire, + Wise without learning plain and good, + And sprung of Scotland’s gentler blood; + Whose eye in age, quick, clear and keen. + Showed what in youth its glance had been; + Whose doom discording neighbors sought, + Content with equity unbought; + To him the venerable priest, + Our frequent and familiar guest, + Whose life and manners well could paint + Alike the student and the saint; + Alas! whose speech too oft I broke + With gambol rude and timeless joke; + For I was wayward, bold, and wild, + A self-willed imp, a grandame’s child; + But half a plague, and half a jest, + Was still endured, beloved, carest.” + </pre> + <p> + It was, he said, during his residence at Smallholm crags that he first + imbibed his passion for legendary tales, border traditions, and old + national songs and ballads. His grandmother and aunts were well versed in + that kind of lore, so current in Scottish country life. They used to + recount them in long, gloomy winter days, and about the ingle nook at + night, in conclave with their gossip visitors; and little Walter would sit + and listen with greedy ear; thus taking into his infant mind the seeds of + many a splendid fiction. + </p> + <p> + There was an old shepherd, he said, in the service of the family, who used + to sit under the sunny wall, and tell marvellous stories, and recite old + time ballads, as he knitted stockings. Scott used to be wheeled out in his + chair, in fine weather, and would sit beside the old man, and listen to + him for hours. + </p> + <p> + The situation of Sandy Knowe was favorable both for storyteller and + listener. It commanded a wide view over all the border country, with its + feudal towers, its haunted glens, and wizard streams. As the old shepherd + told his tales, he could point out the very scene of action. Thus, before + Scott could walk, he was made familiar with the scenes of his future + stories; they were all seen as through a magic medium, and took that tinge + of romance, which they ever after retained in his imagination. From the + height of Sandy Knowe, he may be said to have had the first look-out upon + the promised land of his future glory. + </p> + <p> + On referring to Scott’s works, I find many of the circumstances related in + this conversation, about the old tower, and the boyish scenes connected + with it, recorded in the introduction to Marmion, already cited. This was + frequently the case with Scott; incidents and feelings that had appeared + in his writings, were apt to be mingled up in his conversation, for they + had been taken from what he had witnessed and felt in real life, and were + connected with those scenes among which he lived, and moved, and had his + being. I make no scruple at quoting the passage relative to the tower, + though it repeats much of the foregone imagery, and with vastly superior + effect: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thus, while I ape the measure wild + Of tales that charmed me yet a child, + Rude though they be, still with the chime + Return the thoughts of early time; + And feelings roused in life’s first day, + Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. + Then rise those crags, that mountain tower. + Which charmed my fancy’s wakening hour, + Though no broad river swept along + To claim perchance heroic song; + Though sighed no groves in summer gale + To prompt of love a softer tale; + Though scarce a puny streamlet’s speed + Claimed homage from a shepherd’s reed; + Yet was poetic impulse given, + By the green hill and clear blue heaven. + It was a barren scene, and wild, + Where naked cliffs were rudely piled; + But ever and anon between + Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green; + And well the lonely infant knew + Recesses where the wall-flower grew, + And honey-suckle loved to crawl + Up the low crag and ruined wall. + I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade + The sun in all his round surveyed; + And still I thought that shattered tower + The mightiest work of human power; + And marvell’d as the aged hind + With some strange tale bewitched my mind, + Of forayers, who, with headlong force, + Down from that strength had spurred their horse, + Their southern rapine to renew, + Far in the distant Cheviot’s blue, + And, home returning, filled the hall + With revel, wassail-rout, and brawl— + Methought that still, with tramp and clang + The gate-way’s broken arches rang; + Methought grim features, seamed with scars, + Glared through the window’s rusty bars. + And ever by the winter hearth, + Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, + Of lovers’ slights, of ladies’ charms, + Of witches’ spells, of warriors’ arms; + Of patriot battles, won of old, + By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold; + Of later fields of feud and fight, + When pouring from the Highland height, + The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, + Had swept the scarlet ranks away. + While stretched at length upon the floor, + Again I fought each combat o’er. + Pebbles and shells, in order laid, + The mimic ranks of war displayed; + And onward still the Scottish Lion bore, + And still the scattered Southron fled before.” + </pre> + <p> + Scott eyed the distant height of Sandy Knowe with an earnest gaze as we + rode along, and said he had often thought of buying the place, repairing + the old tower, and making it his residence. He has in some measure, + however, paid off his early debt of gratitude, in clothing it with poetic + and romantic associations, by his tale of “The Eve of St. John.” It is to + be hoped that those who actually possess so interesting a monument of + Scott’s early days, will preserve it from further dilapidation. + </p> + <p> + Not far from Sandy Knowe, Scott pointed out another old border hold, + standing on the summit of a hill, which had been a kind of enchanted + castle to him in his boyhood. It was the tower of Bemerside, the baronial + residence of the Haigs, or De Hagas, one of the oldest families of the + border. “There had seemed to him,” he said, “almost a wizard spell hanging + over it, in consequence of a prophecy of Thomas the Rhymer, in which, in + his young days, he most potently believed:” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Betide, betide, whate’er betide, + Haig shall be Haig of Bemerside.” + </pre> + <p> + Scott added some particulars which showed that, in the present instance, + the venerable Thomas had not proved a false prophet, for it was a noted + fact that, amid all the changes and chances of the border; through all the + feuds, and forays, and sackings, and burnings, which had reduced most of + the castles to ruins, and the proud families that once possessed them to + poverty, the tower of Bemerside still remained unscathed, and was still + the stronghold of the ancient family of Haig. + </p> + <p> + Prophecies, however, often insure their own fulfilment. It is very + probable that the prediction of Thomas the Rhymer has linked the Haigs to + their tower, as their rock of safety, and has induced them to cling to it + almost superstitiously, through hardships and inconveniences that would, + otherwise, have caused its abandonment. + </p> + <p> + I afterwards saw, at Dryburgh Abbey, the burying place of this + predestinated and tenacious family, the inscription of which showed the + value they set upon their antiquity: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Locus Sepultura, Antiquessima Familia De Haga De Bemerside. +</pre> + <p> + In reverting to the days of his childhood, Scott observed that the + lameness which had disabled him in infancy gradually decreased; he soon + acquired strength in his limbs, and though he always limped, he became, + even in boyhood, a great walker. He used frequently to stroll from home + and wander about the country for days together, picking up all kinds of + local gossip, and observing popular scenes and characters. His father used + to be vexed with him for this wandering propensity, and, shaking his head, + would say he fancied the boy would make nothing but a peddler. As he grew + older he became a keen sportsman, and passed much of his time hunting and + shooting. His field sports led him into the most wild and unfrequented + parts of the country, and in this way he picked up much of that local + knowledge which he has since evinced in his writings. + </p> + <p> + His first visit to Loch Katrine, he says, was in his boyish days, on a + shooting excursion. The island, which he has made the romantic residence + of the “Lady of the Lake,” was then garrisoned by an old man and his wife. + Their house was vacant; they had put the key under the door, and were + absent fishing. It was at that time a peaceful residence, but became + afterward a resort of smugglers, until they were ferreted out. + </p> + <p> + In after years, when Scott began to turn this local knowledge to literary + account, he revisited many of those scenes of his early ramblings, and + endeavored to secure the fugitive remains of the traditions and songs that + had charmed his boyhood. When collecting materials for his “Border + Minstrelsy,” he used, he said, to go from cottage to cottage, and make the + old wives repeat all they knew, if but two lines; and by putting these + scraps together, he retrieved many a fine characteristic old ballad or + tradition from oblivion. + </p> + <p> + I regret to say that I can scarce recollect anything of our visit to + Dryburgh Abbey. It is on the estate of the Earl of Buchan. The religious + edifice is a mere ruin, rich in Gothic antiquities, but especially + interesting to Scott, from containing the family vault, and the tombs and + monuments of his ancestors. He appeared to feel much chagrin at their + being in the possession, and subject to the intermeddlings of the Earl, + who was represented as a nobleman of an eccentric character. The latter, + however, set great value on these sepulchral relics, and had expressed a + lively anticipation of one day or other having the honor of burying Scott, + and adding his monument to the collection, which he intended should be + worthy of the “mighty minstrel of the north”—a prospective + compliment which was by no means relished by the object of it. One of my + pleasant rambles with Scott, about the neighborhood of Abbotsford, was + taken in company with Mr. William Laidlaw, the steward of his estate. This + was a gentleman for whom Scott entertained a particular value. He had been + born to a competency, had been well educated, his mind was richly stored + with varied information, and he was a man of sterling moral worth. Having + been reduced by misfortune, Scott had got him to take charge of his + estate. He lived at a small farm on the hillside above Abbotsford, and was + treated by Scott as a cherished and confidential friend, rather than a + dependent. + </p> + <p> + As the day was showery, Scott was attended by one of his retainers, named + Tommie Purdie, who carried his plaid, and who deserves especial mention. + Sophia Scott used to call him her father’s grand vizier, and she gave a + playful account one evening, as she was hanging on her father’s arm, of + the consultations which he and Tommie used to have about matters relative + to farming. Purdie was tenacious of his opinions, and he and Scott would + have long disputes in front of the house, as to something that was to be + done on the estate, until the latter, fairly tired out, would abandon the + ground and the argument, exclaiming, “Well, well, Tom, have it your own + way.” + </p> + <p> + After a time, however, Purdie would present himself at the door of the + parlor, and observe, “I ha’ been thinking over the matter, and upon the + whole, I think I’ll take your honor’s advice.” + </p> + <p> + Scott laughed heartily when this anecdote was told of him. “It was with + him and Tom,” he said, “as it was with an old laird and a pet servant, + whom he had indulged until he was positive beyond all endurance.” “This + won’t do!” cried the old laird, in a passion, “we can’t live together any + longer—we must part.” “An’ where the deil does your honor mean to + go?” replied the other. + </p> + <p> + I would, moreover, observe of Tom Purdie, that he was a firm believer in + ghosts, and warlocks, and all kinds of old wives’ fable. He was a + religious man, too, mingling a little degree of Scottish pride in his + devotion; for though his salary was but twenty pounds a year, he had + managed to afford seven pounds for a family Bible. It is true, he had one + hundred pounds clear of the world, and was looked up to by his comrades as + a man of property. + </p> + <p> + In the course of our morning’s walk, we stopped at a small house belonging + to one of the laborers on the estate. The object of Scott’s visit was to + inspect a relic which had been digged up in a Roman camp, and which, if I + recollect right, he pronounced to have been a tongs. It was produced by + the cottager’s wife, a ruddy, healthy-looking dame, whom Scott addressed + by the name of Ailie. As he stood regarding the relic, turning it round + and round, and making comments upon it, half grave, half comic, with the + cottage group around him, all joining occasionally in the colloquy, the + inimitable character of Monkbarns was again brought to mind, and I seemed + to see before me that prince of antiquarians and humorists holding forth + to his unlearned and unbelieving neighbors. + </p> + <p> + Whenever Scott touched, in this way, upon local antiquities, and in all + his familiar conversations about local traditions and superstitions, there + was always a sly and quiet humor running at the bottom of his discourse, + and playing about his countenance, as if he sported with the subject. It + seemed to me as if he distrusted his own enthusiasm, and was disposed to + droll upon his own humors and peculiarities, yet, at the same time, a + poetic gleam in his eye would show that he really took a strong relish and + interest in them. “It was a pity,” he said, “that antiquarians were + generally so dry, for the subjects they handled were rich in historical + and poetical recollections, in picturesque details, in quaint and heroic + characteristics, and in all kinds of curious and obsolete ceremonials. + They are always groping among the rarest materials for poetry, but they + have no idea of turning them to poetic use. Now every fragment from old + times has, in some degree, its story with it, or gives an inkling of + something characteristic of the circumstances and manners of its day, and + so sets the imagination at work.” + </p> + <p> + For my own part I never met with antiquarian so delightful, either in his + writings or his conversation; and the quiet sub-acid humor that was prone + to mingle in his disquisitions, gave them, to me, a peculiar and an + exquisite flavor. But he seemed, in fact, to undervalue everything that + concerned himself. The play of his genius was so easy that he was + unconscious of its mighty power, and made light of those sports of + intellect that shamed the efforts and labors of other minds. + </p> + <p> + Our ramble this morning took us again up the Rhymer’s Glen, and by Huntley + Bank, and Huntley Wood, and the silver waterfall overhung with weeping + birches and mountain ashes, those delicate and beautiful trees which grace + the green shaws and burnsides of Scotland. The heather, too, that closely + woven robe of Scottish landscape which covers the nakedness of its hills + and mountains, tinted the neighborhood with soft and rich colors. As we + ascended the glen, the prospects opened upon us; Melrose, with its towers + and pinnacles, lay below; beyond were the Eildon hills, the Cowden Knowes, + the Tweed, the Galla Water, and all the storied vicinity; the whole + landscape varied by gleams of sunshine and driving showers. + </p> + <p> + Scott, as usual, took the lead, limping along with great activity, and in + joyous mood, giving scraps of border rhymes and border stories; two or + three times in the course of our walk there were drizzling showers, which + I supposed would put an end to our ramble, but my companions trudged on as + unconcernedly as if it had been fine weather. + </p> + <p> + At length, I asked whether we had not better seek some shelter. “True,” + said Scott, “I did not recollect that you were not accustomed to our + Scottish mists. This is a lachrymose climate, evermore showering. We, + however, are children of the mist, and must not mind a little whimpering + of the clouds any more than a man must mind the weeping of an hysterical + wife. As you are not accustomed to be wet through, as a matter of course, + in a morning’s walk, we will bide a bit under the lee of this bank until + the shower is over.” Taking his seat under shelter of a thicket, he called + to his man George for his tartan, then turning to me, “Come,” said he, + “come under my plaidy, as the old song goes;” so, making me nestle down + beside him, he wrapped a part of the plaid round me, and took me, as he + said, under his wing. While we were thus nestled together, he pointed to a + hole in the opposite bank of the glen. That, he said, was the hole of an + old gray badger, who was doubtless snugly housed in this bad weather. + Sometimes he saw him at the entrance of his hole, like a hermit at the + door of his cell, telling his beads, or reading a homily. He had a great + respect for the venerable anchorite, and would not suffer him to be + disturbed. He was a kind of successor to Thomas the Rhymer, and perhaps + might be Thomas himself returned from fairy land, but still under fairy + spell. + </p> + <p> + Some accident turned the conversation upon Hogg, the poet, in which + Laidlaw, who was seated beside us, took a part. Hogg had once been a + shepherd in the service of his father, and Laidlaw gave many interesting + anecdotes of him, of which I now retain no recollection. They used to tend + the sheep together when Laidlaw was a boy, and Hogg would recite the first + struggling conceptions of his muse. At night when Laidlaw was quartered + comfortably in bed, in the farmhouse, poor Hogg would take to the + shepherd’s hut in the field on the hillside, and there lie awake for hours + together, and look at the stars and make poetry, which he would repeat the + next day to his companion. + </p> + <p> + Scott spoke in warm terms of Hogg, and repeated passages from his + beautiful poem of “Kelmeny,” to which he gave great and well-merited + praise. He gave, also, some amusing anecdotes of Hogg and his publisher, + Blackwood, who was at that time just rising into the bibliographical + importance which he has since enjoyed. + </p> + <p> + Hogg, in one of his poems, I believe the “Pilgrims of the Sun,” had + dabbled a little in metaphysics, and like his heroes, had got into the + clouds. Blackwood, who began to affect criticism, argued stoutly with him + as to the necessity of omitting or elucidating some obscure passage. Hogg + was immovable. + </p> + <p> + “But, man,” said Blackwood, “I dinna ken what ye mean in this passage.” + “Hout tout, man,” replied Hogg, impatiently, “I dinna ken always what I + mean mysel.” There is many a metaphysical poet in the same predicament + with honest Hogg. + </p> + <p> + Scott promised to invite the Shepherd to Abbotsford during my visit, and I + anticipated much gratification in meeting with him, from the account I had + received of his character and manners, and the great pleasure I had + derived from his works. Circumstances, however, prevented Scott from + performing his promise; and to my great regret I left Scotland without + seeing one of its most original and national characters. + </p> + <p> + When the weather held up, we continued our walk until we came to a + beautiful sheet of water, in the bosom of the mountain, called, if I + recollect right, the lake of Cauldshiel. Scott prided himself much upon + this little Mediterranean sea in his dominions, and hoped I was not too + much spoiled by our great lakes in America to relish it. He proposed to + take me out to the centre of it, to a fine point of view, for which + purpose we embarked in a small boat, which had been put on the lake by his + neighbor, Lord Somerville. As I was about to step on board, I observed in + large letters on one of the benches, “Search No. 2.” I paused for a moment + and repeated the inscription aloud, trying to recollect something I had + heard or read to which it alluded. “Pshaw,” cried Scott, “it is only some + of Lord Somerville’s nonsense—get in!” In an instant scenes in the + Antiquary connected with “Search No. 1,” flashed upon my mind. “Ah! I + remember now,” said I, and with a laugh took my seat, but adverted no more + to the circumstance. + </p> + <p> + We had a pleasant row about the lake, which commanded some pretty scenery. + The most interesting circumstance connected with it, however, according to + Scott, was, that it was haunted by a bogle in the shape of a water bull, + which lived in the deep parts, and now and then came forth upon dry land + and made a tremendous roaring, that shook the very hills. This story had + been current in the vicinity from time immemorial;—there was a man + living who declared he had seen the bull,—and he was believed by + many of his simple neighbors. “I don’t choose to contradict the tale,” + said Scott, “for I am willing to have my lake stocked with any fish, + flesh, or fowl that my neighbors think proper to put into it; and these + old wives’ fables are a kind of property in Scotland that belongs to the + estates and goes with the soil. Our streams and lochs are like the rivers + and pools in Germany, that have all their Wasser Nixe, or water witches, + and I have a fancy for these kind of amphibious bogles and hobgoblins.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Scott went on after we had landed to make many remarks, mingled with + picturesque anecdotes, concerning the fabulous beings with which the + Scotch were apt to people the wild streams and lochs that occur in the + solemn and lonely scenes of their mountains; and to compare them with + similar superstitions among the northern nations of Europe; but Scotland, + he said, was above all other countries for this wild and vivid progeny of + the fancy, from the nature of the scenery, the misty magnificence and + vagueness of the climate, the wild and gloomy events of its history; the + clannish divisions of its people; their local feelings, notions, and + prejudices; the individuality of their dialect, in which all kinds of odd + and peculiar notions were incorporated; by the secluded life of their + mountaineers; the lonely habits of their pastoral people, much of whose + time was passed on the solitary hillsides; their traditional songs, which + clothed every rock and stream with old world stories, handed down from age + to age, and generation to generation. The Scottish mind, he said, was made + up of poetry and strong common sense; and the very strength of the latter + gave perpetuity and luxuriance to the former. It was a strong tenacious + soil, into which, when once a seed of poetry fell, it struck deep root and + brought forth abundantly. “You will never weed these popular stories and + songs and superstitions out of Scotland,” said he. “It is not so much that + the people believe in them, as that they delight in them. They belong to + the native hills and streams of which they are fond, and to the history of + their forefathers, of which they are proud.” + </p> + <p> + “It would do your heart good,” continued he, “to see a number of our poor + country people seated round the ingle nook, which is generally capacious + enough, and passing the long dark dreary winter nights listening to some + old wife, or strolling gaberlunzie, dealing out auld world stories about + bogles and warlocks, or about raids and forays, and border skirmishes; or + reciting some ballad stuck full of those fighting names that stir up a + true Scotchman’s blood like the sound of a trumpet. These traditional + tales and ballads have lived for ages in mere oral circulation, being + passed from father to son, or rather from grandam to grandchild, and are a + kind of hereditary property of the poor peasantry, of which it would be + hard to deprive them, as they have not circulating libraries to supply + them with works of fiction in their place.” + </p> + <p> + I do not pretend to give the precise words, but, as nearly as I can from + scanty memorandums and vague recollections, the leading ideas of Scott. I + am constantly sensible, however, how far I fall short of his copiousness + and richness. + </p> + <p> + He went on to speak of the elves and sprites, so frequent in Scottish + legend. “Our fairies, however,” said he, “though they dress in green, and + gambol by moonlight about the banks, and shaws, and burnsides, are not + such pleasant little folks as the English fairies, but are apt to bear + more of the warlock in their natures, and to play spiteful tricks. When I + was a boy, I used to look wistfully at the green hillocks that were said + to be haunted by fairies, and felt sometimes as if I should like to lie + down by them and sleep, and be carried off to Fairy Land, only that I did + not like some of the cantrips which used now and then to be played off + upon visitors.” + </p> + <p> + Here Scott recounted, in graphic style, and with much humor, a little + story which used to be current in the neighborhood, of an honest burgess + of Selkirk, who, being at work upon the hill of Peatlaw, fell asleep upon + one of these “fairy knowes,” or hillocks. When he awoke, he rubbed his + eyes and gazed about him with astonishment, for he was in the market-place + of a great city, with a crowd of people bustling about him, not one of + whom he knew. At length he accosted a bystander, and asked him the name of + the place. “Hout man,” replied the other, “are ye in the heart o’ Glasgow, + and speer the name of it?” The poor man was astonished, and would not + believe either ears or eyes; he insisted that he had lain down to sleep + but half an hour before on the Peatlaw, near Selkirk. He came well-nigh + being taken up for a madman, when, fortunately, a Selkirk man came by, who + knew him, and took charge of him, and conducted him back to his native + place. Here, however, he was likely to fare no better, when he spoke of + having been whisked in his sleep from the Peatlaw to Glasgow. The truth of + the matter at length came out; his coat, which he had taken off when at + work on the Peatlaw, was found lying near a “fairy knowe,” and his bonnet, + which was missing, was discovered on the weathercock of Lanark steeple. So + it was as clear as day that he had been carried through the air by the + fairies while he was sleeping, and his bonnet had been blown off by the + way. + </p> + <p> + I give this little story but meagrely from a scanty memorandum; Scott has + related it in somewhat different style in a note to one of his poems; but + in narration these anecdotes derived their chief zest, from the quiet but + delightful humor, the bonhomie with which he seasoned them, and the sly + glance of the eye from under his bushy eyebrows, with which they were + accompanied. That day at dinner, we had Mr. Laidlaw and his wife, and a + female friend who accompanied them. The latter was a very intelligent, + respectable person, about the middle age, and was treated with particular + attention and courtesy by Scott. Our dinner was a most agreeable one; for + the guests were evidently cherished visitors to the house, and felt that + they were appreciated. + </p> + <p> + When they were gone, Scott spoke of them in the most cordial manner. “I + wished to show you,” said he, “some of our really excellent, plain Scotch + people; not fine gentlemen and ladies, for such you can meet everywhere, + and they are everywhere the same. The character of a nation is not to be + learnt from its fine folks.” + </p> + <p> + He then went on with a particular eulogium on the lady who had accompanied + the Laidlaws. She was the daughter, he said, of a poor country clergyman, + who had died in debt, and left her an orphan and destitute. Having had a + good plain education, she immediately set up a child’s school, and had + soon a numerous flock under her care, by which she earned a decent + maintenance. That, however, was not her main object. Her first care was to + pay off her father’s debts, that no ill word or ill will might rest upon + his memory. + </p> + <p> + This, by dint of Scottish economy, backed by filial reverence and pride, + she accomplished, though in the effort, she subjected herself to every + privation. Not content with this, she in certain instances refused to take + pay for the tuition of the children of some of her neighbors, who had + befriended her father in his need, and had since fallen into poverty. “In + a word,” added Scott, “she is a fine old Scotch girl; and I delight in + her, more than in many a fine lady I have known, and I have known many of + the finest.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It is time, however, to draw this rambling narrative to a close. Several + days were passed by me, in the way I have attempted to describe, in almost + constant, familiar, and joyous conversation with Scott; it was as if I + were admitted to a social communion with Shakespeare, for it was with one + of a kindred, if not equal genius. Every night I retired with my mind + filled with delightful recollections of the day, and every morning I rose + with the certainty of new enjoyment. The days thus spent, I shall ever + look back to, as among the very happiest of my life; for I was conscious + at the time of being happy. The only sad moment that I experienced at + Abbotsford was that of my departure; but it was cheered with the prospect + of soon returning; for I had promised, after making a tour in the + Highlands, to come and pass a few more days on the banks of the Tweed, + when Scott intended to invite Hogg the poet to meet me. I took a kind + farewell of the family, with each of whom I had been highly pleased. If I + have refrained from dwelling particularly on their several characters, and + giving anecdotes of them individually, it is because I consider them + shielded by the sanctity of domestic life; Scott, on the contrary, belongs + to history. As he accompanied me on foot, however, to a small gate on the + confines of his premises, I could not refrain from expressing the + enjoyment I had experienced in his domestic circle, and passing some warm + eulogiums on the young folks from whom I had just parted. I shall never + forget his reply. “They have kind hearts,” said he, “and that is the main + point as to human happiness. They love one another, poor things, which is + every thing in domestic life. The best wish I can make you, my friend,” + added he, laying his hand upon my shoulder, “is, that when you return to + your own country, you may get married, and have a family of young bairns + about you. If you are happy, there they are to share your happiness—and + if you are otherwise—there they are to comfort you.” + </p> + <p> + By this time we had reached the gate, when he halted, and took my hand. “I + will not say farewell,” said he, “for it is always a painful word, but I + will say, come again. When you have made your tour to the Highlands, come + here and give me a few more days—but come when you please, you will + always find Abbotsford open to you, and a hearty welcome.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + I have thus given, in a rude style, my main recollections of what occurred + during my sojourn at Abbotsford, and I feel mortified that I can give but + such meagre, scattered, and colorless details of what was so copious, + rich, and varied. During several days that I passed there Scott was in + admirable vein. From early morn until dinner time he was rambling about, + showing me the neighborhood, and during dinner and until late at night, + engaged in social conversation. No time was reserved for himself; he + seemed as if his only occupation was to entertain me; and yet I was almost + an entire stranger to him, one of whom he knew nothing, but an idle book I + had written, and which, some years before, had amused him. But such was + Scott—he appeared to have nothing to do but lavish his time, + attention, and conversation on those around. It was difficult to imagine + what time he found to write those volumes that were incessantly issuing + from the press; all of which, too, were of a nature to require reading and + research. I could not find that his life was ever otherwise than a life of + leisure and haphazard recreation, such as it was during my visit. He + scarce ever balked a party of pleasure, or a sporting excursion, and + rarely pleaded his own concerns as an excuse for rejecting those of + others. During my visit I heard of other visitors who had preceded me, and + who must have kept him occupied for many days, and I have had an + opportunity of knowing the course of his daily life for some time + subsequently. Not long after my departure from Abbotsford, my friend + Wilkie arrived there, to paint a picture of the Scott family. He found the + house full of guests. Scott’s whole time was taken up in riding and + driving about the country, or in social conversation at home. “All this + time,” said Wilkie to me, “I did not presume to ask Mr. Scott to sit for + his portrait, for I saw he had not a moment to spare; I waited for the + guests to go away, but as fast as one went another arrived, and so it + continued for several days, and with each set he was completely occupied. + At length all went off, and we were quiet. I thought, however, Mr. Scott + will now shut himself up among his books and papers, for he has to make up + for lost time; it won’t do for me to ask him now to sit for his picture. + Laidlaw, who managed his estate, came in, and Scott turned to him, as I + supposed, to consult about business. ‘Laidlaw,’ said he, ‘to-morrow + morning we’ll go across the water and take the dogs with us—there’s + a place where I think we shall be able to find a hare.’ + </p> + <p> + “In short,” added Wilkie, “I found that instead of business, he was + thinking only of amusement, as if he had nothing in the world to occupy + him; so I no longer feared to intrude upon him.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation of Scott was frank, hearty, picturesque, and dramatic. + During the time of my visit he inclined to the comic rather than the + grave, in his anecdotes and stories, and such, I was told, was his general + inclination. He relished a joke, or a trait of humor in social + intercourse, and laughed with right good will. He talked not for effect + nor display, but from the flow of his spirits, the stores of his memory, + and the vigor of his imagination. He had a natural turn for narration, and + his narratives and descriptions were without effort, yet wonderfully + graphic. He placed the scene before you like a picture; he gave the + dialogue with the appropriate dialect or peculiarities, and described the + appearance and characters of his personages with that spirit and felicity + evinced in his writings. Indeed, his conversation reminded me continually + of his novels; and it seemed to me, that during the whole time I was with + him., he talked enough to fill volumes, and that they could not have been + filled more delightfully. + </p> + <p> + He was as good a listener as talker, appreciating everything that others + said, however humble might be their rank or pretensions, and was quick to + testify his perception of any point in their discourse. He arrogated + nothing to himself, but was perfectly unassuming and unpretending, + entering with heart and soul into the business, or pleasure, or, I had + almost said, folly, of the hour and the company. No one’s concerns, no + one’s thoughts, no one’s opinions, no one’s tastes and pleasures seemed + beneath him. He made himself so thoroughly the companion of those with + whom he happened to be, that they forgot for a time his vast superiority, + and only recollected and wondered, when all was over, that it was Scott + with whom they had been on such familiar terms, and in whose society they + had felt so perfectly at their ease. + </p> + <p> + It was delightful to observe the generous spirit in which he spoke of all + his literary contemporaries, quoting the beauties of their works, and + this, too, with respect to persons with whom he might have been supposed + to be at variance in literature or politics. Jeffrey, it was thought, had + ruffled his plumes in one of his reviews, yet Scott spoke of him in terms + of high and warm eulogy, both as an author and as a man. + </p> + <p> + His humor in conversation, as in his works, was genial and free from all + causticity. He had a quick perception of faults and foibles, but he looked + upon poor human nature with an indulgent eye, relishing what was good and + pleasant, tolerating what was frail, and pitying what was evil. It is this + beneficent spirit which gives such an air of bonhomie to Scott’s humor + throughout all his works. He played with the foibles and errors of his + fellow beings, and presented them in a thousand whimsical and + characteristic lights, but the kindness and generosity of his nature would + not allow him to be a satirist. I do not recollect a sneer throughout his + conversation any more than there is throughout his works. + </p> + <p> + Such is a rough sketch of Scott, as I saw him in private life, not merely + at the time of the visit here narrated, but in the casual intercourse of + subsequent years. Of his public character and merits, all the world can + judge. His works have incorporated themselves with the thoughts and + concerns of the whole civilized world, for a quarter of a century, and + have had a controlling influence over the age in which he lived. But when + did a human being ever exercise an influence more salutary and benignant? + Who is there that, on looking back over a great portion of his life, does + not find the genius of Scott administering to his pleasures, beguiling his + cares, and soothing his lonely sorrows? Who does not still regard his + works as a treasury of pure enjoyment, an armory to which to resort in + time of need, to find weapons with which to fight off the evils and the + griefs of life? For my own part, in periods of dejection, I have hailed + the announcement of a new work from his pen as an earnest of certain + pleasure in store for me, and have looked forward to it as a traveller in + a waste looks to a green spot at a distance, where he feels assured of + solace and refreshment. When I consider how much he has thus contributed + to the better hours of my past existence, and how independent his works + still make me, at times, of all the world for my enjoyment, I bless my + stars that cast my lot in his days, to be thus cheered and gladdened by + the outpourings of his genius. I consider it one of the greatest + advantages that I have derived from my literary career, that it has + elevated me into genial communion with such a spirit; and as a tribute of + gratitude for his friendship, and veneration for his memory, I cast this + humble stone upon his cairn, which will soon, I trust, be piled aloft with + the contributions of abler hands. + </p> + <h3> + NEWSTEAD ABBEY + </h3> + <h3> + HISTORICAL NOTICE. + </h3> + <p> + Being about to give a few sketches taken during a three weeks’ sojourn in + the ancestral mansion of the late Lord Byron, I think it proper to premise + some brief particulars concerning its history. + </p> + <p> + Newstead Abbey is one of the finest specimens in existence of those quaint + and romantic piles, half castle, half convent, which remain as monuments + of the olden times of England. It stands, too, in the midst of a legendary + neighborhood; being in the heart of Sherwood Forest, and surrounded by the + haunts of Robin Hood and his band of outlaws, so famous in ancient ballad + and nursery tale. It is true, the forest scarcely exists but in name, and + the tract of country over which it once extended its broad solitudes and + shades, is now an open and smiling region, cultivated with parks and + farms, and enlivened with villages. + </p> + <p> + Newstead, which probably once exerted a monastic sway over this region, + and controlled the consciences of the rude foresters, was originally a + priory, founded in the latter part of the twelfth century, by Henry II., + at the time when he sought, by building of shrines and convents, and by + other acts of external piety, to expiate the murder of Thomas a Becket. + The priory was dedicated to God and the Virgin, and was inhabited by a + fraternity of canons regular of St. Augustine. This order was originally + simple and abstemious in its mode of living, and exemplary in its conduct; + but it would seem that it gradually lapsed into those abuses which + disgraced too many of the wealthy monastic establishments; for there are + documents among its archives which intimate the prevalence of gross + misrule and dissolute sensuality among its members. At the time of the + dissolution of the convents during the reign of Henry VIII., Newstead + underwent a sudden reverse, being given, with the neighboring manor and + rectory of Papelwick, to Sir John Byron, Steward of Manchester and + Rochdale, and Lieutenant of Sherwood Forest. This ancient family worthy + figures in the traditions of the Abbey, and in the ghost stories with + which it abounds, under the quaint and graphic appellation of “Sir John + Byron the Little, with the great Beard.” He converted the saintly edifice + into a castellated dwelling, making it his favorite residence and the seat + of his forest jurisdiction. + </p> + <p> + The Byron family being subsequently ennobled by a baronial title, and + enriched by various possessions, maintained great style and retinue at + Newstead. The proud edifice partook, however, of the vicissitudes of the + times, and Lord Byron, in one of his poems, represents it as alternately + the scene of lordly wassailing and of civil war: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hark, how the hall resounding to the strain, + Shakes with the martial music’s novel din! + The heralds of a warrior’s haughty reign, + High crested banners wave thy walls within. + + “Of changing sentinels the distant hum, + The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnish’d arms, + The braying trumpet, and the hoarser drum, + Unite in concert with increased alarms.” + </pre> + <p> + About the middle of the last century, the Abbey came into the possession + of another noted character, who makes no less figure in its shadowy + traditions than Sir John the Little with the great Beard. This was the + grand-uncle of the poet, familiarly known among the gossiping chroniclers + of the Abbey as “the Wicked Lord Byron.” He is represented as a man of + irritable passions and vindictive temper, in the indulgence of which an + incident occurred which gave a turn to his whole character and life, and + in some measure affected the fortunes of the Abbey. In his neighborhood + lived his kinsman and friend, Mr. Chaworth, proprietor of Annesley Hall. + Being together in London in 1765, in a chamber of the Star and Garter + tavern in Pall Mall, a quarrel rose between them. Byron insisted upon + settling it upon the spot by single combat. They fought without seconds, + by the dim light of a candle, and Mr. Chaworth, although the most expert + swordsman, received a mortal wound. With his dying breath he related such + particulars the contest as induced the coroner’s jury to return a verdict + of wilful murder. Lord Byron was sent to the Tower, and subsequently tried + before the House of Peers, where an ultimate verdict was given of + manslaughter. + </p> + <p> + He retired after this to the Abbey, where he shut himself up to brood over + his disgraces; grew gloomy, morose, and fantastical, and indulged in fits + of passion and caprice, that made him the theme of rural wonder and + scandal. No tale was too wild or too monstrous for vulgar belief. Like his + successor the poet, he was accused of all kinds of vagaries and + wickedness. It was said that he always went armed, as if prepared to + commit murder on the least provocation. At one time, when a gentleman of + his neighborhood was to dine <i>tete a tete</i> with him, it is said a + brace of pistols were gravely laid with the knives and forks upon the + table, as part of the regular table furniture, and implements that might + be needed in the course of the repast. Another rumor states that being + exasperated at his coachman for disobedience to orders, he shot him on the + spot, threw his body into the coach where Lady Byron was seated, and, + mounting the box, officiated in his stead. At another time, according to + the same vulgar rumors, he threw her ladyship into the lake in front of + the Abbey, where she would have been drowned, but for the timely aid of + the gardener. These stories are doubtless exaggerations of trivial + incidents which may have occurred; but it is certain that the wayward + passions of this unhappy man caused a separation from his wife, and + finally spread a solitude around him. Being displeased at the marriage of + his son and heir, he displayed an inveterate malignity toward him. Not + being able to cut off his succession to the Abbey estate, which descended + to him by entail, he endeavored to injure it as much as possible, so that + it might come a mere wreck into his hands. For this purpose he suffered + the Abbey to fall out of repair, and everything to go to waste about it, + and cut down all the timber on the estate, laying low many a tract of old + Sherwood Forest, so that the Abbey lands lay stripped and bare of all + their ancient honors. He was baffled in his unnatural revenge by the + premature death of his son, and passed the remainder of his days in his + deserted and dilapidated halls, a gloomy misanthrope, brooding amidst the + scenes he had laid desolate. + </p> + <p> + His wayward humors drove from him all neighborly society, and for a part + of the time he was almost without domestics. In his misanthropic mood, + when at variance with all human kind, he took to feeding crickets, so that + in process of time the Abbey was overrun with them, and its lonely halls + made more lonely at night by their monotonous music. Tradition adds that, + at his death, the crickets seemed aware that they had lost their patron + and protector, for they one and all packed up bag and baggage, and left + the Abbey, trooping across its courts and corridors in all directions. + </p> + <p> + The death of the “Old Lord,” or “The Wicked Lord Byron,” for he is known + by both appellations, occurred in 1798; and the Abbey then passed into the + possession of the poet. The latter was but eleven years of age, and living + in humble style with his mother in Scotland. They came soon after to + England, to take possession. Moore gives a simple but striking anecdote of + the first arrival of the poet at the domains of his ancestors. + </p> + <p> + They had arrived at the Newstead toll-bar, and saw the woods of the Abbey + stretching out to receive them, when Mrs. Byron, affecting to be ignorant + of the place, asked the woman of the toll-house to whom that seat + belonged? She was told that the owner of it, Lord Byron, had been some + months dead. “And who is the next heir?” asked the proud and happy mother. + “They say,” answered the old woman, “it is a little boy who lives at + Aberdeen.” “And this is he, bless him!” exclaimed the nurse, no longer + able to contain herself, and turning to kiss with delight the young lord + who was seated on her lap. [Footnote: Moore’s Life of Lord Byron.] + </p> + <p> + During Lord Byron’s minority, the Abbey was let to Lord Grey de Ruthen, + but the poet visited it occasionally during the Harrow vacations, when he + resided with his mother at lodgings in Nottingham. It was treated little + better by its present tenant, than by the old lord who preceded him; so + that when, in the autumn of 1808, Lord Byron took up his abode there, it + was in a ruinous condition. The following lines from his own pen may give + some idea of its condition: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle, + Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay; + In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle + Have choked up the rose which once bloomed in the way. + + “Of the mail-covered barons who, proudly, to battle + Led thy vassals from Europe to Palestine’s plain, + The escutcheon and shield, which with every wind rattle, + Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.” + </pre> + <p> + [Footnote: Lines on leaving Newstead Abbey.] + </p> + <p> + In another poem he expresses the melancholy feeling with which he took + possession of his ancestral mansion: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Newstead! what saddening scene of change is thine, + Thy yawning arch betokens sure decay: + The last and youngest of a noble line, + Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his sway. + + “Deserted now, he scans thy gray-worn towers, + Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep, + Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers, + These—these he views, and views them but to weep. + + “Yet he prefers thee to the gilded domes, + Or gewgaw grottoes of the vainly great; + Yet lingers mid thy damp and mossy tombs, + Nor breathes a murmur ’gainst the will of fate.” + </pre> + <p> + [Footnote: Elegy on Newstead Abbey.] + </p> + <p> + Lord Byron had not fortune sufficient to put the pile in extensive repair, + nor to maintain anything like the state of his ancestors. He restored some + of the apartments, so as to furnish his mother with a comfortable + habitation, and fitted up a quaint study for himself, in which, among + books and busts, and other library furniture, were two skulls of the + ancient friars, grinning on each side of an antique cross. One of his gay + companions gives a picture of Newstead when thus repaired, and the picture + is sufficiently desolate. + </p> + <p> + “There are two tiers of cloisters, with a variety of cells and rooms about + them, which, though not inhabited, nor in an inhabitable state, might + easily be made so; and many of the original rooms, among which is a fine + stone hall, are still in use. Of the Abbey church, one end only remains; + and the old kitchen, with a long range of apartments, is reduced to a heap + of rubbish. Leading from the Abbey to the modern part of the habitation is + a noble room, seventy feet in length, and twenty-three in breadth; but + every part of the house displays neglect and decay, save those which the + present lord has lately fitted up.” [Footnote: Letter of the late Charles + Skinner Mathews, Esq.] + </p> + <p> + Even the repairs thus made were but of transient benefit, for the roof + being left in its dilapidated state, the rain soon penetrated into the + apartments which Lord Byron had restored and decorated, and in a few years + rendered them almost as desolate as the rest of the Abbey. + </p> + <p> + Still he felt a pride in the ruinous old edifice; its very dreary and + dismantled state, addressed itself to his poetical imagination, and to + that love of the melancholy and the grand which is evinced in all his + writings. “Come what may,” said he in one of his letters, “Newstead and I + stand or fall together. I have now lived on the spot. I have fixed my + heart upon it, and no pressure, present or future, shall induce me to + barter the last vestige of our inheritance. I have that pride within me + which will enable me to support difficulties: could I obtain in exchange + for Newstead Abbey, the first fortune in the country, I would reject the + proposition.” + </p> + <p> + His residence at the Abbey, however, was fitful and uncertain. He passed + occasional portions of time there, sometimes studiously and alone, oftener + idly and recklessly, and occasionally with young and gay companions, in + riot and revelry, and the indulgence of all kinds of mad caprice. The + Abbey was by no means benefited by these roystering inmates, who sometimes + played off monkish mummeries about the cloisters, at other times turned + the state chambers into schools for boxing and single-stick, and shot + pistols in the great hall. The country people of the neighborhood were as + much puzzled by these madcap vagaries of the new incumbent, as by the + gloomier habits of the “old lord,” and began to think that madness was + inherent in the Byron race, or that some wayward star ruled over the + Abbey. + </p> + <p> + It is needless to enter into a detail of the circumstances which led his + Lordship to sell his ancestral estate, notwithstanding the partial + predilections and hereditary feeling which he had so eloquently expressed. + Fortunately, it fell into the hands of a man who possessed something of a + poetical temperament, and who cherished an enthusiastic admiration for + Lord Byron. Colonel (at that time Major) Wildman had been a schoolmate of + the poet, and sat with him on the same form at Harrow. He had subsequently + distinguished himself in the war of the Peninsula, and at the battle of + Waterloo, and it was a great consolation to Lord Byron, in parting with + his family estate, to know that it would be held by one capable of + restoring its faded glories, and who would respect and preserve all the + monuments and memorials of his line. [Footnote: The following letter, + written in the course of the transfer of the estate, has never been + published:— + </p> + <p> + Venice, November 18, 1818. + </p> + <p> + My Dear Wildman, + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hanson is on the eve of his return, so that I have only time to return + a few inadequate thanks for your very kind letter. I should regret to + trouble you with any requests of mine, in regard to the preservation of + any signs of my family, which may still exist at Newstead, and leave + everything of that kind to your own feelings, present or future, upon the + subject. The portrait which you flatter me by desiring, would not be worth + to you your trouble and expense of such an expedition, but you may rely + upon having the very first that may be painted, and which may seem worth + your acceptance. + </p> + <p> + I trust that Newstead will, being yours, remain so, and that it may see + you as happy, as I am very sure that you will make your dependents. With + regard to myself, you may be sure that whether in the fourth, or fifth, or + sixth form at Harrow, or in the fluctuations of after life, I shall always + remember with regard my old schoolfellow—fellow monitor, and friend, + and recognize with respect the gallant soldier, who, with all the + advantages of fortune and allurements of youth to a life of pleasure, + devoted himself to duties of a nobler order, and will receive his reward + in the esteem and admiration of his country. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ever yours most truly and affectionately, + BYRON.] +</pre> + <p> + The confidence of Lord Byron in the good feeling and good taste of Colonel + Wildman has been justified by the event. Under his judicious eye and + munificent hand the venerable and romantic pile has risen from its ruins + in all its old monastic and baronial splendor, and additions have been + made to it in perfect conformity of style. The groves and forests have + been replanted; the lakes and fish-ponds cleaned out, and the gardens + rescued from the “hemlock and thistle,” and restored to their pristine and + dignified formality. + </p> + <p> + The farms on the estate have been put in complete order, new farm-houses + built of stone, in the picturesque and comfortable style of the old + English granges; the hereditary tenants secured in their paternal homes, + and treated with the most considerate indulgence; everything, in a word, + gives happy indications of a liberal and beneficent landlord. + </p> + <p> + What most, however, will interest the visitors to the Abbey in favor of + its present occupant, is the reverential care with which he has preserved + and renovated every monument and relic of the Byron family, and every + object in anywise connected with the memory of the poet. Eighty thousand + pounds have already been expended upon the venerable pile, yet the work is + still going on, and Newstead promises to realize the hope faintly breathed + by the poet when bidding it a melancholy farewell— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Haply thy sun emerging, yet may shine, + Thee to irradiate with meridian ray; + Hours splendid as the past may still be thine, + And bless thy future, as thy former day.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ARRIVAL AT THE ABBEY. + </h2> + <p> + I had been passing a merry Christmas in the good old style at Barlhoro’ + Hall, a venerable family mansion in Derbyshire, and set off to finish the + holidays with the hospitable proprietor of Newstead Abbey. A drive of + seventeen miles through a pleasant country, part of it the storied region + of Sherwood Forest, brought me to the gate of Newstead Park. The aspect of + the park was by no means imposing, the fine old trees that once adorned it + having been laid low by Lord Byron’s wayward predecessor. + </p> + <p> + Entering the gate, the postchaise rolled heavily along a sandy road, + between naked declivities, gradually descending into one of those gentle + and sheltered valleys, in which the sleek monks of old loved to nestle + themselves. Here a sweep of the road round an angle of a garden wall + brought us full in front of the venerable edifice, embosomed in the + valley, with a beautiful sheet of water spreading out before it. + </p> + <p> + The irregular gray pile, of motley architecture, answered to the + description given by Lord Byron: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “An old, old monastery once, and now + Still older mansion, of a rich and rare + Mixed Gothic”—— +</pre> + <p> + One end was fortified by a castellated tower, bespeaking the baronial and + warlike days of the edifice; the other end maintained its primitive + monastic character. A ruined chapel, flanked by a solemn grove, still + reared its front entire. It is true, the threshold of the once frequented + portal was grass-grown, and the great lancet window, once glorious with + painted glass, was now entwined and overhung with ivy; but the old convent + cross still braved both time and tempest on the pinnacle of the chapel, + and below, the blessed effigies of the Virgin and child, sculptured in + gray stone, remained uninjured in their niche, giving a sanctified aspect + to the pile. [Footnote: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “—in a higher niche, alone, but crown’d, + The Virgin Mother of the God-born child + With her son in her blessed arms, looked round, + Spared by some chance, when all beside was spoil’d: + She made the earth below seem holy ground.”—DON JUAN, Canto III.] +</pre> + <p> + A flight of rooks, tenants of the adjacent grove, were hovering about the + ruin, and balancing themselves upon ever airy projection, and looked down + with curious eye and cawed as the postchaise rattled along below. + </p> + <p> + The chamberlain of the Abbey, a most decorous personage, dressed in black, + received us at the portal. Here, too, we encountered a memento of Lord + Byron, a great black and white Newfoundland dog, that had accompanied his + remains from Greece. He was descended from the famous Boatswain, and + inherited his generous qualities. He was a cherished inmate of the Abbey, + and honored and caressed by every visitor. Conducted by the chamberlain, + and followed by the dog, who assisted in doing the honors of the house, we + passed through a long low vaulted hall, supported by massive Gothic + arches, and not a little resembling the crypt of a cathedral, being the + basement story of the Abbey. + </p> + <p> + From this we ascended a stone staircase, at the head of which a pair of + folding doors admitted us into a broad corridor that ran round the + interior of the Abbey. The windows of the corridor looked into a + quadrangular grass-grown court, forming the hollow centre of the pile. In + the midst of it rose a lofty and fantastic fountain, wrought of the same + gray stone as the main edifice, and which has been well described by Lord + Byron. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Amidst the court a Gothic fountain play’d, + Symmetrical, but deck’d with carvings quaint, + Strange faces, like to men in masquerade, + And here perhaps a monster, there a saint: + The spring rush’d through grim mouths of granite made, + And sparkled into basins, where it spent + Its little torrent in a thousand bubbles, + Like man’s vain glory, and his vainer troubles.” + </pre> + <p> + [Footnote: DON JUAN, Canto III] + </p> + <p> + Around this quadrangle were low vaulted cloisters, with Gothic arches, + once the secluded walks of the monks: the corridor along which we were + passing was built above these cloisters, and their hollow arches seemed to + reverberate every footfall. Everything thus far had a solemn monastic air; + but, on arriving at an angle of the corridor, the eye, glancing along a + shadowy gallery, caught a sight of two dark figures in plate armor, with + closed visors, bucklers braced, and swords drawn, standing motionless + against the wall. They seemed two phantoms of the chivalrous era of the + Abbey. + </p> + <p> + Here the chamberlain, throwing open a folding door, ushered us at once + into a spacious and lofty saloon, which offered a brilliant contrast to + the quaint and sombre apartments we had traversed. It was elegantly + furnished, and the walls hung with paintings, yet something of its + original architecture had been preserved and blended with modern + embellishments. There were the stone-shafted casements and the deep + bow-window of former times. The carved and panelled wood-work of the lofty + ceiling had likewise been carefully restored, and its Gothic and grotesque + devices painted and gilded in their ancient style. + </p> + <p> + Here, too, were emblems of the former and latter days of the Abbey, in the + effigies of the first and last of the Byron line that held sway over its + destinies. At the upper end of the saloon, above the door, the dark Gothic + portrait of “Sir John Byron the Little with the great Beard,” looked + grimly down from his canvas, while, at the opposite end, a white marble + bust of the <i>genius loci</i>, the noble poet, shone conspicuously from + its pedestal. + </p> + <p> + The whole air and style of the apartment partook more of the palace than + the monastery, and its windows looked forth on a suitable prospect, + composed of beautiful groves, smooth verdant lawns, and silver sheets of + water. Below the windows was a small flower-garden, inclosed by stone + balustrades, on which were stately peacocks, sunning themselves and + displaying their plumage. About the grass-plots in front, were gay cock + pheasants, and plump partridges, and nimble-footed water hens, feeding + almost in perfect security. + </p> + <p> + Such was the medley of objects presented to the eye on first visiting the + Abbey, and I found the interior fully to answer the description of the + poet— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The mansion’s self was vast and venerable, + With more of the monastic than has been + Elsewhere preserved; the cloisters still were stable, + The cells, too, and refectory, I ween; + An exquisite small chapel had been able, + Still unimpair’d, to decorate the scene; + The rest had been reformed, replaced, or sunk, + And spoke more of the friar than the monk. + + “Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, joined + By no quite lawful marriage of the arts, + Might shock a connoisseur; but when combined + Formed a whole, which, irregular in parts, + Yet left a grand impression on the mind, + At least of those whose eyes were in their hearts.” + </pre> + <p> + It is not my intention to lay open the scenes of domestic life at the + Abbey, nor to describe the festivities of which I was a partaker during my + sojourn within its hospitable walls. I wish merely to present a picture of + the edifice itself, and of those personages and circumstances about it, + connected with the memory of Byron. + </p> + <p> + I forbear, therefore, to dwell on my reception by my excellent and amiable + host and hostess, or to make my reader acquainted with the elegant inmates + of the mansion that I met in the saloon; and I shall pass on at once with + him to the chamber allotted me, and to which I was most respectfully + conducted by the chamberlain. + </p> + <p> + It was one of a magnificent suite of rooms, extending between the court of + the cloisters and the Abbey garden, the windows looking into the latter. + The whole suite formed the ancient state apartment, and had fallen into + decay during the neglected days of the Abbey, so as to be in a ruinous + condition in the time of Lord Byron. It had since been restored to its + ancient splendor, of which my chamber may be cited as a specimen. It was + lofty and well proportioned; the lower part of the walls was panelled with + ancient oak, the upper part hung with gobelin tapestry, representing + oriental hunting scenes, wherein the figures were of the size of life, and + of great vivacity of attitude and color. + </p> + <p> + The furniture was antique, dignified, and cumbrous. High-backed chairs + curiously carved, and wrought in needlework; a massive clothes-press of + dark oak, well polished, and inlaid with landscapes of various tinted + woods; a bed of state, ample and lofty, so as only to be ascended by a + movable flight of steps, the huge posts supporting a high tester with a + tuft of crimson plumes at each corner, and rich curtains of crimson damask + hanging in broad and heavy folds. + </p> + <p> + A venerable mirror of plate glass stood on the toilet, in which belles of + former centuries may have contemplated and decorated their charms. The + floor of the chamber was of tesselated oak, shining with wax, and partly + covered by a Turkey carpet. In the centre stood a massy oaken table, waxed + and polished as smooth as glass, and furnished with a writing-desk of + perfumed rosewood. + </p> + <p> + A sober light was admitted into the room through Gothic stone-shafted + casements, partly shaded by crimson curtains, and partly overshadowed by + the trees of the garden. This solemnly tempered light added to the effect + of the stately and antiquated interior. + </p> + <p> + Two portraits, suspended over the doors, were in keeping with the scene. + They were in ancient Vandyke dresses; one was a cavalier, who may have + occupied this apartment in days of yore, the other was a lady with a black + velvet mask in her hand, who may once have arrayed herself for conquest at + the very mirror I have described. + </p> + <p> + The most curious relic of old times, however, in this quaint but richly + dight apartment, was a great chimney-piece of panel-work, carved in high + relief, with niches or compartments, each containing a human bust, that + protruded almost entirely from the wall. Some of the figures were in + ancient Gothic garb; the most striking among them was a female, who was + earnestly regarded by a fierce Saracen from an adjoining niche. + </p> + <p> + This panel-work is among the mysteries of the Abbey, and causes as much + wide speculation as the Egyptian hieroglyphics. Some suppose it to + illustrate an adventure in the Holy Land, and that the lady in effigy had + been rescued by some Crusader of the family from the turbaned Turk who + watches her so earnestly. What tends to give weight to these suppositions + is, that similar pieces of panel-work exist in other parts of the Abbey, + in all of which are to be seen the Christian lady and her Saracen guardian + or lover. At the bottom of these sculptures are emblazoned the armorial + bearings of the Byrons. + </p> + <p> + I shall not detain the reader, however, with any further description of my + apartment, or of the mysteries connected with it. As he is to pass some + days with me at the Abbey, we shall have time to examine the old edifice + at our leisure, and to make ourselves acquainted, not merely with its + interior, but likewise with its environs. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ABBEY GARDEN. + </h2> + <p> + The morning after my arrival, I rose at an early hour. The daylight was + peering brightly between the window curtains, and drawing them apart, I + gazed through the Gothic casement upon a scene that accorded in character + with the interior of the ancient mansion. It was the old Abbey garden, but + altered to suit the tastes of different times and occupants. In one + direction were shady walls and alleys, broad terraces and lofty groves; in + another, beneath a gray monastic-looking angle of the edifice, overrun + with ivy and surmounted by a cross, lay a small French garden, with formal + flower-pots, gravel walks, and stately stone balustrades. + </p> + <p> + The beauty of the morning, and the quiet of the hour, tempted me to an + early stroll; for it is pleasant to enjoy such old-time places alone, when + one may indulge poetical reveries, and spin cobweb fancies, without + interruption. Dressing myself, therefore, with all speed, I descended a + small flight of steps from the state apartment into the long corridor over + the cloisters, along which I passed to a door at the farther end. Here I + emerged into the open air, and, descending another flight of stone steps, + found myself in the centre of what had once been the Abbey chapel. + </p> + <p> + Nothing of the sacred edifice remained, however, but the Gothic front, + with its deep portal and grand lancet window, already described. The nave, + the side walls, the choir, the sacristy, all had disappeared. The open sky + was over my head, a smooth shaven grass-plot beneath my feet. Gravel walks + and shrubberies had succeeded to the shadowy isles, and stately trees to + the clustering columns. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Where now the grass exhales a murky dew, + The humid pall of life-extinguished clay, + In sainted fame the sacred fathers grew, + Nor raised their pious voices but to pray. + Where now the bats their wavering wings extend, + Soon as the gloaming spreads her warning shade, + The choir did oft their mingling vespers blend, + Or matin orisons to Mary paid.” + </pre> + <p> + Instead of the matin orisons of the monks, however, the ruined walls of + the chapel now resounded to the cawing of innumerable rooks that were + fluttering and hovering about the dark grove which they inhabited, and + preparing for their morning flight. + </p> + <p> + My ramble led me along quiet alleys, bordered by shrubbery, where the + solitary water-hen would now and then scud across my path, and take refuge + among the bushes. From hence I entered upon a broad terraced walk, once a + favorite resort of the friars, which extended the whole length of the old + Abbey garden, passing along the ancient stone wall which bounded it. In + the centre of the garden lay one of the monkish fish-pools, an oblong + sheet of water, deep set like a mirror, in green sloping banks of turf. In + its glassy bosom was reflected the dark mass of a neighboring grove, one + of the most important features of the garden. This grove goes by the + sinister name of “the Devil’s Wood,” and enjoys but an equivocal character + in the neighborhood. It was planted by “The Wicked Lord Byron,” during the + early part of his residence at the Abbey, before his fatal duel with Mr. + Chaworth. Having something of a foreign and classical taste, he set up + leaden statues of satyrs or fauns at each end of the grove. The statues, + like everything else about the old Lord, fell under the suspicion and + obloquy that overshadowed him in the latter part of his life. The country + people, who knew nothing of heathen mythology and its sylvan deities, + looked with horror at idols invested with the diabolical attributes of + horns and cloven feet. They probably supposed them some object of secret + worship of the gloomy and secluded misanthrope and reputed murderer, and + gave them the name of “The old Lord’s Devils.” + </p> + <p> + I penetrated the recesses of the mystic grove. There stood the ancient and + much slandered statues, overshadowed by tall larches, and stained by dank + green mold. It is not a matter of surprise that strange figures, thus + behoofed and be-horned, and set up in a gloomy grove, should perplex the + minds of the simple and superstitious yeomanry. There are many of the + tastes and caprices of the rich, that in the eyes of the uneducated must + savor of insanity. + </p> + <p> + I was attracted to this grove, however, by memorials of a more touching + character. It had been one of the favorite haunts of the late Lord Byron. + In his farewell visit to the Abbey, after he had parted with the + possession of it, he passed some time in this grove, in company with his + sister; and as a last memento, engraved their names on the bark of a tree. + </p> + <p> + The feelings that agitated his bosom during this farewell visit, when he + beheld round him objects dear to his pride, and dear to his juvenile + recollections, but of which the narrowness of his fortune would not permit + him to retain possession, may be gathered from a passage in a poetical + epistle, written to his sister in after years: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I did remind you of our own dear lake + By the old hall, <i>which may be mine no more;</i> + Leman’s is fair; but think not I forsake + The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore: + Sad havoc Time must with my memory make + Ere <i>that</i> or <i>thou</i> can fade these eyes before; + Though, like all things which I have loved, they are + Resign’d for ever, or divided far. + I feel almost at times as I have felt + In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks. + Which do remember me of where I dwelt + Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books, + Come as of yore upon me, and can melt + My heart with recognition, of their looks; + And even at moments I would think I see + Some living things I love—but none like thee.” + </pre> + <p> + I searched the grove for some time, before I found the tree on which Lord + Byron had left his frail memorial. It was an elm of peculiar form, having + two trunks, which sprang from the same root, and, after growing side by + side, mingled their branches together. He had selected it, doubtless, as + emblematical of his sister and himself. The names of BYRON and AUGUSTA + were still visible. They had been deeply cut in the bark, but the natural + growth of the tree was gradually rendering them illegible, and a few years + hence, strangers will seek in vain for this record of fraternal affection. + </p> + <p> + Leaving the grove, I continued my ramble along a spacious terrace, + overlooking what had once been the kitchen garden of the Abbey. Below me + lay the monks’ stew, or fish pond, a dark pool, overhung by gloomy + cypresses, with a solitary water-hen swimming about in it. + </p> + <p> + A little farther on, and the terrace looked down upon the stately scene on + the south side of the Abbey; the flower garden, with its stone balustrades + and stately peacocks, the lawn, with its pheasants and partridges, and the + soft valley of Newstead beyond. + </p> + <p> + At a distance, on the border of the lawn, stood another memento of Lord + Byron; an oak planted by him in his boyhood, on his first visit to the + Abbey. With a superstitious feeling inherent in him, he linked his own + destiny with that of the tree. “As it fares,” said he, “so will fare my + fortunes.” Several years elapsed, many of them passed in idleness and + dissipation. He returned to the Abbey a youth scarce grown to manhood, + but, as he thought, with vices and follies beyond his years. He found his + emblem oak almost choked by weeds and brambles, and took the lesson to + himself. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Young oak, when I planted thee deep in the ground, + I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine, + That thy dark waving branches would flourish around, + And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine. + + “Such, such was my hope—when in infancy’s years + On the laud of my fathers I reared thee with pride; + They are past, and I water thy stem with my tears— + Thy decay not the weeds that surround thee can hide.” + </pre> + <p> + I leaned over the stone balustrade of the terrace, and gazed upon the + valley of Newstead, with its silver sheets of water gleaming in the + morning sun. It was a sabbath morning, which always seems to have a + hallowed influence over the landscape, probably from the quiet of the day, + and the cessation of all kinds of week-day labor. As I mused upon the mild + and beautiful scene, and the wayward destinies of the man, whose stormy + temperament forced him from this tranquil paradise to battle with the + passions and perils of the world, the sweet chime of bells from a village + a few miles distant came stealing up the valley. Every sight and sound + this morning seemed calculated to summon up touching recollections of poor + Byron. The chime was from the village spire of Hucknall Torkard, beneath + which his remains lie buried! + </p> + <p> + ——I have since visited his tomb. It is in an old gray country + church, venerable with the lapse of centuries. He lies buried beneath the + pavement, at one end of the principal aisle. A light falls on the spot + through the stained glass of a Gothic window, and a tablet on the adjacent + wall announces the family vault of the Byrons. It had been the wayward + intention of the poet to be entombed, with his faithful dog, in the + monument erected by him in the garden of Newstead Abbey. His executors + showed better judgment and feeling, in consigning his ashes to the family + sepulchre, to mingle with those of his mother and his kindred. Here, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well. + Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing + Can touch him further!” + </pre> + <p> + How nearly did his dying hour realize the wish made by him, but a few + years previously, in one of his fitful moods of melancholy and + misanthropy: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “When time, or soon or late, shall bring + The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, + Oblivion! may thy languid wing + Wave gently o’er my dying bed! + + “No band of friends or heirs be there, + To weep or wish the coining blow: + No maiden with dishevelled hair, + To feel, or fein decorous woe. + + “But silent let me sink to earth. + With no officious mourners near: + I would not mar one hour of mirth, + Nor startle friendship with a tear.” + </pre> + <p> + He died among strangers, in a foreign land, without a kindred hand to + close his eyes; yet he did not die unwept. With all his faults and errors, + and passions and caprices, he had the gift of attaching his humble + dependents warmly to him. One of them, a poor Greek, accompanied his + remains to England, and followed them to the grave. I am told that, during + the ceremony, he stood holding on by a pew in an agony of grief, and when + all was over, seemed as if he would have gone down into the tomb with the + body of his master.—A nature that could inspire such attachments, + must have been generous and beneficent. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PLOUGH MONDAY. + </h2> + <p> + Sherwood Forest is a region that still retains much of the quaint customs + and holiday games of the olden time. A day or two after my arrival at the + Abbey, as I was walking in the cloisters, I heard the sound of rustic + music, and now and then a burst of merriment, proceeding from the interior + of the mansion. Presently the chamberlain came and informed me that a + party of country lads were in the servants’ hall, performing Plough Monday + antics, and invited me to witness their mummery. I gladly assented, for I + am somewhat curious about these relics of popular usages. The servants’ + hall was a fit place for the exhibition of an old Gothic game. It was a + chamber of great extent, which in monkish times had been the refectory of + the Abbey. A row of massive columns extended lengthwise through the + centre, whence sprung Gothic arches, supporting the low vaulted ceiling. + Here was a set of rustics dressed up in something of the style represented + in the books concerning popular antiquities. One was in a rough garb of + frieze, with his head muffled in bear-skin, and a bell dangling behind + him, that jingled at every movement. He was the clown, or fool of the + party, probably a traditional representative of the ancient satyr. The + rest were decorated with ribbons and armed with wooden swords. The leader + of the troop recited the old ballad of St. George and the Dragon, which + had been current among the country people for ages; his companions + accompanied the recitation with some rude attempt at acting, while the + clown cut all kinds of antics. + </p> + <p> + To these succeeded a set of morris-dancers, gayly dressed up with ribbons + and hawks’-bells. In this troop we had Robin Hood and Maid Marian, the + latter represented by a smooth-faced boy; also Beelzebub, equipped with a + broom, and accompanied by his wife Bessy, a termagant old beldame. These + rude pageants are the lingering remains of the old customs of Plough + Monday, when bands of rustics, fantastically dressed, and furnished with + pipe and tabor, dragged what was called the “fool plough” from house to + house, singing ballads and performing antics, for which they were rewarded + with money and good cheer. + </p> + <p> + But it is not in “merry Sherwood Forest” alone that these remnants of old + times prevail. They are to be met with in most of the counties north of + the Trent, which classic stream seems to be the boundary line of primitive + customs. During my recent Christmas sojourn at Barlboro’ Hall, on the + skirts of Derbyshire and Yorkshire, I had witnessed many of the rustic + festivities peculiar to that joyous season, which have rashly been + pronounced obsolete, by those who draw their experience merely from city + life. I had seen the great Yule log put on the fire on Christmas Eve, and + the wassail bowl sent round, brimming with its spicy beverage. I had heard + carols beneath my window by the choristers of the neighboring village, who + went their rounds about the ancient Hall at midnight, according to + immemorial custom. We had mummers and mimers too, with the story of St. + George and the Dragon, and other ballads and traditional dialogues, + together with the famous old interlude of the Hobby Horse, all represented + in the antechamber and servants’ hall by rustics, who inherited the custom + and the poetry from preceding generations. The boar’s head, crowned with + rosemary, had taken its honored station among the Christmas cheer; the + festal board had been attended by glee singers and minstrels from the + village to entertain the company with hereditary songs and catches during + their repast; and the old Pyrrhic game of the sword dance, handed down + since the time of the Romans, was admirably performed in the court-yard of + the mansion by a band of young men, lithe and supple in their forms and + graceful in their movements, who, I was told, went the rounds of the + villages and country-seats during the Christmas holidays. + </p> + <p> + I specify these rural pageants and ceremonials, which I saw during my + sojourn in this neighborhood, because it has been deemed that some of the + anecdotes of holiday customs given in my preceding writings, related to + usages which have entirely passed away. Critics who reside in cities have + little idea of the primitive manners and observances, which still prevail + in remote and rural neighborhoods. + </p> + <p> + In fact, in crossing the Trent one seems to step back into old times; and + in the villages of Sherwood Forest we are in a black-letter region. The + moss-green cottages, the lowly mansions of gray stone, the Gothic crosses + at each end of the villages, and the tall Maypole in the centre, transport + us in imagination to foregone centuries; everything has a quaint and + antiquated air. + </p> + <p> + The tenantry on the Abbey estate partake of this primitive character. Some + of the families have rented farms there for nearly three hundred years; + and, notwithstanding that their mansions fell to decay, and every thing + about them partook of the general waste and misrule of the Byron dynasty, + yet nothing could uproot them from their native soil. I am happy to say, + that Colonel Wildman has taken these stanch loyal families under his + peculiar care. He has favored them in their rents, repaired, or rather + rebuilt their farm-houses, and has enabled families that had almost sunk + into the class of mere rustic laborers, once more to hold up their heads + among the yeomanry of the land. + </p> + <p> + I visited one of these renovated establishments that had but lately been a + mere ruin, and now was a substantial grange. It was inhabited by a young + couple. The good woman showed every part of the establishment with decent + pride, exulting in its comfort and respectability. Her husband, I + understood, had risen in consequence with the improvement of his mansion, + and now began to be known among his rustic neighbors by the appellation of + “the young Squire.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OLD SERVANTS. + </h2> + <p> + In an old, time-worn, and mysterious looking mansion like Newstead Abbey, + and one so haunted by monkish, and feudal, and poetical associations, it + is a prize to meet with some ancient crone, who has passed a long life + about the place, so as to have become a living chronicle of its fortunes + and vicissitudes. Such a one is Nanny Smith, a worthy dame, near seventy + years of age, who for a long time served as housekeeper to the Byrons, The + Abbey and its domains comprise her world, beyond which she knows nothing, + but within which she has ever conducted herself with native shrewdness and + old-fashioned honesty. When Lord Byron sold the Abbey her vocation was at + an end, still she lingered about the place, having for it the local + attachment of a cat. Abandoning her comfortable housekeeper’s apartment, + she took shelter in one of the “rockhouses,” which are nothing more than a + little neighborhood of cabins, excavated in the perpendicular walls of a + stone quarry, at no great distance from the Abbey. Three cells cut in the + living rock, formed her dwelling; these she fitted up humbly but + comfortably; her son William labored in the neighborhood, and aided to + support her, and Nanny Smith maintained a cheerful aspect and an + independent spirit. One of her gossips suggested to her that William + should marry, and bring home a young wife to help her and take care of + her. “Nay, nay,” replied Nanny, tartly, “I want no young mistress in <i>my + house</i>.” So much for the love of rule—poor Nanny’s house was a + hole in a rock! + </p> + <p> + Colonel Wildman, on taking possession of the Abbey, found Nanny Smith thus + humbly nestled. With that active benevolence which characterizes him, he + immediately set William up in a small farm on the estate, where Nanny + Smith has a comfortable mansion in her old days. Her pride is roused by + her son’s advancement. She remarks with exultation that people treat + William with much more respect now that he is a farmer, than they did when + he was a laborer. A farmer of the neighborhood has even endeavored to make + a match between him and his sister, but Nanny Smith has grown fastidious, + and interfered. The girl, she said, was too old for her son, besides, she + did not see that he was in any need of a wife. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said William, “I ha’ no great mind to marry the wench: but if the + Colonel and his lady wish it, I am willing. They have been so kind to me + that I should think it my duty to please them.” The Colonel and his lady, + however, have not thought proper to put honest William’s gratitude to so + severe a test. + </p> + <p> + Another worthy whom Colonel Wildman found vegetating upon the place, and + who had lived there for at least sixty years, was old Joe Murray. He had + come there when a mere boy in the train of the “old lord,” about the + middle of the last century, and had continued with him until his death. + Having been a cabin boy when very young, Joe always fancied himself a bit + of a sailor; and had charge of all the pleasure-boats on the lake though + he afterward rose to the dignity of butler. In the latter days of the old + Lord Byron, when he shut himself up from all the world, Joe Murray was the + only servant retained by him, excepting his housekeeper, Betty Hardstaff, + who was reputed to have an undue sway over him, and was derisively called + Lady Betty among the country folk. + </p> + <p> + When the Abbey came into the possession of the late Lord Byron, Joe Murray + accompanied it as a fixture. He was reinstated as butler in the Abbey, and + high admiral on the lake, and his sturdy honest mastiff qualities won so + upon Lord Byron as even to rival his Newfoundland dog in his affections. + Often when dining, he would pour out a bumper of choice Madeira, and hand + it to Joe as he stood behind his chair. In fact, when he built the + monumental tomb which stands in the Abbey garden, he intended it for + himself, Joe Murray, and the dog. The two latter were to lie on each side + of him. Boatswain died not long afterward, and was regularly interred, and + the well-known epitaph inscribed on one side of the monument. Lord Byron + departed for Greece; during his absence, a gentleman to whom Joe Murray + was showing the tomb, observed, “Well, old boy, you will take your place + here some twenty years hence.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that, sir,” growled Joe, in reply, “if I was sure his + Lordship would come here, I should like it well enough, but I should not + like to lie alone with the dog.” + </p> + <p> + Joe Murray was always extremely neat in his dress, and attentive to his + person, and made a most respectable appearance. A portrait of him still + hangs in the Abbey, representing him a hale fresh-looking fellow, in a + flaxen wig, a blue coat and buff waistcoat, with a pipe in his hand. He + discharged all the duties of his station with great fidelity, + unquestionable honesty, and much outward decorum, but, if we may believe + his contemporary, Nanny Smith, who, as housekeeper, shared the sway of the + household with him, he was very lax in his minor morals, and used to sing + loose and profane songs as he presided at the table in the servants’ hall, + or sat taking his ale and smoking his pipe by the evening fire. Joe had + evidently derived his convivial notions from the race of English country + squires who flourished in the days of his juvenility. Nanny Smith was + scandalized at his ribald songs, but being above harm herself, endured them + in silence. At length, on his singing them before a young girl of sixteen, + she could contain herself no longer, but read him a lecture that made his + ears ring, and then flounced off to bed. The lecture seems, by her + account, to have staggered Joe, for he told her the next morning that he + had had a terrible dream in the night. An Evangelist stood at the foot of + his bed with a great Dutch Bible, which he held with the printed part + toward him, and after a while pushed it in his face. Nanny Smith undertook + to interpret the vision, and read from it such a homily, and deduced such + awful warnings, that Joe became quite serious, left off singing, and took + to reading good books for a month; but after that, continued Nanny, he + relapsed and became as bad as ever, and continued to sing loose and + profane songs to his dying day. + </p> + <p> + When Colonel Wildman became proprietor of the Abbey he found Joe Murray + flourishing in a green old age, though upward of fourscore, and continued + him in his station as butler. The old man was rejoiced at the extensive + repairs that were immediately commenced, and anticipated with pride the + day when the Abbey should rise out of its ruins with renovated splendor, + its gates be thronged with trains and equipages, and its halls once more + echo to the sound of joyous hospitality. + </p> + <p> + What chiefly, however, concerned Joe’s pride and ambition, was a plan of + the Colonel’s to have the ancient refectory of the convent, a great + vaulted room, supported by Gothic columns, converted into a servants’ + hall. Here Joe looked forward to rule the roast at the head of the + servants’ table, and to make the Gothic arches ring with those hunting and + hard-drinking ditties which were the horror of the discreet Nanny Smith. + Time, however, was fast wearing away with him, and his great fear was that + the hall would not be completed in his day. In his eagerness to hasten the + repairs, he used to get up early in the morning, and ring up the workmen. + Notwithstanding his great age, also, he would turn out half-dressed in + cold weather to cut sticks for the fire. Colonel Wildman kindly + remonstrated with him for thus risking his health, as others would do the + work for him. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, sir,” exclaimed the hale old fellow, “it’s my air-bath, I’m all the + better for it.” + </p> + <p> + Unluckily, as he was thus employed one morning a splinter flew up and + wounded one of his eyes. An inflammation took place; he lost the sight of + that eye, and subsequently of the other. Poor Joe gradually pined away, + and grew melancholy. Colonel Wildman kindly tried to cheer him up—“Come, + come, old boy,” cried he, “be of good heart, you will yet take your place + in the servants’ hall.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay, sir,” replied he, “I did hope once that I should live to see it—I + looked forward to it with pride, I confess, but it is all over with me now—I + shall soon go home!” He died shortly afterward, at the advanced age of + eighty-six, seventy of which had been passed as an honest and faithful + servant at the Abbey. Colonel Wildman had him decently interred in the + church of Hucknall Torkard, near the vault of Lord Byron. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SUPERSTITIONS OF THE ABBEY. + </h2> + <p> + The anecdotes I had heard of the quondam housekeeper of Lord Byron, + rendered me desirous of paying her a visit. I rode in company with Colonel + Wildman, therefore, to the cottage of her son William, where she resides, + and found her seated by her fireside, with a favorite cat perched upon her + shoulder and purring in her ear. Nanny Smith is a large, good-looking + woman, a specimen of the old-fashioned country housewife, combining + antiquated notions and prejudices, and very limited information, with + natural good sense. She loves to gossip about the Abbey and Lord Byron, + and was soon drawn into a course of anecdotes, though mostly of an humble + kind, such as suited the meridian of the housekeeper’s room and servants’ + hall. She seemed to entertain a kind recollection of Lord Byron, though + she had evidently been much perplexed by some of his vagaries; and + especially by the means he adopted to counteract his tendency to + corpulency. He used various modes to sweat himself down; sometimes he + would lie for a long time in a warm bath, sometimes he would walk up the + hills in the park, wrapped up and loaded with great coats; “a sad toil for + the poor youth,” added Nanny, “he being so lame.” + </p> + <p> + His meals were scanty and irregular, consisting of dishes which Nanny + seemed to hold in great contempt, such as pillau, macaroni, and light + puddings. + </p> + <p> + She contradicted the report of the licentious life which he was reported + to lead at the Abbey, and of the paramours said to have been brought with + him from London. “A great part of his time used to be passed lying on a + sofa reading. Sometimes he had young gentlemen of his acquaintance with + him, and they played some mad pranks; but nothing but what young gentlemen + may do, and no harm done.” + </p> + <p> + “Once, it is true,” she added, “he had with him a beautiful boy as a page, + which the housemaids said was a girl. For my part, I know nothing about + it. Poor soul, he was so lame he could not go out much with the men; all + the comfort he had was to be a little with the lasses. The housemaids, + however, were very jealous; one of them, in particular, took the matter in + great dudgeon. Her name was Lucy; she was a great favorite with Lord + Byron, and had been much noticed by him, and began to have high notions. + She had her fortune told by a man who squinted, to whom she gave + two-and-sixpence. He told her to hold up her head and look high, for she + would come to great things. Upon this,” added Nanny, “the poor thing + dreamt of nothing less than becoming a lady, and mistress of the Abbey; + and promised me, if such luck should happen to her, she would be a good + friend to me. Ah well-a-day! Lucy never had the fine fortune she dreamt + of; but she had better than I thought for; she is now married, and keeps a + public house at Warwick.” + </p> + <p> + Finding that we listened to her with great attention, Nanny Smith went on + with her gossiping. “One time,” said she, “Lord Byron took a notion that + there was a deal of money buried about the Abbey by the monks in old + times, and nothing would serve him but he must have the flagging taken up + in the cloisters; and they digged and digged, but found nothing but stone + coffins full of bones. Then he must needs have one of the coffins put in + one end of the great hall, so that the servants were afraid to go there of + nights. Several of the skulls were cleaned and put in frames in his room. + I used to have to go into the room at night to shut the windows, and if I + glanced an eye at them, they all seemed to grin; which I believe skulls + always do. I can’t say but I was glad to get out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “There was at one time (and for that matter there is still) a good deal + said about ghosts haunting about the Abbey. The keeper’s wife said she saw + two standing in a dark part of the cloisters just opposite the chapel, and + one in the garden by the lord’s well. Then there was a young lady, a + cousin of Lord Byron, who was staying in the Abbey and slept in the room + next the clock; and she told me that one night when she was lying in bed, + she saw a lady in white come out of the wall on one side of the room, and + go into the wall on the opposite side. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Byron one day said to me, ‘Nanny, what nonsense they tell about + ghosts, as if there ever were any such things. I have never seen any thing + of the kind about the Abbey, and I warrant you have not.’ This was all + done, do you see, to draw me out; but I said nothing, but shook my head. + However, they say his lordship did once see something. It was in the great + hall—something all black and hairy, he said it was the devil. + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” continued Nanny Smith, “I never saw anything of the kind—but + I heard something once. I was one evening scrubbing the floor of the + little dining-room at the end of the long gallery; it was after dark; I + expected every moment to be called to tea, but wished to finish what I was + about. All at once I heard heavy footsteps in the great hall. They sounded + like the tramp of a horse. I took the light and went to see what it was. I + heard the steps come from the lower end of the hall to the fireplace in + the centre, where they stopped; but I could see nothing. I returned to my + work, and in a little time heard the same noise again. I went again with + the light; the footsteps stopped by the fireplace as before; still I could + see nothing. I returned to my work, when I heard the steps for a third + time. I then went into the hall without a light, but they stopped just the + same, by the fireplace, half way up the hall. I thought this rather odd, + but returned to my work. When it was finished, I took the light and went + through the hall, as that was my way to the kitchen. I heard no more + footsteps, and thought no more of the matter, when, on coming to the lower + end of the hall, I found the door locked, and then, on one side of the + door, I saw the stone coffin with the skull and bones that had been digged + up in the cloisters.” + </p> + <p> + Here Nanny paused. I asked her if she believed that the mysterious + footsteps had any connection with the skeleton in the coffin; but she + shook her head, and would not commit herself. We took our leave of the + good old dame shortly after, and the story she had related gave subject + for conversation on our ride homeward. It was evident she had spoken the + truth as to what she had heard, but had been deceived by some peculiar + effect of sound. Noises are propagated about a huge irregular edifice of + the kind in a very deceptive manner; footsteps are prolonged and + reverberated by the vaulted cloisters and echoing halls; the creaking and + slamming of distant gates, the rushing of the blast through the groves and + among the ruined arches of the chapel, have all a strangely delusive + effect at night. Colonel Wildman gave an instance of the kind from his own + experience. Not long after he had taken up his residence at the Abbey, he + heard one moonlight night a noise as if a carriage was passing at a + distance. He opened the window and leaned out. It then seemed as if the + great iron roller was dragged along the gravel walks and terrace, but + there was nothing to be seen. When he saw the gardener on the following + morning, he questioned him about working so late at night. The gardener + declared that no one had been at work, and the roller was chained up. He + was sent to examine it, and came back with a countenance full of surprise. + The roller had been moved in the night, but he declared no mortal hand + could have moved it. “Well,” replied the Colonel, good-humoredly, “I am + glad to find I have a brownie to work for me.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Byron did much to foster and give currency to the superstitious tales + connected with the Abbey, by believing, or pretending to believe in them. + Many have supposed that his mind was really tinged with superstition, and + that this innate infirmity was increased by passing much of his time in a + lonely way, about the empty halls and cloisters of the Abbey, then in a + ruinous melancholy state, and brooding over the skulls and effigies of its + former inmates. I should rather think that he found poetical enjoyment in + these supernatural themes, and that his imagination delighted to people + this gloomy and romantic pile with all kinds of shadowy inhabitants. + Certain it is, the aspect of the mansion under the varying influence of + twilight and moonlight, and cloud and sunshine operating upon its halls, + and galleries, and monkish cloisters, is enough to breed all kinds of + fancies in the minds of its inmates, especially if poetically or + superstitiously inclined. + </p> + <p> + I have already mentioned some of the fabled visitants of the Abbey. The + goblin friar, however, is the one to whom Lord Byron has given the + greatest importance. It walked the cloisters by night, and sometimes + glimpses of it were seen in other parts of the Abbey. Its appearance was + said to portend some impending evil to the master of the mansion. Lord + Byron pretended to have seen it about a month before he contracted his + ill-starred marriage with Miss Milbanke. + </p> + <p> + He has embodied this tradition in the following ballad, in which he + represents the friar as one of the ancient inmates of the Abbey, + maintaining by night a kind of spectral possession of it, in right of the + fraternity. Other traditions, however, represent him as one of the friars + doomed to wander about the place in atonement for his crimes. But to the + ballad— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Beware! beware! of the Black Friar, + Who sitteth by Norman stone, + For he mutters his prayers in the midnight air, + And his mass of the days that are gone. + When the Lord of the Hill, Amundeville, + Made Norman Church his prey, + And expell’d the friars, one friar still + Would not be driven away. + + “Though he came in his might, with King Henry’s right, + To turn church lands to lay, + With sword in hand, and torch to light + Their walls, if they said nay, + A monk remain’d, unchased, unchain’d, + And he did not seem form’d of clay, + For he’s seen in the porch, and he’s seen in the church, + Though he is not seen by day. + + “And whether for good, or whether for ill, + It is not mine to say; + But still to the house of Amundeville + He abideth night and day. + By the marriage bed of their lords, ’tis said, + He flits on the bridal eve; + And ’tis held as faith, to their bed of death, + He comes—but not to grieve. + + “When an heir is born, he is heard to mourn, + And when aught is to befall + That ancient line, in the pale moonshine + He walks from hall to hall. + His form you may trace, but not his face, + ‘Tis shadow’d by his cowl; + But his eyes may be seen from the folds between, + And they seem of a parted soul. + + “But beware! beware of the Black Friar, + He still retains his sway, + For he is yet the church’s heir, + Whoever may be the lay. + Amundeville is lord by day, + But the monk is lord by night, + Nor wine nor wassail could raise a vassal + To question that friar’s right. + + “Say nought to him as he walks the hall, + And he’ll say nought to you; + He sweeps along in his dusky pall, + As o’er the grass the dew. + Then gramercy! for the Black Friar; + Heaven sain him! fair or foul, + And whatsoe’er may be his prayer + Let ours be for his soul.” + </pre> + <p> + Such is the story of the goblin friar, which, partly through old + tradition, and partly through the influence of Lord Byron’s rhymes, has + become completely established in the Abbey, and threatens to hold + possession so long as the old edifice shall endure. Various visitors have + either fancied, or pretended to have seen him, and a cousin of Lord Byron, + Miss Sally Parkins, is even said to have made a sketch of him from memory. + As to the servants at the Abbey, they have become possessed with all kinds + of superstitious fancies. The long corridors and Gothic halls, with their + ancient portraits and dark figures in armor, are all haunted regions to + them; they even fear to sleep alone, and will scarce venture at night on + any distant errand about the Abbey unless they go in couples. + </p> + <p> + Even the magnificent chamber in which I was lodged was subject to the + supernatural influences which reigned over the Abbey, and was said to be + haunted by “Sir John Byron the Little with the great Beard.” The ancient + black-looking portrait of this family worthy, which hangs over the door of + the great saloon, was said to descend occasionally at midnight from the + frame, and walk the rounds of the state apartments. Nay, his visitations + were not confined to the night, for a young lady, on a visit to the Abbey + some years since, declared that, on passing in broad day by the door of + the identical chamber I have described, which stood partly open, she saw + Sir John Byron the Little seated by the fireplace, reading out of a great + black-letter book. From this circumstance some have been led to suppose + that the story of Sir John Byron may be in some measure connected with the + mysterious sculptures of the chimney-piece already mentioned; but this has + no countenance from the most authentic antiquarians of the Abbey. + </p> + <p> + For my own part, the moment I learned the wonderful stories and strange + suppositions connected with my apartment, it became an imaginary realm to + me. As I lay in bed at night and gazed at the mysterious panel-work, where + Gothic knight, and Christian dame, and Paynim lover gazed upon me in + effigy, I used to weave a thousand fancies concerning them. The great + figures in the tapestry, also, were almost animated by the workings of my + imagination, and the Vandyke portraits of the cavalier and lady that + looked down with pale aspects from the wall, had almost a spectral effect, + from their immovable gaze and silent companionship— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For by dim lights the portraits of the dead + Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread. + ——Their buried looks still wave + Along the canvas; their eyes glance like dreams + On ours, as spars within some dusky cave, + But death is mingled in their shadowy beams.” + </pre> + <p> + In this way I used to conjure up fictions of the brain, and clothe the + objects around me with ideal interest and import, until, as the Abbey + clock tolled midnight, I almost looked to see Sir John Byron the Little + with the long beard stalk into the room with his book under his arm, and + take his seat beside the mysterious chimney-piece. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ANNESLEY HALL. + </h2> + <p> + At about three miles’ distance from Newstead Abbey, and contiguous to its + lands, is situated Annesley Hall, the old family mansion of the Chaworths. + The families, like the estates, of the Byrons and Chaworths, were + connected in former times, until the fatal duel between their two + representatives. The feud, however, which prevailed for a time, promised + to be cancelled by the attachment of two youthful hearts. While Lord Byron + was yet a boy, he beheld Mary Ann Chaworth, a beautiful girl, and the sole + heiress of Annesley. With that susceptibility to female charms, which he + evinced almost from childhood, he became almost immediately enamored of + her. According to one of his biographers, it would appear that at first + their attachment was mutual, yet clandestine. The father of Miss Chaworth + was then living, and may have retained somewhat of the family hostility, + for we are told that the interviews of Lord Byron and the young lady were + private, at a gate which opened from her father’s grounds to those of + Newstead. However, they were so young at the time that these meetings + could not have been regarded as of any importance: they were little more + than children in years; but, as Lord Byron says of himself, his feelings + were beyond his age. + </p> + <p> + The passion thus early conceived was blown into a flame, during a six + weeks’ vacation which he passed with his mother at Nottingham. The father + of Miss Chaworth was dead, and she resided with her mother at the old Hall + of Annesley. During Byron’s minority, the estate of Newstead was let to + Lord Grey de Ruthen, but its youthful Lord was always a welcome guest at + the Abbey. He would pass days at a time there, and make frequent visits + thence to Annesley Hall. His visits were encouraged by Miss Chaworth’s + mother; she partook of none of the family feud, and probably looked with + complacency upon an attachment that might heal old differences and unite + two neighboring estates. + </p> + <p> + The six weeks’ vacation passed as a dream amongst the beautiful flowers of + Annesley. Byron was scarce fifteen years of age, Mary Chaworth was two + years older; but his heart, as I have said, was beyond his age, and his + tenderness for her was deep and passionate. These early loves, like the + first run of the uncrushed grape, are the sweetest and strongest gushings + of the heart, and however they may be superseded by other attachments in + after years, the memory will continually recur to them, and fondly dwell + upon their recollections. + </p> + <p> + His love for Miss Chaworth, to use Lord Byron’s own expression, was “the + romance of the most romantic period of his life,” and I think we can trace + the effect of it throughout the whole course of his writings, coming up + every now and then, like some lurking theme which runs through a + complicated piece of music, and links it all in a pervading chain of + melody. + </p> + <p> + How tenderly and mournfully does he recall, in after years, the feelings + awakened in his youthful and inexperienced bosom by this impassioned, yet + innocent attachment; feelings, he says, lost or hardened in the + intercourse of life: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The love of better things and better days; + The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance + Of what is called the world, and the world’s ways; + The moments when we gather from a glance + More joy than from all future pride or praise, + Which kindle manhood, but can ne’er entrance + The heart in an existence of its own, + Of which another’s bosom is the zone.” + </pre> + <p> + Whether this love was really responded to by the object, is uncertain. + Byron sometimes speaks as if he had met with kindness in return, at other + times lie acknowledges that she never gave ‘him reason to believe she + loved him. It is probable, however, that at first she experienced some + flutterings of the heart. She was of a susceptible age; had as yet formed + no other attachments; her lover, though boyish in years, was a man in + intellect, a poet in imagination, and had a countenance of remarkable + beauty. + </p> + <p> + With the six weeks’ vacation ended this brief romance. Byron returned to + school deeply enamored, but if he had really made any impression on Miss + Chaworth’s heart, it was too slight to stand the test of absence. She was + at that age when a female soon changes from the girl to a woman, and + leaves her boyish lovers far behind her. While Byron was pursuing his + school-boy studies, she was mingling with society, and met with a + gentleman of the name of Musters, remarkable, it is said, for manly + beauty. A story is told of her having first seen him from the top of + Annesley Hall, as he dashed through the park, with hound and horn, taking + the lead of the whole field in a fox chase, and that she was struck by the + spirit of his appearance, and his admirable horsemanship. Under such + favorable auspices, he wooed and won her, and when Lord Byron next met + her, he learned to his dismay that she was the affianced bride of another. + </p> + <p> + With that pride of spirit—which always distinguished him, he + controlled his feelings and maintained a serene countenance. He even + affected to speak calmly on the subject of her approaching nuptials. “The + next time I see you,” said he, “I suppose you will be Mrs. Chaworth” (for + she was to retain her family name). Her reply was, “I hope so.” + </p> + <p> + I have given these brief details preparatory to a sketch of a visit which + I made to the scene of this youthful romance. Annesley Hall I understood + was shut up, neglected, and almost in a state of desolation; for Mr. + Musters rarely visited it, residing with his family in the neighborhood of + Nottingham. I set out for the Hall on horseback, in company with Colonel + Wildman, and followed by the great Newfoundland dog Boatswain. In the + course of our ride we visited a spot memorable in the love story I have + cited. It was the scene of this parting interview between Byron and Miss + Chaworth, prior to her marriage. A long ridge of upland advances into the + valley of Newstead, like a promontory into a lake, and was formerly + crowned by a beautiful grove, a landmark to the neighboring country. The + grove and promontory are graphically described by Lord Byron in his + “Dream,” and an exquisite picture given of himself, and the lovely object + of his boyish idolatry— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I saw two beings to the hues of youth + Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill, + Green, and of mild declivity, the last + As ‘twere the cape of a long ridge of such, + Save that there was no sea to lave its base, + But a most living landscape, and the ware + Of woods and cornfields, and the abodes of men. + Scattered at intervals and wreathing smoke + Arising from such rustic roofs;—the hill + Was crown’d with a peculiar diadem + Of trees, in circular array, so fixed, + Not by the sport of nature, but of man: + These two, a maiden and a youth, were there + Gazing—the one on all that was beneath + Fair as herself—but the boy gazed on her; + And both were fair, and one was beautiful: + And both were young—yet not alike in youth: + As the sweet moon in the horizon’s verge, + The maid was on the verge of womanhood; + The boy had fewer summers, but his heart + Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye + There was but one beloved face on earth, + And that was shining on him.” + </pre> + <p> + I stood upon the spot consecrated by this memorable interview. Below me + extended the “living landscape,” once contemplated by the loving pair; the + gentle valley of Newstead, diversified by woods and corn-fields, and + village spires, and gleams of water, and the distant towers and pinnacles + of the venerable Abbey. The diadem of trees, however, was gone. The + attention drawn to it by the poet, and the romantic manner in which he had + associated it with his early passion for Mary Chaworth, had nettled the + irritable feelings of her husband, who but ill brooked the poetic + celebrity conferred on his wife by the enamored verses of another. The + celebrated grove stood on his estate, and in a fit of spleen he ordered it + to be levelled with the dust. At the time of my visit the mere roots of + the trees were visible; but the hand that laid them low is execrated by + every poetical pilgrim. + </p> + <p> + Descending the bill, we soon entered a part of what once was Annesley + Park, and rode among time-worn and tempest-riven oaks and elms, with ivy + clambering about their trunks, and rooks’ nests among their branches. The + park had been cut up by a post-road, crossing which, we came to the + gate-house of Annesley Hall. It was an old brick building that might have + served as an outpost or barbacan to the Hall during the civil wars, when + every gentleman’s house was liable to become a fortress. Loopholes were + still visible in its walls, but the peaceful ivy had mantled the sides, + overrun the roof, and almost buried the ancient clock in front, that still + marked the waning hours of its decay. + </p> + <p> + An arched way led through the centre of the gate-house, secured by grated + doors of open iron work, wrought into flowers and flourishes. These being + thrown open, we entered a paved court-yard, decorated with shrubs and + antique flowerpots, with a ruined stone fountain in the centre. The whole + approach resembled that of an old French chateau. + </p> + <p> + On one side of the court-yard was a range of stables, now tenantless, but + which bore traces of the fox-hunting squire; for there were stalls boxed + up, into which the hunters might be turned loose when they came home from + the chase. + </p> + <p> + At the lower end of the court, and immediately opposite the gate-house, + extended the Hall itself; a rambling, irregular pile, patched and pieced + at various times, and in various tastes, with gable ends, stone + balustrades, and enormous chimneys, that strutted out like buttresses from + the walls. The whole front of the edifice was overrun with evergreens. + </p> + <p> + We applied for admission at the front door, which was under a heavy porch. + The portal was strongly barricaded, and our knocking was echoed by waste + and empty halls. Every thing bore an appearance of abandonment. After a + time, however, our knocking summoned a solitary tenant from some remote + corner of the pile. It was a decent-looking little dame, who emerged from + a side door at a distance, and seemed a worthy inmate of the antiquated + mansion. She had, in fact, grown old with it. Her name, she said, was + Nanny Marsden; if she lived until next August, she would be seventy-one; a + great part of her life had been passed in the Hall, and when the family + had removed to Nottingham, she had been left in charge of it. The front of + the house had been thus warily barricaded in consequence of the late riots + at Nottingham, in the course of which the dwelling of her master had been + sacked by the mob. To guard against any attempt of the kind upon the Hall, + she had put it in this state of defence; though I rather think she and a + superannuated gardener comprised the whole garrison. “You must be attached + to the old building,” said I, “after having lived so long in it.” “Ah, + sir!” replied she, “I am <i>getting in years</i>, and have a furnished + cottage of my own in Annesley Wood, and begin to feel as if I should like + to go and live in my own home.” + </p> + <p> + Guided by the worthy little custodian of the fortress, we entered through + the sally port by which she had issued forth, and soon found ourselves in + a spacious, but somewhat gloomy hall, where the light was partially + admitted through square stone-shafted windows, overhung with ivy. + Everything around us had the air of an old-fashioned country squire’s + establishment. In the centre of the hall was a billiard-table, find about + the walls were hung portraits of race-horses, hunters, and favorite dogs, + mingled indiscriminately with family pictures. + </p> + <p> + Staircases led up from the hall to various apartments. In one of the rooms + we were shown a couple of buff jerkins, and a pair of ancient jackboots, + of the time of the cavaliers; relics which are often to be met with in the + old English family mansions. These, however, had peculiar value, for the + good little dame assured us that they had belonged to Robin Hood. As we + were in the midst of the region over which that famous outlaw once bore + ruffian sway, it was not for us to gainsay his claim to any of these + venerable relics, though we might have demurred that the articles of dress + here shown were of a date much later than his time. Every antiquity, + however, about Sherwood Forest is apt to be linked with the memory of + Robin Hood and his gang. + </p> + <p> + As we were strolling about the mansion, our four-footed attendant, + Boatswain, followed leisurely, as if taking a survey of the premises. I + turned to rebuke him for his intrusion, but the moment the old housekeeper + understood he had belonged to Lord Byron, her heart seemed to yearn toward + him. “Nay, nay,” exclaimed she, “let him alone, let him go where he + pleases. He’s welcome. Ah, dear me! If he lived here I should take great + care of him—he should want for nothing.—Well!” continued she, + fondling him, “who would have thought that I should see a dog of Lord + Byron in Annesley Hall!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, then,” said I, “you recollect something of Lord Byron, when he + used to visit here?” “Ah, bless him!” cried she, “that I do! He used to + ride over here and stay three days at a time, and sleep in the blue room. + Ah! poor fellow! He was very much taken with my young mistress; he used to + walk about the garden and the terraces with her, and seemed to love the + very ground she trod on. He used to call her <i>his bright morning star of + Annesley</i>.” + </p> + <p> + I felt the beautiful poetic phrase thrill through me. + </p> + <p> + “You appear to like the memory of Lord Byron,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, sir! why should not I! He was always main good to me when he came + here. Well, well, they say it is a pity he and my young lady did not make + a match. Her mother would have liked it. He was always a welcome guest, + and some think it would have been well for him to have had her; but it was + not to be! He went away to school, and then Mr. Musters saw her, and so + things took their course.” + </p> + <p> + The simple soul now showed us into the favorite sitting-room of Miss + Chaworth, with a small flower-garden under the windows, in which she had + delighted. In this room Byron used to sit and listen to her as she played + and sang, gazing upon her with the passionate, and almost painful devotion + of a love-sick stripling. He himself gives us a glowing picture of his + mute idolatry: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He bad no breath, no being, but in hers; + She was his voice; he did not speak to her, + But trembled on her words; she was his sight. + For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers, + Which colored all his objects; he had ceased + To live within himself; she was his life, + The ocean to the river of his thoughts, + Which terminated all; upon a tone, + A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow, + And his cheek change tempestuously—his heart + Unknowing of its cause of agony.” + </pre> + <p> + There was a little Welsh air, call “Mary Ann,” which, from bearing her own + name, he associated with herself, and often persuaded her to sing it over + and over for him. + </p> + <p> + The chamber, like all the other parts of the house, had a look of sadness + and neglect; the flower-pots beneath the window, which once bloomed + beneath the hand of Mary Chaworth, were overrun with weeds; and the piano, + which had once vibrated to her touch, and thrilled the heart of her + stripling lover, was now unstrung and out of tune. + </p> + <p> + We continued our stroll about the waste apartments, of all shapes and + sizes, and without much elegance of decoration. Some of them were hung + with family portraits, among which was pointed out that of the Mr. + Chaworth who was killed by the “wicked Lord Byron.” + </p> + <p> + These dismal looking portraits had a powerful effect upon the imagination + of the stripling poet, on his first visit to the hall. As they gazed down + from the wall, he thought they scowled upon him, as if they had taken a + grudge against him on account of the duel of his ancestor. He even gave + this as a reason, though probably in jest, for not sleeping at the Hall, + declaring that he feared they would come down from their frames at night + to haunt him. + </p> + <p> + A feeling of the kind he has embodied in one of his stanzas of “Don Juan:” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The forms of the grim knights and pictured saints + Look living in the moon; and as you turn + Backward and forward to the echoes faint + Of your own footsteps—voices from the urn + Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint + Start from the frames which fence their aspects stern, + As if to ask you how you dare to keep + A vigil there, where all but death should sleep.” + </pre> + <p> + Nor was the youthful poet singular in these fancies; the Hall, like most + old English mansions that have ancient family portraits hanging about + their dusky galleries and waste apartments, had its ghost story connected + with these pale memorials of the dead. Our simple-hearted conductor + stopped before the portrait of a lady, who had been a beauty in her time, + and inhabited the hall in the heyday of her charms. Something mysterious + or melancholy was connected with her story; she died young, but continued + for a long time to haunt the ancient mansion, to the great dismay of the + servants, and the occasional disquiet of the visitors, and it was with + much difficulty her troubled spirit was conjured down and put to rest. + </p> + <p> + From the rear of the hall we walked out into the garden, about which Byron + used to stroll and loiter in company with Miss Chaworth. It was laid out + in the old French style. There was a long terraced walk, with heavy stone + balustrades and sculptured urns, overrun with ivy and evergreens. A + neglected shrubbery bordered one side of the terrace, with a lofty grove + inhabited by a venerable community of rooks. Great flights of steps led + down from the terrace to a flower garden laid out in formal plots. The + rear of the Hall, which overlooked the garden, had the weather stains of + centuries, and its stone-shafted casements and an ancient sun-dial against + its walls carried back the mind to days of yore. + </p> + <p> + The retired and quiet garden, once a little sequestered world of love and + romance, was now all matted and wild, yet was beautiful, even in its + decay. Its air of neglect and desolation was in unison with the fortune of + the two beings who had once walked here in the freshness of youth, and + life, and beauty. The garden, like their young hearts, had gone to waste + and ruin. + </p> + <p> + Returning to the Hall we now visited a chamber built over the porch, or + grand entrance. It was in a ruinous condition, the ceiling having fallen + in and the floor given way. This, however, is a chamber rendered + interesting by poetical associations. It is supposed to be the oratory + alluded to by Lord Byron in his “Dream,” wherein he pictures his departure + from Annesley, after learning that Mary Chaworth was engaged to be married— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘There was an ancient mansion, and before + Its walls there was a steed caparisoned; + Within an antique oratory stood + The boy of whom I spake;—he was alone, + And pale and pacing to and fro: anon + He sate him down, and seized a pen, and traced + Words which I could not guess of; then he leaned + His bow’d head on his hands, and shook as ‘twere + With a convulsion—then arose again, + And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear + What he had written, but he shed no tears. + And he did calm himself, and fix his brow + Into a kind of quiet; as he paused, + The lady of his love re-entered there; + She was serene and smiling then, and yet + She knew she was by him beloved,—she knew, + For quickly comes such knowledge, that his heart + Was darkened with her shadow, and she saw + That he was wretched, but she saw not all. + He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp + He took her hand; a moment o’er his face + A tablet of unutterable thoughts + Was traced, and then it faded as it came; + He dropp’d the hand he held, and with slow steps + Return’d, but not as bidding her adieu, + For they did part with mutual smiles:—he pass’d + From out the massy gate of that old Hall, + And mounting on his steed he went his way, + And ne’er repassed that hoary threshold more.” + </pre> + <p> + In one of his journals, Lord Byron describes his feelings after thus + leaving the oratory. Arriving on the summit of a hill, which commanded the + last view of Annesley, he checked his horse, and gazed back with mingled + pain and fondness upon the groves which embowered the Hall, and thought + upon the lovely being that dwelt there, until his feelings were quite + dissolved in tenderness. The conviction at length recurred that she never + could be his, when, rousing himself from his reverie, he struck his spurs + into his steed and dashed forward, as if by rapid motion to leave + reflection behind him. + </p> + <p> + Yet, notwithstanding what he asserts in the verses last quoted, he did + pass the “hoary threshold” of Annesley again. It was, however, after the + lapse of several years, during which he had grown up to manhood, and had + passed through the ordeal of pleasures and tumultuous passions, and had + felt the influence of other charms. Miss Chaworth, too, had become a wife + and a mother, and he dined at Annesley Hall at the invitation of her + husband. He thus met the object of his early idolatry in the very scene of + his tender devotions, which, as he says, her smiles had once made a heaven + to him. The scene was but little changed. He was in the very chamber where + he had so often listened entranced to the witchery of her voice; there + were the same instruments and music; there lay her flower garden beneath + the window, and the walks through which he had wandered with her in the + intoxication of youthful love. Can we wonder that amidst the tender + recollections which every object around him was calculated to awaken, the + fond passion of his boyhood should rush back in full current to his heart? + He was himself surprised at this sudden revulsion of his feelings, but he + had acquired self-possession and could command them. His firmness, + however, was doomed to undergo a further trial. While seated by the object + of his secret devotions, with all these recollections throbbing in his + bosom, her infant daughter was brought into the room. At sight of the + child he started; it dispelled the last lingerings of his dream, and he + afterward confessed, that to repress his emotion at the moment, was the + severest part of his task. + </p> + <p> + The conflict of feelings that raged within his bosom, throughout this fond + and tender, yet painful and embarrassing visit, are touchingly depicted in + lines which he wrote immediately afterward, and which, though not + addressed to her by name, are evidently intended for the eye and the heart + of the fair lady of Annesley: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Well! thou art happy, and I feel + That I should thus be happy too; + For still my heart regards thy weal + Warmly, as it was wont to do. + + Thy husband’s blest—and ‘twill impart + Some pangs to view his happier lot: + But let them pass—Oh! how my heart + Would hate him, if he loved thee not! + + “When late I saw thy favorite child + I thought my jealous heart would break; + But when the unconscious infant smiled, + I kiss’d it for its mother’s sake. + + “I kiss’d it, and repress’d my sighs + Its father in its face to see; + But then it had its mother’s eyes, + And they were all to love and me. + + “Mary, adieu! I must away: + While thou art blest I’ll not repine; + But near thee I can never stay: + My heart would soon again be thine. + + “I deem’d that time, I deem’d that pride + Had quench’d at length my boyish flame + Nor knew, till seated by thy side, + My heart in all, save love, the same. + + “Yet I was calm: I knew the time + My breast would thrill before thy look; + But now to tremble were a crime— + We met, and not a nerve was shook. + + “I saw thee gaze upon my face, + Yet meet with no confusion there: + One only feeling could’st thou trace; + The sullen calmness of despair. + + “Away! away! my early dream + Remembrance never must awake: + Oh! where is Lethe’s fabled stream? + My foolish heart, be still, or break.” + </pre> + <p> + The revival of this early passion, and the melancholy associations which + it spread over those scenes in the neighborhood of Newstead, which would + necessarily be the places of his frequent resort while in England, are + alluded to by him as a principal cause of his first departure for the + Continent: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “When man expell’d from Eden’s bowers + A moment lingered near the gate, + Each scene recalled the vanish’d hours, + And bade him curse his future fate. + + “But wandering on through distant climes, + He learnt to bear his load of grief; + Just gave a sigh to other times, + And found in busier scenes relief. + + “Thus, Mary, must it be with me, + And I must view thy charms no more; + For, while I linger near to thee, + I sigh for all I knew before.” + </pre> + <p> + It was in the subsequent June that he set off on his pilgrimage by sea and + land, which was to become the theme of his immortal poem. That the image + of Mary Chaworth, as he saw and loved her in the days of his boyhood, + followed him to the very shore, is shown in the glowing stanzas addressed + to her on the eve of embarkation— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Tis done—and shivering in the gale + The bark unfurls her snowy sail; + And whistling o’er the bending mast, + Loud sings on high the fresh’ning blast; + And I must from this land be gone. + Because I cannot love but one. + + “And I will cross the whitening foam, + And I will seek a foreign home; + Till I forget a false fair face, + I ne’er shall find a resting place; + My own dark thoughts I cannot shun, + But ever love, and love but one. + + “To think of every early scene, + Of what we are, and what we’ve been, + Would whelm some softer hearts with woe— + But mine, alas! has stood the blow; + Yet still beats on as it begun, + And never truly loves but one. + + “And who that dear loved one may be + Is not for vulgar eyes to see, + And why that early love was cross’d, + Thou know’st the best, I feel the most; + But few that dwell beneath the sun + Have loved so long, and loved but one. + + “I’ve tried another’s fetters too, + With charms, perchance, as fair to view; + And I would fain have loved as well, + But some unconquerable spell + Forbade my bleeding breast to own + A kindred care for aught but one. + + “‘Twould soothe to take one lingering view, + And bless thee in my last adieu; + Yet wish I not those eyes to weep + For him who wanders o’er the deep; + His home, his hope, his youth are gone, + Yet still he loves, and loves but one.” + </pre> + <p> + The painful interview at Annesley Hall, which revived with such + intenseness his early passion, remained stamped upon his memory with + singular force, and seems to have survived all his “wandering through + distant climes,” to which he trusted as an oblivious antidote. Upward of + two years after that event, when, having made his famous pilgrimage, he + was once more an inmate of Newstead Abbey, his vicinity to Annesley Hall + brought the whole scene vividly before him, and he thus recalls it in a + poetic epistle to a friend— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I’ve seen my bride another’s bride,— + Have seen her seated by his side,— + Have seen the infant which she bore, + Wear the sweet smile the mother wore, + When she and I in youth have smiled + As fond and faultless as her child:— + Have seen her eyes, in cold disdain, + Ask if I felt no secret pain. + + “And I have acted well my part, + And made my cheek belie my heart, + Returned the freezing glance she gave, + Yet felt the while <i>that</i> woman’s slave;— + Have kiss’d, as if without design, + The babe which ought to have been mine, + And show’d, alas! in each caress, + Time had not made me love the less.” + </pre> + <p> + “It was about the time,” says Moore in his life of Lord Byron, “when he + was thus bitterly feeling and expressing the blight which his heart had + suffered from a <i>real</i> object of affection, that his poems on an + imaginary one, ‘Thyrza,’ were written.” He was at the same time grieving + over the loss of several of his earliest and dearest friends the + companions of his joyous school-boy hours. To recur to the beautiful + language of Moore, who writes with the kindred and kindling sympathies of + a true poet: “All these recollections of the young and the dead mingled + themselves in his mind with the image of her, who, though living, was for + him, as much lost as they, and diffused that general feeling of sadness + and fondness through his soul, which found a vent in these poems.... It + was the blending of the two affections in his memory and imagination, that + gave birth to an ideal object combining the best features of both, and + drew from him those saddest and tenderest of love poems, in which we find + all the depth and intensity of real feeling, touched over with such a + light as no reality ever wore.” + </p> + <p> + An early, innocent, and unfortunate passion, however fruitful of pain it + may be to the man, is a lasting advantage to the poet. It is a well of + sweet and bitter fancies; of refined and gentle sentiments; of elevated + and ennobling thoughts; shut up in the deep recesses of the heart, keeping + it green amidst the withering blights of the world, and, by its casual + gushings and overflowings, recalling at times all the freshness, and + innocence, and enthusiasm of youthful days. Lord Byron was conscious of + this effect, and purposely cherished and brooded over the remembrance of + his early passion, and of all the scenes of Annesley Hall connected with + it. It was this remembrance that attuned his mind to some of its most + elevated and virtuous strains, and shed an inexpressible grace and pathos + over his best productions. + </p> + <p> + Being thus put upon the traces of this little love-story, I cannot refrain + from threading them out, as they appear from time to time in various + passages of Lord Byron’s works. During his subsequent rambles in the East, + when time and distance had softened away his “early romance” almost into + the remembrance of a pleasing and tender dream, he received accounts of + the object of it, which represented her, still in her paternal Hall, among + her native bowers of Annesley, surrounded by a blooming and beautiful + family, yet a prey to secret and withering melancholy— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ——“In her home, + A thousand leagues from his,—her native home, + She dwelt, begirt with growing infancy, + Daughters and sons of beauty, but—behold! + Upon her face there was the tint of grief, + The settled shadow of an inward strife, + And an unquiet drooping of the eye, + <i>As if its lids were charged with unshed tears</i>.” + </pre> + <p> + For an instant the buried tenderness of early youth and the fluttering + hopes which accompanied it, seemed to have revived in his bosom, and the + idea to have flashed upon his mind that his image might be connected with + her secret woes—but he rejected the thought almost as soon as + formed. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “What could her grief be?—she had all she loved, + And he who had so loved her was not there + To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish, + Or ill repress’d affection, her pure thoughts. + What could her grief be?—she had loved him not, + Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved, + Nor could he be a part of that which prey’d + Upon her mind—a spectre of the past.” + </pre> + <p> + The cause of her grief was a matter of rural comment in the neighborhood + of Newstead and Annesley. It was disconnected from all idea of Lord Byron, + but attributed to the harsh and capricious conduct of one to whose + kindness and affection she had a sacred claim. The domestic sorrows which + had long preyed in secret on her heart, at length affected her intellect, + and the “bright morning star of Annesley” was eclipsed for ever. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The lady of his love,—oh! she was changed + As by the sickness of the soul; her mind + Had wandered from its dwelling, and her eyes, + They had not their own lustre, but the look + Which is not of the earth; she was become + The queen of a fantastic realm: but her thoughts + Were combinations of disjointed things; + And forms impalpable and unperceived + Of others’ sight, familiar were to hers. + And this the world calls frenzy.” + </pre> + <p> + Notwithstanding lapse of time, change of place, and a succession of + splendid and spirit-stirring scenes in various countries, the quiet and + gentle scene of his boyish love seems to have held a magic sway over the + recollections of Lord Byron, and the image of Mary Chaworth to have + unexpectedly obtruded itself upon his mind like some supernatural + visitation. Such was the fact on the occasion of his marriage with Miss + Milbanke; Annesley Hall and all its fond associations floated like a + vision before his thoughts, even when at the altar, and on the point of + pronouncing the nuptial vows. The circumstance is related by him with a + force and feeling that persuade us of its truth. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A change came o’er the spirit of my dream. + The wanderer was returned.—I saw him stand + Before an altar—with a gentle bride; + Her face was fair, but was not that which made + The star-light of his boyhood;—as he stood + Even at the altar, o’er his brow there came + The self-same aspect, and the quivering shock + That in the antique oratory shook + His bosom in its solitude; and then— + As in that hour—a moment o’er his face + The tablet of unutterable thoughts + Was traced,—and then it faded as it came, + And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke + The fitting vows, but beard not his own words, + And all things reel’d around him: he could see + Not that which was, nor that which should have been— + But the old mansion, and the accustomed hall, + And the remember’d chambers, and the place, + The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade, + All things pertaining to that place and hour, + And her who was his destiny, came back, + And thrust themselves between him and the light: + What business had they there at such a time?” + </pre> + <p> + The history of Lord Byron’s union is too well known to need narration. The + errors, and humiliations, and heart-burnings that followed upon it, gave + additional effect to the remembrance of his early passion, and tormented + him with the idea, that had he been successful in his suit to the lovely + heiress of Annesley, they might both have shared a happier destiny. In one + of his manuscripts, written long after his marriage, having accidentally + mentioned Miss Chaworth as “my M. A. C.” “Alas!” exclaims he, with a + sudden burst of feeling, “why do I say <i>my</i>? Our union would have + healed feuds in which blood had been shed by our fathers; it would have + joined lands broad and rich; it would have joined at least <i>one</i> + heart, and two persons not ill-matched in years-and—and—and—what + has been the result?” + </p> + <p> + But enough of Annesley Hall and the poetical themes connected with it. I + felt as if I could linger for hours about its ruined oratory, and silent + hall, and neglected garden, and spin reveries and dream dreams, until all + became an ideal world around me. The day, however, was fast declining, and + the shadows of evening throwing deeper shades of melancholy about the + place. Taking our leave of the worthy old housekeeper, therefore, with a + small compensation and many thanks for her civilities, we mounted our + horses and pursued our way back to Newstead Abbey. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LAKE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Before the mansion lay a lucid lake, + Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed + By a river, which its softened way did take + in currents through the calmer water spread + Around: the wild fowl nestled in the brake + And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed: + The woods sloped downward to its brink, and stood + With their green faces fixed upon the flood.” + </pre> + <p> + Such is Lord Byron’s description of one of a series of beautiful sheets of + water, formed in old times by the monks by damming up the course of a + small river. Here he used daily to enjoy his favorite recreations in + swimming and sailing. The “wicked old Lord,” in his scheme of rural + devastation, had cut down all the woods that once fringed the lake; Lord + Byron, on coming of age, endeavored to restore them, and a beautiful young + wood, planted by him, now sweeps up from the water’s edge, and clothes the + hillside opposite to the Abbey. To this woody nook Colonel Wildman has + given the appropriate title of “the Poet’s Corner.” + </p> + <p> + The lake has inherited its share of the traditions and fables connected + with everything in and about the Abbey. It was a petty Mediterranean sea + on which the “wicked old Lord” used to gratify his nautical tastes and + humors. He had his mimic castles and fortresses along its shores, and his + mimic fleets upon its waters, and used to get up mimic sea-fights. The + remains of his petty fortifications still awaken the curious inquiries of + visitors. In one of his vagaries, he caused a large vessel to be brought + on wheels from the sea-coast and launched in the lake. The country people + were surprised to see a ship thus sailing over dry land. They called to + mind a saying of Mother Shipton, the famous prophet of the vulgar, that + whenever a ship freighted with ling should cross Sherwood Forest, Newstead + would pass out of the Byron family. The country people, who detested the + old Lord, were anxious to verify the prophecy. Ling, in the dialect of + Nottingham, is the name for heather; with this plant they heaped the fated + bark as it passed, so that it arrived full freighted at Newstead. + </p> + <p> + The most important stories about the lake, however, relate to the + treasures that are supposed to lie buried in its bosom. These may have + taken their origin in a fact which actually occurred. There was one time + fished up from the deep part of the lake a great eagle of molten brass, + with expanded wings, standing on a pedestal or perch of the same metal. It + had doubtless served as a stand or reading-desk, in the Abbey chapel, to + hold a folio Bible or missal. + </p> + <p> + The sacred relic was sent to a brazier to be cleaned. As he was at work + upon it, he discovered that the pedestal was hollow and composed of + several pieces. Unscrewing these, he drew forth a number of parchment + deeds and grants appertaining to the Abbey, and bearing the seals of + Edward III. and Henry VIII., which had thus been concealed, and ultimately + sunk in the lake by the friars, to substantiate their right and title to + these domains at some future day. + </p> + <p> + One of the parchment scrolls thus discovered, throws rather an awkward + light upon the kind of life led by the friars of Newstead. It is an + indulgence granted to them for a certain number of months, in which + plenary pardon is assured in advance for all kinds of crimes, among which, + several of the most gross and sensual are specifically mentioned, and the + weakness of the flesh to which they are prone. + </p> + <p> + After inspecting these testimonials of monkish life, in the regions of + Sherwood Forest, we cease to wonder at the virtuous indignation of Robin + Hood and his outlaw crew, at the sleek sensualists of the cloister: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I never hurt the husbandman, + That use to till the ground, + Nor spill their blood that range the wood + To follow hawk and hound, + + “My chiefest spite to clergy is, + Who in these days bear sway; + With friars and monks with their fine spunks, + I make my chiefest prey.”—OLD BALLAD OF ROBIN HOOD. +</pre> + <p> + The brazen eagle has been transferred to the parochial and collegiate + church of Southall, about twenty miles from Newstead, where it may still + be seen in the centre of the chancel, supporting, as of yore, a ponderous + Bible. As to the documents it contained, they are carefully treasured up + by Colonel Wildman among his other deeds and papers, in an iron chest + secured by a patent lock of nine bolts, almost equal to a magic spell. + </p> + <p> + The fishing up of this brazen relic, as I have already hinted, has given + rise to the tales of treasure lying at the bottom of the lake, thrown in + there by the monks when they abandoned the Abbey. The favorite story is, + that there is a great iron chest there filled with gold and jewels, and + chalices and crucifixes. Nay, that it has been seen, when the water of the + lake was unusually low. There were large iron rings at each end, but all + attempts to move it were ineffectual; either the gold it contained was too + ponderous, or what is more probable, it was secured by one of those magic + spells usually laid upon hidden treasure. It remains, therefore, at the + bottom of the lake to this day; and it is to be hoped, may one day or + other be discovered by the present worthy proprietor. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROBIN HOOD AND SHERWOOD FOREST. + </h2> + <p> + While at Newstead Abbey I took great delight in riding and rambling about + the neighborhood, studying out the traces of merry Sherwood Forest, and + visiting the haunts of Robin Hood. The relics of the old forest are few + and scattered, but as to the bold outlaw who once held a kind of + freebooting sway over it, there is scarce a hill or dale, a cliff or + cavern, a well or fountain, in this part of the country, that is not + connected with his memory. The very names of some of the tenants on the + Newstead estate, such as Beardall and Hardstaff, sound as if they may have + been borne in old times by some of the stalwart fellows of the outlaw + gang. One of the earliest books that captivated my fancy when a child, was + a collection of Robin Hood ballads, “adorned with cuts,” which I bought of + an old Scotch pedler, at the cost of all my holiday money. How I devoured + its pages, and gazed upon its uncouth woodcuts! For a time my mind was + filled with picturings of “merry Sherwood,” and the exploits and revelling + of the hold foresters; and Robin Hood, Little John, Friar Tuck, and their + doughty compeers, were my heroes of romance. + </p> + <p> + These early feelings were in some degree revived when I found myself in + the very heart of the far-famed forest, and, as I said before, I took a + kind of schoolboy delight in hunting up all traces of old Sherwood and its + sylvan chivalry. One of the first of my antiquarian rambles was on + horseback, in company with Colonel Wildman and his lady, who undertook to + guide me to Borne of the moldering monuments of the forest. One of these + stands in front of the very gate of Newstead Park, and is known throughout + the country by the name of “The Pilgrim Oak.” It is a venerable tree, of + great size, overshadowing a wide arena of the road. Under its shade the + rustics of the neighborhood have been accustomed to assemble on certain + holidays, and celebrate their rural festivals. This custom had been handed + down from father to son for several generations, until the oak had + acquired a kind of sacred character. + </p> + <p> + The “old Lord Byron,” however, in whose eyes nothing was sacred, when he + laid his desolating hand on the groves and forests of Newstead, doomed + likewise this traditional tree to the axe. Fortunately the good people of + Nottingham heard of the danger of their favorite oak, and hastened to + ransom it from destruction. They afterward made a present of it to the + poet, when he came to the estate, and the Pilgrim Oak is likely to + continue a rural gathering place for many coming generations. + </p> + <p> + From this magnificent and time-honored tree we continued on our sylvan + research, in quest of another oak, of more ancient date and less + flourishing condition. A ride of two or three miles, the latter part + across open wastes, once clothed with forest, now bare and cheerless, + brought us to the tree in question. It was the Oak of Ravenshead, one of + the last survivors of old Sherwood, and which had evidently once held a + high head in the forest; it was now a mere wreck, crazed by time, and + blasted by lightning, and standing alone on a naked waste, like a ruined + column in a desert. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The scenes are desert now, and bare, + Where flourished once a forest fair, + When these waste glens with copse were lined, + And peopled with the hart and hind. + Yon lonely oak, would he could tell + The changes of his parent dell, + Since he, so gray and stubborn now, + Waved in each breeze a sapling bough. + Would he could tell how deep the shade + A thousand mingled branches made. + Here in my shade, methinks he’d say, + The mighty stag at noontide lay, + While doe, and roe, and red-deer good, + Hare bounded by through gay green-wood.” + </pre> + <p> + At no great distance from Ravenshead Oak is a small cave which goes by the + name of Robin Hood’s stable. It is in the breast of a hill, scooped out of + brown freestone, with rude attempt at columns and arches. Within are two + niches, which served, it is said, as stalls for the bold outlaw’s horses. + To this retreat he retired when hotly pursued by the law, for the place + was a secret even from his band. The cave is overshadowed by an oak and + alder, and is hardly discoverable even at the present day; but when the + country was overrun with forest it must have been completely concealed. + </p> + <p> + There was an agreeable wildness and loneliness in a great part of our + ride. Our devious road wound down, at one time among rocky dells, by + wandering streams, and lonely pools, haunted by shy water-fowl. We passed + through a skirt of woodland, of more modern planting, but considered a + legitimate offspring of the ancient forest, and commonly called Jock of + Sherwood. In riding through these quiet, solitary scenes, the partridge + and pheasant would now and then burst upon the wing, and the hare scud + away before us. + </p> + <p> + Another of these rambling rides in quest of popular antiquities, was to a + chain of rocky cliffs, called the Kirkby Crags, which skirt the Robin Hood + hills. Here, leaving my horse at the foot of the crags, I scaled their + rugged sides, and seated myself in a niche of the rocks, called Robin + Hood’s chair. It commands a wide prospect over the valley of Newstead, and + here the bold outlaw is said to have taken his seat, and kept a look-out + upon the roads below, watching for merchants, and bishops, and other + wealthy travellers, upon whom to pounce down, like an eagle from his + eyrie. + </p> + <p> + Descending from the cliffs and remounting my horse, a ride of a mile or + two further along a narrow “robber path,” as it was called, which wound up + into the hills between perpendicular rocks, led to an artificial cavern + cut in the face of a cliff, with a door and window wrought through the + living stone. This bears the name of Friar Tuck’s cell, or hermitage, + where, according to tradition, that jovial anchorite used to make good + cheer and boisterous revel with his freebooting comrades. + </p> + <p> + Such were some of the vestiges of old Sherwood and its renowned + “yeomandrie,” which I visited in the neighborhood of Newstead. The worthy + clergyman who officiated as chaplain at the Abbey, seeing my zeal in the + cause, informed me of a considerable tract of the ancient forest, still in + existence about ten miles distant. There were many fine old oaks in it, he + said, that had stood for centuries, but were now shattered and + “stag-headed,” that is to say, their upper branches were bare, and + blasted, and straggling out like the antlers of, a deer. Their trunks, + too, were hollow, and full of crows and jackdaws, who made them their + nestling places. He occasionally rode over to the forest in the long + summer evenings, and pleased himself with loitering in the twilight about + the green alleys and under the venerable trees. + </p> + <p> + The description given by the chaplain made me anxious to visit this + remnant of old Sherwood, and he kindly offered to be my guide and + companion. We accordingly sallied forth one morning on horseback on this + sylvan expedition. Our ride took us through a part of the country where + King John had once held a hunting seat; the ruins of which are still to be + seen. At that time the whole neighbor hood was an open royal forest, or + Frank chase, as it was termed; for King John was an enemy to parks and + warrens, and other inclosures, by which game was fenced in for the private + benefit and recreation of the nobles and the clergy. + </p> + <p> + Here, on the brow of a gentle hill, commanding an extensive prospect of + what had once been forest, stood another of those monumental trees, which, + to my mind, gave a peculiar interest to this neighborhood. It was the + Parliament Oak, so called in memory of an assemblage of the kind held by + King John beneath its shade. The lapse of upward of six centuries had + reduced this once mighty tree to a mere crumbling fragment, yet, like a + gigantic torso in ancient statuary, the grandeur of the mutilated trunk + gave evidence of what it had been in the days of its glory. In + contemplating its mouldering remains, the fancy busied itself in calling + up the scene that must have been presented beneath its shade, when this + sunny hill swarmed with the pageantry of a warlike and hunting court. When + silken pavilions and warrior-tents decked its crest, and royal standards, + and baronial banners, and knightly pennons rolled out to the breeze. When + prelates and courtiers, and steel-clad chivalry thronged round the person + of the monarch, while at a distance loitered the foresters in green, and + all the rural and hunting train that waited upon his sylvan sports. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘A thousand vassals mustered round + With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound; + And through the brake the rangers stalk, + And falc’ners hold the ready hawk; + And foresters in green-wood trim + Lead in the leash the greyhound grim.” + </pre> + <p> + Such was the phantasmagoria that presented itself for a moment to my + imagination, peopling the silent place before me with empty shadows of the + past. The reverie however was transient; king, courtier, and steel-clad + warrior, and forester in green, with horn, and hawk, and hound, all faded + again into oblivion, and I awoke to all that remained of this once + stirring scene of human pomp and power—a mouldering oak, and a + tradition. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “We are such stuff as dreams are made of!” + </pre> + <p> + A ride of a few miles farther brought us at length among the venerable and + classic shades of Sherwood, Here I was delighted to find myself in a + genuine wild wood, of primitive and natural growth, so rarely to be met + with in this thickly peopled and highly cultivated country. It reminded me + of the aboriginal forests of my native land. I rode through natural alleys + and green-wood groves, carpeted with grass and shaded by lofty and + beautiful birches. What most interested me, however, was to behold around + me the mighty trunks of veteran oaks, old monumental trees, the patriarchs + of Sherwood Forest. They were shattered, hollow, and moss-grown, it is + true, and their “leafy honors” were nearly departed; but like mouldering + towers they were noble and picturesque in their decay, and gave evidence, + even in their ruins, of their ancient grandeur. + </p> + <p> + As I gazed about me upon these vestiges of once “Merrie Sherwood,” the + picturings of my boyish fancy began to rise in my mind, and Robin Hood and + his men to stand before me. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He clothed himself in scarlet then, + His men were all in green; + A finer show throughout the world + In no place could be seen. + + “Good lord! it was a gallant sight + To see them all In a row; + With every man a good broad-sword + And eke a good yew bow.” + </pre> + <p> + The horn of Robin Hood again seemed to resound through the forest. I saw + this sylvan chivalry, half huntsmen, half freebooters, trooping across the + distant glades, or feasting and revelling beneath the trees; I was going + on to embody in this way all the ballad scenes that had delighted me when + a boy, when the distant sound of a wood-cutter’s axe roused me from my + day-dream. + </p> + <p> + The boding apprehensions which it awakened were too soon verified. I had + not ridden much farther, when I came to an open space where the work of + destruction was going on. Around me lay the prostrate trunks of venerable + oaks, once the towering and magnificent lords of the forest, and a number + of wood-cutters were hacking and hewing at another gigantic tree, just + tottering to its fall. + </p> + <p> + Alas! for old Sherwood Forest: it had fallen into the possession of a + noble agriculturist; a modern utilitarian, who had no feeling for poetry + or forest scenery. In a little while and this glorious woodland will be + laid low; its green glades be turned into sheep-walks; its legendary + bowers supplanted by turnip-fields; and “Merrie Sherwood” will exist but + in ballad and tradition. + </p> + <p> + “O for the poetical superstitions,” thought I, “of the olden time! that + shed a sanctity over every grove; that gave to each tree its tutelar + genius or nymph, and threatened disaster to all who should molest the + hamadryads in their leafy abodes. Alas! for the sordid propensities of + modern days, when everything is coined into gold, and this once holiday + planet of ours is turned into a mere ‘working-day world.’” + </p> + <p> + My cobweb fancies put to flight, and my feelings out of tune, I left the + forest in a far different mood from that in which I had entered it, and + rode silently along until, on reaching the summit of a gentle eminence, + the chime of evening bells came on the breeze across the heath from a + distant village. + </p> + <p> + I paused to listen. + </p> + <p> + “They are merely the evening bells of Mansfield,” said my companion. + </p> + <p> + “Of Mansfield!” Here was another of the legendary names of this storied + neighborhood, that called up early and pleasant associations. The famous + old ballad of the King and the Miller of Mansfield came at once to mind, + and the chime of the bells put me again in good humor. + </p> + <p> + A little farther on, and we were again on the traces of Robin Hood. Here + was Fountain Dale, where he had his encounter with that stalwart shaveling + Friar Tuck, who was a kind of saint militant, alternately wearing the + casque and the cowl: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The curtal fryar kept Fountain dale + Seven long years and more, + There was neither lord, knight or earl + Could make him yield before.” + </pre> + <p> + The moat is still shown which is said to have surrounded the stronghold of + this jovial and fighting friar; and the place where he and Robin Hood had + their sturdy trial of strength and prowess, in the memorable conflict + which lasted + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “From ten o’clock that very day + Until four in the afternoon,” + </pre> + <p> + and ended in the treaty of fellowship. As to the hardy feats, both of + sword and trencher, performed by this “curtal fryar,” behold are they not + recorded at length in the ancient ballads, and in the magic pages of + Ivanhoe? + </p> + <p> + The evening was fast coming on, and the twilight thickening, as we rode + through these haunts famous in outlaw story. A melancholy seemed to gather + over the landscape as we proceeded, for our course lay by shadowy woods, + and across naked heaths, and along lonely roads, marked by some of those + sinister names by which the country people in England are apt to make + dreary places still more dreary. The horrors of “Thieves’ Wood,” and the + “Murderers’ Stone,” and “the Hag Nook,” had all to be encountered in the + gathering gloom of evening, and threatened to beset our path with more + than mortal peril. Happily, however, we passed these ominous places + unharmed, and arrived in safety at the portal of Newstead Abbey, highly + satisfied with our green-wood foray. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ROOK CELL. + </h2> + <p> + In the course of my sojourn at the Abbey, I changed my quarters from the + magnificent old state apartment haunted by Sir John Byron the Little, to + another in a remote corner of the ancient edifice, immediately adjoining + the ruined chapel. It possessed still more interest in my eyes, from + having been the sleeping apartment of Lord Byron during his residence at + the Abbey. The furniture remained the same. Here was the bed in which he + slept, and which he had brought with him from college; its gilded posts + surmounted by coronets, giving evidence of his aristocratical feelings. + Here was likewise his college sofa; and about the walls were the portraits + of his favorite butler, old Joe Murray, of his fancy acquaintance, Jackson + the pugilist, together with pictures of Harrow School and the College at + Cambridge, at which he was educated. The bedchamber goes by the name of + the Book Cell, from its vicinity to the Rookery which, since time + immemorial, has maintained possession of a solemn grove adjacent to the + chapel. This venerable community afforded me much food for speculation + during my residence in this apartment. In the morning I used to hear them + gradually waking and seeming to call each other up. After a time, the + whole fraternity would be in a flutter; some balancing and swinging on the + tree tops, others perched on the pinnacle of the Abbey church, or wheeling + and hovering about in the air, and the ruined walls would reverberate with + their incessant cawings. In this way they would linger about the rookery + and its vicinity for the early part of the morning, when, having + apparently mustered all their forces, called over the roll, and determined + upon their line of march, they one and all would sail off in a long + straggling flight to maraud the distant fields. They would forage the + country for miles, and remain absent all day, excepting now and then a + scout would come home, as if to see that all was well. Toward night the + whole host might be seen, like a dark cloud in the distance, winging their + way homeward. They came, as it were, with whoop and halloo, wheeling high + in the air above the Abbey, making various evolutions before they + alighted, and then keeping up an incessant cawing in the tree tops, until + they gradually fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + It is remarked at the Abbey, that the rooks, though they sally forth on + forays throughout the week, yet keep about the venerable edifice on + Sundays, as if they had inherited a reverence for the day, from their + ancient confreres, the monks. Indeed, a believer in the metempsychosis + might easily imagine these Gothic-looking birds to be the embodied souls + of the ancient friars still hovering about their sanctified abode. + </p> + <p> + I dislike to disturb any point of popular and poetic faith, and was loath, + therefore, to question the authenticity of this mysterious reverence for + the Sabbath on the part of the Newstead rooks; but certainly in the course + of my sojourn in the Rook Cell, I detected them in a flagrant outbreak and + foray on a bright Sunday morning. + </p> + <p> + Beside the occasional clamor of the rookery, this remote apartment was + often greeted with sounds of a different kind, from the neighboring ruins. + The great lancet window in front of the chapel, adjoins the very wall of + the chamber; and the mysterious sounds from it at night have been well + described by Lord Byron: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +——“Now loud, now frantic, + The gale sweeps through its fretwork, and oft sings + The owl his anthem, when the silent quire + Lie with their hallelujahs quenched like fire. + + “But on the noontide of the moon, and when + The wind is winged from one point of heaven, + There moans a strange unearthly sound, which then + Is musical-a dying accent driven + Through the huge arch, which soars and sinks again. + Some deem it but the distant echo given + Back to the night wind by the waterfall, + And harmonized by the old choral wall. + + “Others, that some original shape or form, + Shaped by decay perchance, hath given the power + To this gray ruin, with a voice to charm. + Sad, but serene, it sweeps o’er tree or tower; + The cause I know not, nor can solve; but such + The fact:—I’ve heard it,—once perhaps too much.” + </pre> + <p> + Never was a traveller in quest of the romantic in greater luck. I had in + sooth, got lodged in another haunted apartment of the Abbey; for in this + chamber Lord Byron declared he had more than once been harassed at + midnight by a mysterious visitor. A black shapeless form would sit + cowering upon his bed, and after gazing at him for a time with glaring + eyes, would roll off and disappear. The same uncouth apparition is said to + have disturbed the slumbers of a newly married couple that once passed + their honeymoon in this apartment. + </p> + <p> + I would observe, that the access to the Rook Cell is by a spiral stone + staircase leading up into it, as into a turret, from, the long shadowy + corridor over the cloisters, one of the midnight walks of the Goblin + Friar. Indeed, to the fancies engendered in his brain in this remote and + lonely apartment, incorporated with the floating superstitions of the + Abbey, we are no doubt indebted for the spectral scene in “Don Juan.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Then as the night was clear, though cold, he threw + His chamber door wide open—and went forth + Into a gallery, of sombre hue, + Long furnish’d with old pictures of great worth, + Of knights and dames, heroic and chaste too, + As doubtless should be people of high birth. + + “No sound except the echo of his sigh + Or step ran sadly through that antique house, + When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh, + A supernatural agent—or a mouse, + Whose little nibbling rustle will embarrass + Most people, as it plays along the arras. + + “It was no mouse, but lo! a monk, arrayed + In cowl, and beads, and dusky garb, appeared, + Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade; + With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard; + His garments only a slight murmur made; + He moved as shadowy as the sisters weird, + But slowly; and as he passed Juan by + Glared, without pausing, on him a bright eye. + + “Juan was petrified; he had heard a hint + Of such a spirit in these halls of old, + But thought, like most men, there was nothing in’t + Beyond the rumor which such spots unfold, + Coin’d from surviving superstition’s mint, + Which passes ghosts in currency like gold, + But rarely seen, like gold compared with paper. + And did he see this? or was it a vapor? + + “Once, twice, thrice pass’d, repass’d—the thing of air, + Or earth beneath, or heaven, or t’other place; + And Juan gazed upon it with a stare, + Yet could not speak or move; but, on its base + As stauds a statue, stood: he felt his hair + Twine like a knot of snakes around his face; + He tax’d his tongue for words, which were not granted + To ask the reverend person what he wanted. + + “The third time, after a still longer pause, + The shadow pass’d away—but where? the hall + Was long, and thus far there was no great cause + To think its vanishing unnatural: + Doors there were many, through which, by the laws + Of physics, bodies, whether short or tall, + Might come or go; but Juan could not state + Through which the spectre seem’d to evaporate. + + “He stood, how long he knew not, but it seem’d + An age—expectant, powerless, with his eyes + Strain’d on the spot where first the figure gleam’d: + Then by degrees recall’d his energies, + And would have pass’d the whole off as a dream. + But could not wake; he was, he did surmise, + Waking already, and return’d at length + Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strength.” + </pre> + <p> + As I have already observed, it is difficult to determine whether Lord + Byron was really subject to the superstitious fancies which have been + imputed to him, or whether he merely amused himself by giving currency to + them among his domestics and dependents. He certainly never scrupled to + express a belief in supernatural visitations, both verbally and in his + correspondence. If such were his foible, the Rook Cell was an admirable + place to engender these delusions. As I have lain awake at night, I have + heard all kinds of mysterious and sighing sounds from the neighboring + ruin. Distant footsteps, too, and the closing of doors in remote parts of + the Abbey, would send hollow reverberations and echoes along the corridor + and up the spiral staircase. Once, in fact, I was roused by a strange + sound at the very door of my chamber. I threw it open, and a form “black + and shapeless with glaring eyes” stood before me. It proved, however, + neither ghost nor goblin, but my friend Boatswain, the great Newfoundland + dog, who had conceived a companionable liking for me, and occasionally + sought me in my apartment. To the hauntings of even such a visitant as + honest Boatswain may we attribute some of the marvellous stories about the + Goblin Friar. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LITTLE WHITE LADY. + </h2> + <p> + In the course of a morning’s ride with Colonel Wildman, about the Abbey + lands, we found ourselves in one of the prettiest little wild woods + imaginable. The road to it had led us among rocky ravines overhung with + thickets, and now wound through birchen dingles and among beautiful groves + and clumps of elms and beeches. A limpid rill of sparkling water, winding + and doubling in perplexed mazes, crossed our path repeatedly, so as to + give the wood the appearance of being watered by numerous rivulets. The + solitary and romantic look of this piece of woodland, and the frequent + recurrence of its mazy stream, put him in mind, Colonel Wildman said, of + the little German fairy tale of Undine, in which is recorded the + adventures of a knight who had married a water-nymph. As he rode with his + bride through her native woods, every stream claimed her as a relative; + one was a brother, another an uncle, another a cousin. We rode on amusing + ourselves with applying this fanciful tale to the charming scenery around + us, until we came to a lowly gray-stone farmhouse, of ancient date, + situated in a solitary glen, on the margin of the brook, and overshadowed + by venerable trees. It went by the name, as I was told, of the Weir Mill + farmhouse. With this rustic mansion was connected a little tale of real + life, some circumstances of which were related to me on the spot, and + others I collected in the course of my sojourn at the Abbey. + </p> + <p> + Not long after Colonel Wildman had purchased the estate of Newstead, he + made it a visit for the purpose of planning repairs and alterations. As he + was rambling one evening, about dusk, in company with his architect, + through this little piece of woodland, he was struck with its peculiar + characteristics, and then, for the first time, compared it to the haunted + wood of Undine. While he was making the remark, a small female figure in + white, flitted by without speaking a word, or indeed appearing to notice + them. Her step was scarcely heard as she passed, and her form was + indistinct in the twilight. + </p> + <p> + “What a figure for a fairy or sprite!” exclaimed Colonel Wildman. “How + much a poet or a romance writer would make of such an apparition, at such + a time and in such a place!” + </p> + <p> + He began to congratulate himself upon having some elfin inhabitant for his + haunted wood, when, on proceeding a few paces, he found a white frill + lying in the path, which had evidently fallen from the figure that had + just passed. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, “after all, this is neither sprite nor fairy, but a being + of flesh, and blood, and muslin.” + </p> + <p> + Continuing on, he came to where the road passed by an old mill in front of + the Abbey. The people of the mill were at the door. He paused and inquired + whether any visitor had been at the Abbey, but was answered in the + negative. + </p> + <p> + “Has nobody passed by here?” + </p> + <p> + “No one, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s strange! Surely I met a female in white, who must have passed + along this path.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir, you mean the Little White Lady—oh, yes, she passed by here + not long since.” + </p> + <p> + “The Little White Lady! And pray who is the Little White Lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, sir, that nobody knows; she lives in the Weir Mill farmhouse, down + in the skirts of the wood. She comes to the Abbey every morning, keeps + about it all day, and goes away at night. She speaks to nobody, and we are + rather shy of her, for we don’t know what to make of her.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Wildman now concluded that it was some artist or amateur employed + in making sketches of the Abbey, and thought no more about the matter. He + went to London, and was absent for some time. In the interim, his sister, + who was newly married, came with her husband to pass the honeymoon at the + Abbey. The Little White Lady still resided in the Weir Mill farmhouse, on + the border of the haunted wood, and continued her visits daily to the + Abbey. Her dress was always the same, a white gown with a little black + spencer or bodice, and a white hat with a short veil that screened the + upper part of her countenance. Her habits were shy, lonely, and silent; + she spoke to no one, and sought no companionship, excepting with the + Newfoundland dog that had belonged to Lord Byron. His friendship she + secured by caressing him and occasionally bringing him food, and he became + the companion of her solitary walks. She avoided all strangers, and + wandered about the retired parts of the garden; sometimes sitting for + hours by the tree on which Lord Byron had carved his name, or at the foot + of the monument which he had erected among the ruins of the chapel. + Sometimes she read, sometimes she wrote with a pencil on a small slate + which she carried with her, but much of her time was passed in a kind of + reverie. + </p> + <p> + The people about the place gradually became accustomed to her, and + suffered her to wander about unmolested; their distrust of her subsided on + discovering that most of her peculiar and lonely habits arose from the + misfortune of being deaf and dumb. Still she was regarded with some degree + of shyness, for it was the common opinion that she was not exactly in her + right mind. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Wildman’s sister was informed of all these circumstances by the + servants of the Abbey, among whom the Little White Lady was a theme of + frequent discussion. The Abbey and its monastic environs being haunted + ground, it was natural that a mysterious visitant of the kind, and one + supposed to be under the influence of mental hallucination, should inspire + awe in a person unaccustomed to the place. As Colonel Wildman’s sister was + one day walking along abroad terrace of the garden, she suddenly beheld + the Little White Lady coming toward her, and, in the surprise and + agitation of the moment, turned and ran into the house. Day after day now + elapsed, and nothing more was seen of this singular personage. Colonel + Wildman at length arrived at the Abbey, and his sister mentioned to him + her encounter and fright in the garden. It brought to mind his own + adventure with the Little White Lady in the wood of Undine, and he was + surprised to find that she still continued her mysterious wanderings about + the Abbey. The mystery was soon explained. Immediately after his arrival + he received a letter written in the most minute and delicate female hand, + and in elegant and even eloquent language. It was from the Little White + Lady. She had noticed and been shocked by the abrupt retreat of Colonel + Wildman’s sister on seeing her in the garden walk, and expressed her + unhappiness at being an object of alarm to any of his family. She + explained the motives of her frequent and long visits to the Abbey, which + proved to be a singularly enthusiastic idolatry of the genius of Lord + Byron, and a solitary and passionate delight in haunting the scenes he had + once inhabited. She hinted at the infirmities which cut her off from all + social communion with her fellow beings, and at her situation in life as + desolate and bereaved; and concluded by hoping that he would not deprive + her of her only comfort, the permission of visiting the Abbey + occasionally, and lingering about the walks and gardens. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Wildman now made further inquiries concerning her, and found that + she was a great favorite with the people of the farmhouse where she + boarded, from the gentleness, quietude, and innocence of her manners. When + at home, she passed the greater part of her time in a small sitting-room, + reading and writing. Colonel Wildman immediately called on her at the + farmhouse. She received him with some agitation and embarrassment, but his + frankness and urbanity soon put her at her ease. She was past the bloom of + youth, a pale, nervous little being, and apparently deficient in most of + her physical organs, for in addition to being deaf and dumb, she saw but + imperfectly. They carried on a communication by means of a small slate, + which she drew out of her reticule, and on which they wrote their + questions and replies. In writing or reading she always approached her + eyes close to the written characters. + </p> + <p> + This defective organization was accompanied by a morbid sensibility almost + amounting to disease. She had not been born deaf and dumb; but had lost + her hearing in a fit of sickness, and with it the power of distinct + articulation. Her life had evidently been checkered and unhappy; she was + apparently without family or friend, a lonely, desolate being, cut off + from society by her infirmities. + </p> + <p> + “I am always among strangers,” she said, “as much so in my native country + as I could be in the remotest parts of the world. By all I am considered + as a stranger and an alien; no one will acknowledge any connection with + me. I seem not to belong to the human species.” + </p> + <p> + Such were the circumstances that Colonel Wildman was able to draw forth in + the course of his conversation, and they strongly interested him in favor + of this poor enthusiast. He was too devout an admirer of Lord Byron + himself, not to sympathize in this extraordinary zeal of one of his + votaries, and he entreated her to renew her visits at the Abbey, assuring + her that the edifice and its grounds should always be open to her. + </p> + <p> + The Little White Lady now resumed her daily walks in the Monk’s Garden, + and her occasional seat at the foot of the monument; she was shy and + diffident, however, and evidently fearful of intruding. If any persons + were walking in the garden she would avoid them, and seek the most remote + parts; and was seen like a sprite, only by gleams and glimpses, as she + glided among the groves and thickets. Many of her feelings and fancies, + during these lonely rambles, were embodied in verse, noted down on her + tablet, and transferred to paper in the evening on her return to the + farmhouse. Some of these verses now lie before me, written with + considerable harmony of versification, but chiefly curious as being + illustrative of that singular and enthusiastic idolatry with which she + almost worshipped the genius of Byron, or rather, the romantic image of + him formed by her imagination. + </p> + <p> + Two or three extracts may not be unacceptable. The following are from a + long rhapsody addressed to Lord Byron: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “By what dread charm thou rulest the mind + It is not given for us to know; + We glow with feelings undefined, + Nor can explain from whence they flow. + + “Not that fond love which passion breathes + And youthful hearts inflame; + The soul a nobler homage gives, + And bows to thy great name. + + “Oft have we own’d the muses’ skill, + And proved the power of song, + But sweeter notes ne’er woke the thrill + That solely to thy verse belong. + + “This—but far more, for thee we prove, + Something that bears a holier name, + Than the pure dream of early love, + Or friendship’s nobler flame. + + “Something divine—Oh! what it is + Thy muse alone can tell, + So sweet, but so profound the bliss + We dread to break the spell.” + </pre> + <p> + This singular and romantic infatuation, for such it might truly be called, + was entirely spiritual and ideal, for, as she herself declares in another + of her rhapsodies, she had never beheld Lord Byron; he was, to her, a mere + phantom of the brain. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I ne’er have drunk thy glance—thy form + My earthly eye has never seen, + Though oft when fancy’s visions warm, + It greets me in some blissful dream. + + “Greets me, as greets the sainted seer + Some radiant visitant from high, + When heaven’s own strains break on his ear, + And wrap his soul in ecstasy.” + </pre> + <p> + Her poetical wanderings and musings were not confined to the Abbey + grounds, but extended to all parts of the neighborhood connected with the + memory of Lord Byron, and among the rest to the groves and gardens of + Annesley Hall, the seat of his early passion for Miss Chaworth. One of her + poetical effusions mentions her having seen from Howet’s Hill in Annesley + Park, a “sylph-like form,” in a car drawn by milk-white horses, passing by + the foot of the hill, who proved to be the “favorite child,” seen by Lord + Byron, in his memorable interview with Miss Chaworth after her marriage. + That favorite child was now a blooming girl approaching to womanhood, and + seems to have understood something of the character and story of this + singular visitant, and to have treated her with gentle sympathy. The + Little White Lady expresses, in touching terms, in a note to her verses, + her sense of this gentle courtesy. “The benevolent condescension,” says + she, “of that amiable and interesting young lady, to the unfortunate + writer of these simple lines will remain engraved upon a grateful memory, + till the vital spark that now animates a heart that too sensibly feels, + and too seldom experiences such kindness, is forever extinct.” + </p> + <p> + In the mean time, Colonel Wildman, in occasional interviews, had obtained + further particulars of the story of the stranger, and found that poverty + was added to the other evils of her forlorn and isolated state. Her name + was Sophia Hyatt. She was the daughter of a country bookseller, but both + her parents had died several years before. At their death, her sole + dependence was upon her brother, who allowed her a small annuity on her + share of the property left by their father, and which remained in his + hands. Her brother, who was a captain of a merchant vessel, removed with + his family to America, leaving her almost alone in the world, for she had + no other relative in England but a cousin, of whom she knew almost + nothing. She received her annuity regularly for a time, but unfortunately + her brother died in the West Indies, leaving his affairs in confusion, and + his estate overhung by several commercial claims, which threatened to + swallow up the whole. Under these disastrous circumstances, her annuity + suddenly ceased; she had in vain tried to obtain a renewal of it from the + widow, or even an account of the state of her brother’s affairs. Her + letters for three years past had remained unanswered, and she would have + been exposed to the horrors of the most abject want, but for a pittance + quarterly doled out to her by her cousin in England. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Wildman entered with characteristic benevolence into the story of + her troubles. He saw that she was a helpless, unprotected being, unable, + from her infirmities and her ignorance of the world, to prosecute her just + claims. He obtained from her the address of her relations in America, and + of the commercial connection of her brother; promised, through the medium + of his own agents in Liverpool, to institute an inquiry into the situation + of her brother’s affairs, and to forward any letters she might write, so + as to insure their reaching their place of destination. + </p> + <p> + Inspired with some faint hopes, the Little White Lady continued her + wanderings about the Abbey and its neighborhood. The delicacy and timidity + of her deportment increased the interest already felt for her by Mrs. + Wildman. That lady, with her wonted kindness, sought to make acquaintance + with her, and inspire her with confidence. She invited her into the Abbey; + treated her with the most delicate attention, and, seeing that she had a + great turn for reading, offered her the loan of any books in her + possession. She borrowed a few, particularly the works of Sir Walter + Scott, but soon returned them; the writings of Lord Byron seemed to form + the only study in which she delighted, and when not occupied in reading + those, her time was passed in passionate meditations on his genius. Her + enthusiasm spread an ideal world around her in which she moved and existed + as in a dream, forgetful at times of the real miseries which beset her in + her mortal state. + </p> + <p> + One of her rhapsodies is, however, of a very melancholy cast; anticipating + her own death, which her fragile frame and growing infirmities rendered + but too probable. It is headed by the following paragraph. + </p> + <p> + “Written beneath the tree on Crowholt Hill, where it is my wish to be + interred (if I should die in Newstead).” + </p> + <p> + I subjoin a few of the stanzas: they are addressed to Lord Byron: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Thou, while thou stand’st beneath this tree, + While by thy foot this earth is press’d, + Think, here the wanderer’s ashes be— + And wilt thou say, sweet be thy rest! + + “‘Twould add even to a seraph’s bliss, + Whose sacred charge thou then may be, + To guide—to guard—yes, Byron! yes, + That glory is reserved for me.” + + “If woes below may plead above + A frail heart’s errors, mine forgiven, + To that ‘high world’ I soar, where ‘love + Surviving’ forms the bliss of Heaven. + + “O wheresoe’er, in realms above, + Assign’d my spirit’s new abode, + ‘Twill watch thee with a seraph’s love, + Till thou too soar’st to meet thy God. + + “And here, beneath this lonely tree— + Beneath the earth thy feet have press’d, + My dust shall sleep—once dear to thee + These scenes—here may the wanderer rest!” + </pre> + <p> + In the midst of her reveries and rhapsodies, tidings reached Newstead of + the untimely death of Lord Byron. How they were received by this humble + but passionate devotee I could not ascertain; her life was too obscure and + lonely to furnish much personal anecdote, but among her poetical effusions + are several written in a broken and irregular manner, and evidently under + great agitation. + </p> + <p> + The following sonnet is the most coherent and most descriptive of her + peculiar state of mind: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Well, thou art gone—but what wert thou to me? + I never saw thee—never heard thy voice, + Yet my soul seemed to claim affiance with thee. + The Roman bard has sung of fields Elysian, + Where the soul sojourns ere she visits earth; + Sure it was there my spirit knew thee, Byron! + Thine image haunted me like a past vision; + It hath enshrined itself in my heart’s core; + ‘Tis my soul’s soul—it fills the whole creation. + For I do live but in that world ideal + Which the muse peopled with her bright fancies, + And of that world thou art a monarch real, + Nor ever earthly sceptre ruled a kingdom, + With sway so potent as thy lyre, the mind’s dominion.” + </pre> + <p> + Taking all the circumstances here adduced into consideration, it is + evident that this strong excitement and exclusive occupation of the mind + upon one subject, operating upon a system in a high state of morbid + irritability, was in danger of producing that species of mental + derangement called monomania. The poor little being was aware, herself, of + the dangers of her case, and alluded to it in the following passage of a + letter to Colonel Wildman, which presents one of the most lamentable + pictures of anticipated evil ever conjured up by the human mind. + </p> + <p> + “I have long,” writes she, “too sensibly felt the decay of my mental + faculties, which I consider as the certain indication of that dreaded + calamity which I anticipate with such terror. A strange idea has long + haunted my mind, that Swift’s dreadful fate will be mine. It is not + ordinary insanity I so much apprehend, but something worse—absolute + idiotism! + </p> + <p> + “O sir! think what I must suffer from such an idea, without an earthly + friend to look up to for protection in such a wretched state—exposed + to the indecent insults which such spectacles always excite. But I dare + not dwell upon the thought: it would facilitate the event I so much dread, + and contemplate with horror. Yet I cannot help thinking from people’s + behavior to me at times, and from after reflections upon my conduct, that + symptoms of the disease are already apparent.” + </p> + <p> + Five months passed away, but the letters written by her, and forwarded by + Colonel Wildman to America relative to her brother’s affairs, remained + unanswered; the inquiries instituted by the Colonel had as yet proved + equally fruitless. A deeper gloom and despondency now seemed to gather + upon her mind. She began to talk of leaving Newstead, and repairing to + London, in the vague hope of obtaining relief or redress by instituting + some legal process to ascertain and enforce the will of her deceased + brother. Weeks elapsed, however, before she could summon up sufficient + resolution to tear herself away from the scene of poetical fascination. + The following simple stanzas, selected from a number written about the + time, express, in humble rhymes, the melancholy that preyed upon her + spirits: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Farewell to thee, Newstead, thy time-riven towers, + Shall meet the fond gaze of the pilgrim no more; + No more may she roam through thy walks and thy bowers. + Nor muse in thy cloisters at eve’s pensive hour. + + “Oh, how shall I leave you, ye hills and ye dales, + When lost in sad musing, though sad not unblest, + A lone pilgrim I stray—Ah! in these lonely vales, + I hoped, vainly hoped, that the pilgrim might rest. + + “Yet rest is far distant—in the dark vale of death, + Alone I shall find it, an outcast forlorn— + But hence vain complaints, though by fortune bereft + Of all that could solace in life’s early morn. + + Is not man from his birth doomed a pilgrim to roam + O’er the world’s dreary wilds, whence by fortune’s rude gust. + In his path, if some flowret of joy chanced to bloom, + It is torn and its foliage laid low in the dust.” + </pre> + <p> + At length she fixed upon a day for her departure. On the day previous, she + paid a farewell visit to the Abbey; wandering over every part of the + grounds and garden; pausing and lingering at every place particularly + associated with the recollection of Lord Byron; and passing a long time + seated at the foot of the monument, which she used to call “her altar.” + Seeking Mrs. Wildman, she placed in her hands a sealed packet, with an + earnest request that she would not open it until after her departure from + the neighborhood. This done she took an affectionate leave of her, and + with many bitter tears bade farewell to the Abbey. + </p> + <p> + On retiring to her room that evening, Mrs. Wildman could not refrain from + inspecting the legacy of this singular being. On opening the packet, she + found a number of fugitive poems, written in a most delicate and minute + hand, and evidently the fruits of her reveries and meditations during her + lonely rambles; from these the foregoing extracts have been made. These + were accompanied by a voluminous letter, written with the pathos and + eloquence of genuine feeling, and depicting her peculiar situation and + singular state of mind in dark but painful colors. + </p> + <p> + “The last time,” says she, “that I had the pleasure of seeing you, in the + garden, you asked me why I leave Newstead; when I told you my + circumstances obliged me, the expression of concern which I fancied I + observed in your look and manner would have encouraged me to have been + explicit at the time, but from my inability of expressing myself + verbally.” + </p> + <p> + She then goes on to detail precisely her pecuniary circumstances, by which + it appears that her whole dependence for subsistence was on an allowance + of thirteen pounds a year from her cousin, who bestowed it through a + feeling of pride, lest his relative should come upon the parish. During + two years this pittance had been augmented from other sources, to + twenty-three pounds, but the last year it had shrunk within its original + bounds, and was yielded so grudgingly, that she could not feel sure of its + continuance from one quarter to another. More than once it had been + withheld on slight pretences, and she was in constant dread lest it should + be entirely withdrawn. + </p> + <p> + “It is with extreme reluctance,” observed she, “that I have so far exposed + my unfortunate situation; but I thought you expected to know something + more of it, and I feared that Colonel Wildman, deceived by appearances, + might think that I am in no immediate want, and that the delay of a few + weeks, or months, respecting the inquiry, can be of no material + consequence. It is absolutely necessary to the success of the business + that Colonel Wildman should know the exact state of my circumstances + without reserve, that he may be enabled to make a correct representation + of them to any gentleman whom he intends to interest, who, I presume, if + they are not of America themselves, have some connections there, through + whom my friends may be convinced of the reality of my distress, if they + pretend to doubt it, as I suppose they do. But to be more explicit is + impossible; it would be too humiliating to particularize the circumstances + of the embarrassment in which I am unhappily involved—my utter + destitution. To disclose all might, too, be liable to an inference which I + hope I am not so void of delicacy, of natural pride, as to endure the + thought of. Pardon me, madam, for thus giving trouble, where I have no + right to do—compelled to throw myself upon Colonel Wildman’s + humanity, to entreat his earnest exertions in my behalf, for it is now my + only resource. Yet do not too much despise me for thus submitting to + imperious necessity—it is not love of life, believe me it is not, + nor anxiety for its preservation. I cannot say, ‘There are things that + make the world dear to me,’—for in the world there is not an object + to make me wish to linger here another hour, could I find that rest and + peace in the grave which I have never found on earth, and I fear will be + denied me there.” + </p> + <p> + Another part of her letter develops more completely the dark despondency + hinted at in the conclusion of the foregoing extract—and presents a + lamentable instance of a mind diseased, which sought in vain, amidst + sorrow and calamity, the sweet consolations of religious faith. + </p> + <p> + “That my existence has hitherto been prolonged,” says she, “often beyond + what I have thought to have been its destined period, is astonishing to + myself. Often when my situation has been as desperate, as hopeless, or + more so, if possible, than it is at present, some unexpected interposition + of Providence has rescued me from a fate that has appeared inevitable. I + do not particularly allude to recent circumstances or latter years, for + from my earlier years I have been the child of Providence—then why + should I distrust its care now? I do not <i>dis</i>trust it—neither + do I trust it. I feel perfectly unanxious, unconcerned, and indifferent as + to the future; but this is not trust in Providence—not that trust + which alone claims it protections. I know this is a blamable indifference—it + is more—for it reaches to the interminable future. It turns almost + with disgust from the bright prospects which religion offers for the + consolation and support of the wretched, and to which I was early taught, + by an almost adored mother, to look forward with hope and joy; but to me + they can afford no consolation. Not that I doubt the sacred truths that + religion inculcates. I cannot doubt—though I confess I have + sometimes tried to do so, because I no longer wish for that immortality of + which it assures us. My only wish now is for rest and peace—endless + rest. ‘For rest—but not to feel ’tis rest,’ but I cannot delude + myself with the hope that such rest will be my lot. I feel an internal + evidence, stronger than any arguments that reason or religion can enforce, + that I have that within me which is imperishable; that drew not its origin + from the ‘clod of the valley.’ With this conviction, but without a hope to + brighten the prospect of that dread future: + </p> + <p> + “‘I dare not look beyond the tomb, Yet cannot hope for peace before.’ Such + an unhappy frame of mind, I am sure, madam, must excite your + commiseration. It is perhaps owing, in part at least, to the solitude in + which I have lived, I may say, even in the midst of society; when I have + mixed in it; as my infirmities entirely exclude me from that sweet + intercourse of kindred spirits—that sweet solace of refined + conversation; the little intercourse I have at any time with those around + me cannot be termed conversation—they are not kindred spirits—and + even where circumstances have associated me (but rarely indeed) with + superior and cultivated minds, who have not disdained to admit me to their + society, they could not by all their generous efforts, even in early + youth, lure from my dark soul the thoughts that loved to lie buried there, + nor inspire me with the courage to attempt their disclosure; and yet of + all the pleasures of polished life which fancy has often pictured to me in + such vivid colors, there is not one that I have so ardently coveted as + that sweep reciprocation of ideas, the supreme bliss of enlightened minds + in the hour of social converse. But this I knew was not decreed for me— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Yet this was in my nature—’ +</pre> + <p> + but since the loss of my hearing I have always been incapable of verbal + conversation. I need not, however, inform you, madam, of this. At the + first interview with which you favored me, you quickly discovered my + peculiar unhappiness in this respect; you perceived from my manner that + any attempt to draw me into conversation would be in vain—had it + been otherwise, perhaps you would not have disdained now and then to have + soothed the lonely wanderer with yours. I have sometimes fancied when I + have seen you in the walk, that you seemed to wish to encourage me to + throw myself in your way. Pardon me if my imagination, too apt to beguile + me with such dear illusions, has deceived me into too presumptuous an idea + here. You must have observed that I generally endeavored to avoid both you + and Colonel Wildman. It was to spare your generous hearts the pain of + witnessing distress you could not alleviate. Thus cut off, as it were, + from all human society, I have been compelled to live in a world of my + own, and certainly with the beings with which my world is peopled, I am at + no loss to converse. But, though I love solitude and am never in want of + subjects to amuse my fancy, yet solitude too much indulged in must + necessarily have an unhappy effect upon the mind, which, when left to seek + for resources wholly within itself will, unavoidably, in hours of gloom + and despondency, brood over corroding thoughts that prey upon the spirits, + and sometimes terminate in confirmed misanthropy—especially with + those who, from constitution, or early misfortunes, are inclined to + melancholy, and to view human nature in its dark shades. And have I not + cause for gloomy reflections? The utter loneliness of my lot would alone + have rendered existence a curse to one whom nature has formed glowing with + all the warmth of social affection, yet without an object on which to + place it—without one natural connection, one earthly friend to + appeal to, to shield me from the contempt, indignities, and insults, to + which my deserted situation continually exposed me.” + </p> + <p> + I am giving long extracts from this letter, yet I cannot refrain from + subjoining another letter, which depicts her feelings with respect to + Newstead. + </p> + <p> + “Permit me, madame, again to request your and Colonel Wildman’s acceptance + of these acknowledgments which I cannot too often repeat, for your + unexampled goodness to a rude stranger. I know I ought not to have taken + advantage of your extreme good nature so frequently as I have. I should + have absented myself from your garden during the stay of the company at + the Abbey, but, as I knew I must be gone long before they would leave it, + I could not deny myself the indulgence, as you so freely gave me your + permission to continue my walks, but now they are at an end. I have taken + my last farewell of every dear and interesting spot, which I now never + hope to see again, unless my disembodied spirit may be permitted to + revisit them.—Yet O! if Providence should enable me again to support + myself with any degree of respectability, and you should grant me some + little humble shed, with what joy shall I return and renew my delightful + rambles. But dear as Newstead is to me, I will never again come under the + same unhappy circumstances as I have this last time—never without + the means of at least securing myself from contempt. How dear, how very + dear Newstead is to me, how unconquerable the infatuation that possesses + me, I am now going to give a too convincing proof. In offering to your + acceptance the worthless trifles that will accompany this, I hope you will + believe that I have no view to your amusement. I dare not hope that the + consideration of their being the products of your own garden, and most of + them written there, in my little tablet, while sitting at the foot of <i>my + Altar</i>—I could not, I cannot resist the earnest desire of leaving + this memorial of the many happy hours I have there enjoyed. Oh! do not + reject them, madam; suffer them to remain with you, and if you should + deign to honor them with a perusal, when you read them repress, if you + can, the smile that I know will too naturally arise, when you recollect + the appearance of the wretched being who has dared to devote her whole + soul to the contemplation of such more than human excellence. Yet, + ridiculous as such devotion may appear to some, I must take leave to say, + that if the sentiments which I have entertained for that exalted being + could be duly appreciated, I trust they would be found to be of such a + nature as is no dishonor even for him to have inspired.”... + </p> + <p> + “I am now coming to take a last, last view of scenes too deeply impressed + upon my memory ever to be effaced even by madness itself. O madam! may you + never know, nor be able to conceive the agony I endure in tearing myself + from all that the world contains of dear and sacred to me: the only spot + on earth where I can ever hope for peace or comfort. May every blessing + the world has to bestow attend you, or rather, may you long, long live in + the enjoyment of the delights of your own paradise, in secret seclusion + from a world that has no real blessings to bestow. Now I go—but O + might I dare to hope that when you are enjoying these blissful scenes, a + thought of the unhappy wanderer might sometimes cross your mind, how + soothing would such an idea be, if I dared to indulge it—could you + see my heart at this moment, how needless would it be to assure you of the + respectful gratitude, the affectionate esteem, this heart must ever bear + you both.” + </p> + <p> + The effect of this letter upon the sensitive heart of Mrs. Wildman may be + more readily conceived than expressed. Her first impulse was to give a + home to this poor homeless being, and to fix her in the midst of those + scenes which formed her earthly paradise. She communicated her wishes to + Colonel Wildman, and they met with an immediate response in his generous + bosom. It was settled on the spot, that an apartment should be fitted up + for the Little White Lady in one of the new farmhouses, and every + arrangement made for her comfortable and permanent maintenance on the + estate. With a woman’s prompt benevolence, Mrs. Wildman, before she laid + her head upon her pillow, wrote the following letter to the destitute + stranger: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“NEWSTEAD ABBEY, + “Tuesday night, September 20, 1825. +</pre> + <p> + “On retiring to my bedchamber this evening I have opened your letter, and + cannot lose a moment in expressing to you the strong interest which it has + excited both in Colonel Wildman and myself, from the details of your + peculiar situation, and the delicate, and, let me add, elegant language in + which they are conveyed. I am anxious that my note should reach you + previous to your departure from this neighborhood, and should be truly + happy if, by any arrangement for your accommodation, I could prevent the + necessity of your undertaking the journey. Colonel Wildman begs me to + assure you that he will use his best exertions in the investigation of + those matters which you have confided to him, and should you remain here + at present, or return again after a short absence, I trust we shall find + means to become better acquainted, and to convince you of the interest I + feel, and the real satisfaction it would afford me to contribute in any + way to your comfort and happiness. I will only now add my thanks for the + little packet which I received with your letter, and I must confess that + the letter has so entirely engaged my attention, that I have not as yet + had time for the attentive perusal of its companion. + </p> + <p> + Believe me, dear madam, with sincere good wishes, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Yours truly, + “LOUISA WILDMAN.” + </pre> + <p> + Early the next morning a servant was dispatched with the letter to the + Weir Mill farm, but returned with the information that the Little White + Lady had set off, before his arrival, in company with the farmer’s wife, + in a cart for Nottingham, to take her place in the coach for London. Mrs. + Wildman ordered him to mount horse instantly, follow with all speed, and + deliver the letter into her hand before the departure of the coach. + </p> + <p> + The bearer of good tidings spared neither whip nor spur, and arrived at + Nottingham on a gallop. On entering the town, a crowd obstructed him in + the principal street. He checked his horse to make his way through it + quietly. As the crowd opened to the right and left, he beheld a human body + lying on the pavement.—It was the corpse of the Little White Lady! + </p> + <p> + It seems that on arriving in town and dismounting from the cart, the + farmer’s wife had parted with her to go on an errand, and the White Lady + continued on toward the coach-office. In crossing a street a cart came + along, driven at a rapid rate. The driver called out to her, but she was + too deaf to hear his voice or the rattling of his cart. In an instant she + was knocked down by the horse, and the wheels passed over her body, and + she died without a groan. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey, by Washington Irving + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABBOTSFORD AND NEWSTEAD ABBEY *** + +***** This file should be named 7948-h.htm or 7948-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/4/7948/ + +Etext produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Tiffany Vergon, Charles +Franks, and the Online Distributed Proofreaders Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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