Walpole, who had visited Newstead, gives, in his usual bitter, sarcastic manner, the following account of it: said to have hurled his lady in one of his fits of the place, I looked in vain for some indication fury, whence she was rescued by the gardener, a of the Abbey. Nothing is seen but a thick courageous blade, who was his lord's master, and plantation of young larch and firs, bordering the chastised him for his barbarity. There still, at road, until you arrive at the Hut, a small publicthe end of the garden, in a grove of oak, two house by the way-side. Nearly opposite to this towering satyrs, he with his goat and club, and is a plain white gate, without lodges, opening Mrs Satyr with her chubby cloven-footed brat, into the park; before stands a fine, spreading oak, placed on pedestals at the intersections of the one of the few remaining trees of Sherwood fonarrow and gloomy pathways, struck for a mo- rest, the famous haunt of Robin Hood and his ment with their grim visages, and silent shaggy | associates, which once covered all this part of forms, the fear into your bosom which is felt by the county, and whose centre was about the dothe neighbouring peasantry at th'oud laird's main of Newstead. To this oak, the only one of devils.' I have frequently asked the country any size on the estate, Byron was very partial. It people near Newstead, what sort of a man his is pretty well known that his great-uncle (to whom lordship (our Lord Byron) was. The impression he succeeded) cut down almost all the valuable of his eccentric but energetic character was evi- timber, so that when Byron came into possession dent in the reply, He's the devil of a fellow of the estate, and indeed the whole time he had for comical fancies. He flogs th'oud laird to no-it, it presented a very bare and desolate appearthing; but he's a hearty good fellow for all ance. The soil is very poor, and fit only for that.'" the growth of larch and firs; and of these upwards of 700 acres have been planted. Byron could not afford the first outlay which was necessary in order ultimately to increase its worth, so that, as long as he held it, the rental did not exceed 1,300l. a-year. From the gate to the Abbey is a mile. The carriage-road runs straight for about 300 yards through the plantations, when it takes a sudden turn to the right; and on returning to the left, a beautiful and extensive view over the valley and distant hills is opened, with the turrets of the Abbey rising among the dark trees beneath. To the right of the Abbey is perceived a tower on a hill, in the midst of a grove of firs. From this part the road winds gently to the left, till it reaches the Abbey, which is approached on the north side : it lies in a valley, very low, sheltered to the north and west by rising ground, and to the south enjoying a fine prospect over an undulating vale. A more secluded spot could hardly have been chosen for the pious purposes to which it was devoted. To the north and east is a garden walled in : and to the west the upper lake. On the west side the mansion is without any enclosure or garden-drive, and can therefore be approached by any person passing through the park. In this open space is the ancient fountain or cistern of the convent, covered with grotesque carvings, and having water still running into a basin. The old church window, which, in an architectural point of view, is most deserving of observation, is nearly entire, and adjoins the north-west corner of the Abbey. As I returned I saw Newstead and Althorp; I like both. The former is the very abbey. The great east window of the church remains, and connects with the house; the hall entire, the refectory entire, the cloister untouched, with the ancient cistern of the convent, and their arms on it: it has a private chapel quite perfect. The park, which is still charming, has not been so much unprofaned. The present lord has lost large sums, and paid part in old oaks, five thousand pounds worth of which have been cut near En revanche, he has built two baby forts, to pay his country in castles for damage done to the navy, and planted a handful of Scotch firs, that look like ploughboys dressed in old family liveries for a public day. In the hall is a very good collection of pictures, all animals. The refectory, now the great drawing-room, is full of Byrons: the vaulted roof remaining, but the windows have new dresses making for them by a Venetian tailor."> the house. The following detailed description of Byron's paternal abode is extracted from « A Visit to Newstead Abbey, in 1828,» in the London Literary Gazette: It was on the noon of a cold, bleak day in February, that I set out to visit the memorable Abbey of Newstead, once the property and abode of the immortal Byron. The gloomy state of the weather, and the dreary aspect of the surround-Through the iron gate which opens into the garing country, produced impressions more appropriate to the view of such a spot than the cheerful season and scenery of summer. The estate lies on the left hand side of the high north road, eight miles beyond Nottingham; but, as I approached den under the arch, is seen the dog's tomb : it is on the north side, upon a raised ground, and surrounded by steps. The verses inscribed on one side of the pedestal are well known; but the lines preceding them are not so-they run thus: Near this spot Are deposited the remains of one Who possessed beauty without vanity, And all the virtues of man without his vices. Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, a upon which are inscribed those splendid verses :-Start not, nor deem my spirit fled, etc. People often suppose, from the name, that the Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, not at all—there is nothing whatever startling in The whole edifice is a quadrangle, enclosing court, with a reservoir and jet d'eau in the middle, and the cloister, still eutire, running round the four sides. The south, now the principal front, looks over a pleasure garden to a small lake, which has been opened from the upper one since Byron's time. The entrance door is on the west, in a small vestibule, and has nothing remarkable in it. On entering, I came into a large stone hall, and turning to the left, went through it to a smaller; beyond which is the staircase. The whole of this part has been almost entirely rebuilt by Colonel Wildman: indeed, during Byron's occuparon's study, now used as a temporary dining-room, tion, the only habitable rooms were some small the entire furniture of which is the same that ones in the south-east angle. Over the cloister, on the four sides of the building, runs the gallery, ordinary. A good painting of a battle, over the was used by him it is all very plain-indeed, from which doors open into various apartments, sideboard, was also his. This apartment, pernow fitted up with taste and elegance for the ac-haps beyond all others, deserves the attention commodation of a family, but then empty, and of the pilgrim to Newstead, as more intimately fast going to decay. In one of the galleries hang connected with the poetical existence of Byron. two oil paintings of dogs, as large as life: one a It was here that he prepared for the press those red wol-dog, and the other a black Newfound- first effusions of his genius, which were published land with white legs — the celebrated Boatswain. at Newark under the title of « Hours of idleness.» They both died at Newstead. Of the latter By- It was here that he meditated, planned, and for ron felt the loss as of a dear friend. These are the most part wrote, that splendid retort to the almost the only paintings of Byron's that re- severe critique they had called down, which main at the Abbey.—From the gallery I entered stamped him as the kecnest satirist of the day. the refectory, now the grand drawing-room- And it was here that his tender and beautiful an apartment of great dimensions, facing south, verses to Mary, and many of those sweet pieces with a fiue vaulted roof and polished oak found among his miscellaneous poems, were comfloor, and splendidly furnished in the modern posed. His bed-room is small, and still remains style. The walls are covered with full-length in the same state as when he occupied it. It conportraits, of the old school. As this room has taius little worthy of notice besides the bed, been made fit for use entirely since the days of which is of common size, with gilt posts, surmounByron, there are not those associations connected ted by coronets. Over the fire-place is a picture with it which are to be found in many of the of Murray the old family servant, who accompanied others, though of inferior appearance. Two ob- Byron to Gibraltar when he first went abroad. jects there are, however, which demand obser- A picture of Henry VIII, and another portrait vation. The first that caught my attention was in this room, complete the enumeration of all the the portrait of Byron, by Phillips, over the fire-furniture or paintings of Byron's remaining at the place, upon which I gazed with strong feelings: Abbey. In some of the rooms are very cu it is certainly the handsomest and most pleasing likeness of him I have seen. The other is a thing about which every body has heard, and of which few have any just idea. In a cabinet at the end carefully preserved and concealed in a sliding-case, is kept the celebrated skull cup, of the room, riously carved mantel-pieces with grotesque figures, evidently of old date. In a corner of one of the galleries there still remained the fencingfoils, gloves, masks, and single-sticks, he used in his youth; and in a corner of the cloister lies a stone coffin taken from the burial-ground of the All men should which he afterwards advanced. travel at one time or another, he thought, and he had then no connexions to prevent him; when he returned he might enter into political life, for which travelling would not incapacitate him, and he wished to judge of men by experience. Abbey. The ground floor contains some spacious halls, and divers apartments for domestic offices; and there is a neat little private chapel in the cloister, where service is performed on Sundays. Byron's sole recreation here was his boat and dogs, and boxing and fencing for exercise, and to prevent a tendency to obesity-which he dreaded. At length, in July, 1809, in company with John His constant employment was writing, for Cam Hobhouse, Esq. (with whom his acquaintwhich he used to sit up as late as two or three ance commenced at Cambridge), Lord Byron o'clock in the morning. His life here was an en-embarked at Falmouth for Lisbon, and thence tire seclusion, devoted to poetry." Lord Byron showed, even in his earliest years, that nature had added to the advantages of high descent the richest gifts of genius and of fancy. His own tale is partly told in two lines of Lara: Left by his sire, too young such loss to know, proceeded, by the southern provinces of Spain, His first literary adventure and its fate are well remembered. The poems which he published in his minority had, indeed, those faults of conception and diction which are inseparable from juvenile attempts, and may rather be considered as imitative of what had caught the ear and fancy of the youthful author, than as exhibiting originality of conception and expression. Yet though there were many, and those not the worst judges, who discerned in his Hours of Idleness» some depth of thought and felicity of expression, the work did not escape the critical lash of the Scotch Reviewers, who could not resist the opportunity of pouncing upon a titled poet, and of seeking to entertain their readers with a flip-riving at Yanina, he found that Ali Pacha was with pant article, without much respect to the feel- his troops in Illyrium, besieging Ibrahim Pacha ings of the author, or even to the indications of in Berat; but the vizier, having heard that an merit which the work displayed. The review English nobleman was in his country, had given was read, and excited mirth; the poems were orders at Yanina to supply him with every neglected, the author was irritated, and took his kind of accommodation free of expense. From revenge in keen iambics, which at once proved Yanina Lord Byron went to Tepaleen. Here he the injustice of the critic and the ripening ta- was lodged in the palace, and the next day introlents of the bard. Having thus vented his indig- duced to Ali Pacha, who declared that he knew nation against the reviewers and their readers, him to be a man of rank from the smallness of and drawn all the laughers to his side, Lord By- his ears, his curling hair, and his white hands. ron went abroad, and the controversy was for some years forgotten. It was at Newstead, just before his coming of age, that he planned his future travels; and his original intention included a much larger portion of the world than that which he afterwards visited He first thought of Persia, to which idea indeed he for a long time adhered. He afterwards meant to sail for India; and had so far contemplated this project as to write for information to the Arabic professor at Cambridge, and to ask his mother to inquire of a friend who had lived in India, what things would be necessary for his voyage. He formed his plan of travelling upon very different grounds from those In going in a Turkish ship of war, provided by Ali Pacha, from Previsa, intending to sail for Patras, Lord Byron was very nearly lost in a moderate gale of wind, from the ignorance of the Turkish officers and sailors, and was driven on the coast of Suli, where an instance of disinterested hospitality in the chief of a Suliote village occurred. The honest Albanian, after assisting him in his distress, supplying his wants, and lodging him and his suite, refused to receive any remuneration. When Lord Byron pressed him to accept some money, he said, I wish you to love me, not to pay me!»-At Yanina, on his return, he was introduced to Hussein Bey and Mahmout Pacha, two young children of Ali Pa cha. He afterwards visited Smyrna, whence he went in the Salsette frigate to Constantinople. he also bought a new boat for a fisherman who had lost his own in a gale, and he often gave Greek testaments to the poor children. It was not until after Lord Byron arrived at Constantinople that he decided on not going to Persia, but to pass the following summer in the Morea. At Constantinople, Mr Hobhouse left him to return to England. On losing his compauion, Lord Byron went alone, to many of the scenery and manners, especially those of Greece, with the searching eye of a poet. His mind ap wards a recovery from the morbid state of apathy which it had previously evinced; and the gratification he manifested on observing the superiority of England over other countries, proved that patriotism was far from being extinct in his bosom. The embarrassed state of his affairs at rived in the Volage frigate on the ad of July, 1811, having been absent two years. His health had not suffered by his travels, although it had been interrupted by two sharp fevers, in consequence of which he put himself on a vegetable diet, and drank no wine. On the 3d of May, 1810, while the Salsette was lying at anchor in the Dardanelles, Lord Byron, accompanied by Lieutenant Ekenhead, swam across the Hellespont from the European shore to the Asiatic-about two miles wide. The tide of the Dardanelles runs so strong, that it is impossible either to swim or to sail to any given point. Lord Byron went from the castle to Aby-places which he had already visited, and studied dos, landing full three miles below his meditated place of approach. He had a boat in attendance all the way; so that no danger could be appre-peared occasionally to have some tendency tohended, even if his strength had failed. His lordship records, in one of his minor poems, that he got the ague by the voyage; but it was well known, that after landing, he was so much exhausted, that he gladly accepted the offer of a Turkish fisherman, and reposed in his hut for several hours. He was then very ill, and as Licute-length induced him to return home; and he arnant Ekenhead was compelled to go on board his frigate, he was left alone. The Turk had no idea of the rank or consequence of his inmate, but paid him most marked attention. His wife was his nurse, and, at the end of five days, he left this asylum, completely recovered. When about to embark, the Turk gave him a large loaf, a cheese, a skin filled with wine, and a few paras (about a penny each), prayed Allah to bless him, and wished him safe home. When his lordship arrived at Abydos, he sent over his man Stefano to the Turk, with an assortment of fishing-nets, a fowling-piece, a brace of pistols, and twelve yards of silk to make gowns for his wife. The poor Turk was astonished. « What a noble return, said he, for an act of humanity!» He then formed the resolution of crossing the Hellespont, in order to thank his lordship in person. His wife approved of the plan; and he had sailed about half way across, when a sudden squall upset his boat, and the poor Turkish fisherman found a watery Towards the termination of his « English Bards grave Lord Byron was much distressed on hear- and Scotch Reviewers," the noble author had deing of the catastrophe, and, with all that kind-clared, that it was his intention to break off, from ness of heart which was natural to him, he sent that period, his newly-formed connexion with the widow fifty dollars, and told her he would the Muses, and that, should he return in safety ever be her friend. This anecdote, so highly ho- from the « minarets of Constantinople, the nourable to his lordship's memory, is very little maidens of Georgia, and the « sublime snows >> known. Lieutenant Hare, who was on the spot of Mount Caucasus, nothing on earth should at the time, furnished the particulars; and added tempt him to resume the pen. Such resolutions that, in the year 1817, Lord Byron, then pro- are seldom maintained. In February, 1812, the ceeding to Constantinople, landed at the same first two cantos of « Childe Harold's Pilgrimage,» spot, and made a handsome present to the widow (with the manuscript of which he had presented and her son. Mr Dallas) made their appearance, and produced an effect on the public equal to that of any work which has been published within this or the last century. When residing at Mitylene he portioned eight young girls very liberally, and even danced with them at the marriage feast; he gave a cow to one man, horses to another, and cotton and silk to several girls who lived by weaving these materials: Soon after his arrival, the serious illness of his mother summoned him to Newstead; but on reaching the Abbey, he found that she had breathed her last. He suffered much from this loss, and from the disappointment of not seeing her before her death; and while his feelings on the subject were still acute, he received the intelligence that a friend, whom he highly esteemed, had been drowned in the Cam. Not long before he had heard of the death, at Coimbra, of a school-fellow, to whom he was much attached. These three melancholy events, occurring within the space of a month, had a powerful effect on Lord Byron's feelings. " The indications of a powerful and original mind which glance through every line of Childe Harold electrified the mass of readers, and placed at once upon Lord Byron's head the garland for which other men of genius have toiled long and obtained late. He became pre-eminent among the literary men of his country by general acclamation. Those who had so mercilessly censured his juvenile essays were the first to pay homage to his more matured efforts; while others, who saw in the sentiments of Childe Harold much to regret and censure, did not withhold their tribute of applause to the depth of thought and force of expression which animated the Pilgrimage. » Thus, as all admired the poem, all were prepared to greet the author with that fame which is the poet's best reward. It was amidst such feelings of admiration that Lord Byron fully entered on that public stage where, to the close of his life, he made so distinguished a figure. Every thing in his manner, person, and conversation tended to maintain the charm which his genius had flung around him; and those admitted to his conversation, far from finding that the inspired poet sunk into ordinary mortality, felt themselves attached to him by many noble qualities, and by the interest of a mysterious and almost painful curiosity. on various occasions of rest and emotion, knew When from the heart where Sorrow sits, And clouds the brow, or fills the eye- And bleed within their silent cell. It was impossible to notice a dejection belonging neither to the rank, the age, nor the success of this young nobleman, without feeling an indefinable curiosity to ascertain whether it had a deeper cause than habit or constitutional temperament. But, howsoever derived, this appearance of melancholy, added to his mingling in amusements and sports as if he contemned them, while he felt that his sphere was far above the fashionable aud frivolous crowd that surrounded him, gave a strong It is well known how wide the doors of society effect of colouring to a character whose tints were are opened in London to literary merit very in- otherwise decidedly romantic. Noble and far ferior to Lord Byron's, and that it is only neces-descended, the pilgrim of distant and savage sary to be honourably distinguished by the public countries, eminent as a poet, and having cast voice to move as a denizen in the first circles. around him a mysterious charm by the sombre This passport was not necessary to Lord Byron, tone of his poetry and the occasional melancholy who possessed the hereditary claims of birth and of his deportment, Lord Byron occupied the eyes rank. But the interest which his genius attached and interested the feelings of all. The enthu to his presence and conversation, was of a nature siastic looked on him to admire, the serious with far beyond what these hereditary claims could of a wish to admonish, and the gentle with a desire themselves have conferred, and his reception was to console. Even literary envy, a base sensation, enthusiastic beyond any thing imaginable. Lord from which perhaps this age is more free than Byron was not one of those literary men of whom any other, forgave the man whose splendour it may be said, minuit præsentia famam. A counte-dimmed the fame of his competitors. The genenance, exquisitely modeled for the expression of rosity of Lord Byron's disposition, his readiness to feeling and passion, and exhibiting the remark-assist merit in distress, aud to bring it forward able contrast of very dark hair and eye-brows, where unknown, deserved and obtained general with light eyes, presented to the physiognomist an interesting subject for the exercise of his art. The predominating expression was that of deep and habitual thought, which, when engaged in interesting discussion, gave way to so rapid a play of features, that a brother poet compared them to the sculpture of a beautiful alabaster At one of the fashionable parties to which the vase, seen only to perfection when lighted up noble bard was invited, His Majesty, then Prince from within. The flashes of mirth, gaiety, indig-Regent, happened to be present. Lord Byron was nation, or satirical dislike which frequently ani- at some distance when he entered the room, but, mated his countenance, might, during an even- on learning who he was, His Royal Highness sent ing's conversation, be mistaken by a stranger for a gentleman to desire that he would be presentits habitual expression, so happily was it formed ed. Of course the presentation took place; the for them all; but those who had an opportunity Regent expressed his admiration of « Childe Haof studying his features for a length of time, and rold's Pilgrimage," and entered into a conversa regard; while his poetical effusions, poured forth with equal force and fertility, showed at once a daring confidence in his own powers, and a determination to maintain, by continued effort, the high place he had attained in British literature. |