THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF

 
 THE 
 
 /** 
 
 CRAYON MISCELLANY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH BOOK. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 CAREY, LEA, AND BLANCHARD. 
 
 1835.
 
 ENTERED according to an Act of Congress, in the year 
 1835, by WASHINGTON IRVING, in the Clerk's Office of 
 the Southern District of New- York. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY A. CHANDLER.
 
 AND 
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH BOOK. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 CAREY, LEA & BLANCHARD. 
 1835.
 
 ENTERED according to an Act of Congress, in the year 
 1835, by WASHINGTON IRVING, in the Clerk's Office of 
 the Southern District of New- York. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY A. CHANDLER.
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 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. 
 
 Late in the evening of the 29th August, 1816, 
 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 Mel- 
 rose Abbey and its vicinity, but chiefly to get a 
 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. 
 
 On the following morning, after an early 
 1*
 
 6 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 breakfast, 1 set off in a postchaise for the Abbey. 
 On the way thither I stopped at the gate of Ab- 
 botsford, and sent the postillion 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. 
 
 While the postillion 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 foli 
 age, 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, sur 
 rounded by scaffolding, already had risen to the 
 height of the cottage, and the court yard in front 
 was encumbered by masses of hewn stone. 
 
 The noise of the chaise had disturbed the 
 quiet of the establishment. Out sallied the-war- 
 der of the castle, a black greyhound, and, leaping 
 on one of the blocks of stone, began a furious
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 7 
 
 barking. His alarum brought out the whole gar 
 rison of dogs : 
 
 " Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 
 And curs of low degree ;" 
 
 all open mouthed and vociferous. 1 should 
 
 correct rny 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. 
 
 In a little while the " lord of the castle" him 
 self 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 button hole, brown linen pantaloons, stout 
 shoes that tied at the ankles, and a white hat 
 that had evidently seen service. He came limp 
 ing up the gravel walk, aiding himself by a stout 
 walking staff, but moving rapidly and with vigour. 
 By his side jogged along a large iron-grey stag 
 hound of a most grave demeanour, who took no 
 part in the clamour of the canine rabble, but 
 seemed to consider himself bound, for the dig 
 nity of the house, to give me a courteous recep 
 tion. 
 
 Before Scott had reached the gate he called 
 out in a hearty tone, welcoming me to Abbotsford,
 
 8 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 afterwards ye shall see all the wonders of 
 the Abbey." 
 
 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." 
 
 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 
 neighbourhood 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 break 
 fast you shall make your visit to Melrose Abbey;
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 9 
 
 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 neighbourhood 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 neighbourhood. 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, be 
 fore Scott had got through with 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. 
 
 AFTER breakfast I accordingly set off for the 
 Abbey with my little friend Charles, whom I 
 found a most sprightly and entertaining com 
 panion. He had an ample stock of anecdote 
 about the neighbourhood, 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
 
 10 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 and a mixture of Scottish phraseology, that gave 
 them additional flavour. 
 
 On our way to the Abbey he gave me some 
 anecdotes of Johnny Bowei; 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 hum 
 ble 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 honourable blazon ; 
 with this addition, that it should be from the 
 pen of Scott. The latter gravely pledged him 
 self to pay this tribute to his memory, and 
 Johnny now lived in the proud anticipation of a 
 poetic immortality. 
 
 I found Johnny Bower a decent looking lit 
 tle old man, in blue coat and red waistcoat. He 
 received us with much greeting, and seemed de 
 lighted 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 every thing in the Ab 
 bey that had been described by Scott in his Lay 
 of the Last Minstrel : and would repeat, with
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 1 1 
 
 broad Scottish accent, the passage which cele 
 brated it. 
 
 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, arid, notwithstanding the lapse of cen 
 turies, retaining their sharpness as if fresh from 
 the chisel ; rivalling, as Scott has said, the real 
 objects of which they were imitations : 
 
 "Nor herb nor flowret glistened there 
 But was carved in the cloister arches as fair." 
 
 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." 
 
 I would observe, that Scott seemed to derive 
 more consequence in the neighbourhood from 
 being sheriff of the county, than from being 
 poet. 
 
 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
 
 12 ABBOTSFORT). 
 
 by the position of the Oriel window, and the di 
 rection in which the moon beams 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' gain 
 say but it was varra clear." 1 found after 
 wards, that Scott used to amuse himself with the 
 simplicity of the old man, and his zeal in veri 
 fying every passage of the poem, as though it 
 had been 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. 
 
 " 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 secret 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.
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 13 
 
 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 baldric 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." 
 
 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 iden 
 tity with the personages of some of its cantos. 
 
 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 lauf." 
 
 He was loud in his praises of the affability 
 of Scott. " He'll corne 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. 
 He'll stand and crack and lauff wi' me, just like 
 2
 
 14 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 an auld wife and to think that of a man that 
 has such an awfu' knowledge o' history !" 
 
 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 show 
 ing every thing laid down in the poem, there 
 was one passage that perplexed him sadly. It 
 was the opening of one of the cantos : 
 
 " 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," &c. 
 
 In consequence of this admonition, many of 
 the most devout pilgrims to the ruin could not 
 be contented with a daylight inspection, and in 
 sisted 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
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 15 
 
 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 would conduct his visitors about the 
 ruins on dark nights, so much to their satisfac 
 tion that, at length, he began to think it even 
 preferable to morn itself. "It does na light 
 up a' the Abbey at aince, 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." 
 
 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 favourite 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 honoured. 
 
 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 favourite of Scott's, and Hamlet, the black 
 greyhound, a wild thoughtless youngster, not yet 
 arrived to the years of discretion ; and Finette, a
 
 16 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 beautiful setter, with soft silken hair, long pen 
 dant cars, and a mild eye, the parlour favourite. 
 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. 
 
 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 w r ith 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 dis 
 tance ahead of us, the young dogs would gambol 
 about him, leap on his neck, worry at his ears, 
 and endeavour to teaze him into a frolic. The 
 old dog would keep on for a long time with im 
 perturbable 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. 
 
 Scott amused himself with these peculiarities.
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 17 
 
 " I make no doubt," said he, " when Maida is 
 alone with these young dogs, he throws gravity 
 aside, and plays the boy as much as any of 
 them ; but he is ashamed to do so in our compa 
 ny, and seems to say, ' Ha' done with your non 
 sense, youngsters ; what will the laird and that 
 other gentleman think of me if I give w r ay to 
 such foolery ?' " 
 
 Maida reminded him, he said, of a scene on 
 board an armed yacht in which he made an ex 
 cursion 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 look 
 ed 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 digni 
 ty, fearing to lessen himself in their eyes. At 
 length one of his messmates came up, and seiz 
 ing 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." 
 2*
 
 18 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 Scott amused himself with the peculiarities 
 of another of his dogs, a little shamefaced ter 
 rier, 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 him 
 self from the light of day, in a lumber garret, 
 from 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 humbled and downcast look, but 
 would skulk away again if any one regarded 
 him. 
 
 While we were discussing the humours 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 suf 
 ficiently aroused to ramp forward two or three 
 bounds and join in the chorus, with a deep- 
 mouthed bow-wough ! 
 
 It was but a transient outbreak, and he re 
 turned instantly, wagging his tail, and looking up 
 dubiously in his master's face ; uncertain wheth 
 er he would censure or applaud. 
 
 " 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
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 19 
 
 is like the great gun at Constantinople," contin 
 ued 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 1." 
 
 These simple anecdotes may serve to show 
 the delightful play of Scott's humours and feel 
 ings in private life. His domestic animals were 
 his friends ; every thing about him seemed to 
 rejoice in the light of his countenance : the face 
 of the humblest dependant 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 quar 
 ry, whence several men were cutting stone for 
 the new edifice ; who all paused from their la 
 bour 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 : 
 
 " Up with the Souters o' Selkirk, 
 And down with the Earl of Home." 
 
 Another was precentor at the Kirk, and, beside 
 leading the psalmody on Sunday, taught the lads 
 and lasses of the neighbourhood dancing on 
 week days, in the winter time, when out-of-door 
 labour was scarce. 
 
 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 hod, but paused, and stood
 
 20 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 looking at Scott, with a slight sparkling of his 
 blue eye, as if waiting his turn ; for the old fel 
 low knew himself to be a favourite. 
 
 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 honour," replied the old fellow, "sic a mull 
 as that is nae for week days." 
 
 On leaving the quarry, Scott informed me 
 that when absent at Paris, he had purchased 
 several trifling articles as presents for his de 
 pendants, 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." 
 
 The old man in question, I found, was a great 
 favourite 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 Ochil- 
 tree. I find that the old fellow has since been 
 introduced by Wilkie, in his picture of the Scott 
 family.
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 21 
 
 WE rambled on among scenes which had 
 been familiar in Scottish song, and rendered 
 classic by the 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 Cow- 
 den Knowes, peeping above the gray hills of the 
 Tweed : and what touching associations were 
 called up by the sight of Ettrick Vale, Galla Wa 
 ter, and the Braes of Yarrow ! Every turn 
 brought to mind some household air some al 
 most 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 gene 
 ral, 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 be 
 hind them ; nothing remains of them but their 
 sweet and touching songs, which live, like echoes,
 
 22 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 about the places they once inhabited. Most of 
 these simple effusions of pastoral poets are link 
 ed with some favourite haunt of the poet ; and 
 in this way, not a mountain or valley, a town or 
 tower, green shaw or running stream, in Scot 
 land, 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. 
 
 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 birth 
 place of Robert Burns. I passed a whole morn 
 ing about "the banks and braes of bonnieDoon," 
 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, " and it seem 
 ed to him as if the country had grown more beau 
 tiful, since Burns had written his bonnie little 
 songs about it" 
 
 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.
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 23 
 
 Their effect in calling up in my mind the recol 
 lections of early times and scenes in which I 
 had first heard them, reminded him, he said, of 
 the lines of his poor friend Leyden, to the Scot 
 tish muse : 
 
 " 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. " 
 
 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 the ge 
 nuine 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
 
 24 ABBOTSFOUD. 
 
 in Scotland, we have comparatively few nation 
 al songs in the eastern part, where we have had 
 most influx of strangers. A real old Scottish 
 song is a cairn gorm a gern of our own moun 
 tains : 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 na 
 tional visage was in former days, before the 
 breed was crossed." 
 
 WHILE Scott was thus discoursing, we were 
 passing up a narrow glen, with the dogs beating 
 about, to right and left, when suddenly a black 
 cock burst upon the wing. 
 
 " 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 for 
 merly." 
 
 Our ramble took us on the hills commanding 
 
 O 
 
 an extensive prospect. " Now," said Scott, 
 " I have brought you, like the pilgrim in the Pil 
 grim's Progress, to the top of the Delectable 
 Mountains, that I may show you all the goodly 
 regions hereabouts. Yonder is Lammermuir,
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 25 
 
 and Smalholme ; and there you have Galla- 
 shiels, 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." 
 
 He went on thus to call over names celebra 
 ted 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 be 
 held 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 walk 
 ing along their profile : and the far famed Tweed 
 appeared a naked stream, flowing between bare 
 hills, without a tree or a 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. 
 
 I could not help giving utterance to my 
 thoughts. Scott hummed for a moment to himself, 
 arid looked grave : he had no idea of having his 
 3
 
 28 ABBOTSFOllD. 
 
 muse complimented at the expense of his native 
 hills. " It may be partiality," said he, at length ; 
 " but to my eye, these gray hills and all this wild 
 border country have beauties peculiar to them 
 selves. 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 think I should die !" 
 
 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 vindi 
 cated 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. 
 
 I took occasion to plead, in like manner, the 
 associations of early life, for my disappoint 
 ment, 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 roman 
 tic landscape were apt to be well wooded.
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 27 
 
 " 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 monu 
 ments of Europe ; and, in fact, these vast abo 
 riginal trees, that have sheltered the Indians 
 before the intrusion of the white men, are the 
 monuments and antiquities of your country." 
 
 The conversation here turned upon Camp 
 bell's poem of Gertrude of Wyoming, as illus 
 trative 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 cotemporaries. 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
 
 28 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 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 re 
 peated several passages in a magnificent style. 
 " What a grand idea is that," said he, " about 
 prophetic boding, or, in common parlance, se 
 cond sight 
 
 ' Coming events cast their shadows before.' 
 
 It is a noble thought, and nobly expressed. And 
 there's that glorious little poem, too, of Hohen- 
 linden ; after he had written it, he did not seern 
 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, " Camp 
 bell is, in a manner, a bugbear to himself. The 
 brightness of his early success is a detriment to 
 all his further efforts. He is afraid of the sha 
 dow that his own fame casts before him" 
 
 While we were thus chatting, we heard the 
 report of a gun among the hills. " That's Wal 
 ter, I think," said Scott, "he has finished his
 
 ABBOTSFOED. 29 
 
 morning's studies, and is out with his gun. I 
 should not be surprised if he had met with 
 the black cock ; if so, we shall have an addi 
 tion 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 prodi 
 gies 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 in 
 structs all my children." 
 
 I afterwards became acquainted with the 
 young man in question, who acted as private 
 tutor in the family, and whom I found possessed 
 of much intelligence and modest worth. 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. 
 
 We had not walked much further before we 
 
 saw the two Miss Scotts advancing along the 
 
 hill side to meet us. The morning's studies 
 
 being over, they had set off to take a ramble on 
 
 3*
 
 30 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 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 descrip 
 tion of his children in his introduction to one of 
 the cantos of Marmion 
 
 " 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." 
 
 As they approached, the dogs all sprang forward 
 and gambolled around them. They played with 
 them, for a time, and then joined us with coun 
 tenances full of health and glee. Sophia, the 
 eldest, was the most lively and joyous, hav 
 ing much of her father's varied spirit in conver 
 sation, and seeming to catch excitement from his 
 words and looks. Ann was of quieter mood,
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 31 
 
 rather silent, owing, in some measure, no doubt, 
 to her being some years younger. 
 
 AT dinner Scott had laid by his half rustic 
 dress, and appeared clad in black. The g'rls, 
 too, in completing their toilet, had twisted in 
 their hair the sprigs of purple heather which 
 they had gathered on the hill side, and looked all 
 fresh and blooming from their breezy walk. 
 
 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. 
 
 The conversation happening to turn on the 
 merits of his dogs, Scott spoke with great feel 
 ing and affection of his favourite, Camp, who 
 is depicted by his side in the earlier engra 
 vings 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
 
 32 ABBOTSI'ORD. 
 
 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 
 
 " Cy git le preux Percy." 
 (Here lies the brave Percy.) 
 
 1 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 after 
 wards that it was the grave of a favourite grey 
 hound. 
 
 Among the other important and privileged 
 members of the household who figured in atten 
 dance 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 favourite of both master and mistress, and 
 slept at night in their room ; and Scott laugh 
 ingly 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 ascendency 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 sub 
 jects as they passed, giving each dog a cuff 
 beside the ears as he went by. This clapper-
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 33 
 
 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 har 
 mony prevailed between sovereign and subjects, 
 and they would all sleep together in the sun 
 shine. 
 
 Scott was full of anecdote and conversa 
 tion during dinner. He made some admirable 
 remarks upon the Scottish character, and spoke 
 strongly in praise of the quiet, orderly, honest 
 conduct of his neighbours, which one would 
 hardly expect, said he, from the descendants of 
 moss troopers, and borderers, in a neighbour 
 hood 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 here 
 ditary feeling for names was still great. It was 
 not always safe to have even the game of foot 
 ball between villages, the old clanish 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
 
 34 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 lay them by for years, but would be sure to 
 gratify them in the end. 
 
 The ancient jealousy between the Highland 
 ers and the Lowlanders still continued to a cer 
 tain 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 com 
 ing among them ; ruffling up and putting them 
 selves upon their mettle on the slightest occa 
 sion, so that he had in a manner to quarrel and 
 fight his way into their good graces. 
 
 He instanced a case in point in a brother of 
 Mungo Park, who went to take up his residence 
 in a wild neighbourhood 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, trust 
 ing that, being a Lowlander, he would show the 
 white feather. 
 
 For a time he bore their flings and taunts with 
 great coolness, until one, presuming on his for 
 bearance, 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
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 35 
 
 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. 
 
 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 Floddenfield ; a pair of Rip- 
 pon 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 in 
 terest 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.
 
 36 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 On each side of the cabinet were book cases, 
 well stored with works of romantic fiction in va 
 rious languages, many of them rare and antiqua 
 ted. This, however, was merely his cottage 
 library, the principal part of his books being at 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 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 life blood, very pos 
 sibly," said Scott, " of some gay young officer, 
 who had cherished these songs as a keepsake 
 from some lady love in Paris." 
 
 He adverted in a mellow and delightful man 
 ner to the little half gay, half melancholy cam 
 paigning song, said to have been composed by 
 General Wolfe, and sung by him at the mess ta 
 ble, in the air of the Storming of Quebec, in 
 which he fell so gloriously. 
 
 "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."
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 37 
 
 " 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 bat 
 tle, and thinking of the fair dame that had taught 
 him them, and promising himself, should he out 
 live the campaign, to return to her all glorious 
 from the wars." 
 
 I find since that Scott published translations 
 of these songs among some of his smaller poems. 
 
 The evening passed away delightfully in this 
 quaint looking apartment, half study, half draw 
 ing room. Scott read several passages from 
 the old romance of Arthur, with a fine deep so 
 norous 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 ap 
 pearance as he sat reading, in a large armed 
 chair, with his favourite hound Maida at his feet, 
 and surrounded by books, and relics, and border 
 trophies, would have formed an admirable and 
 most characterestic picture. 
 
 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 demeanour, as if listening to the 
 reader. I observed to Scott that his cat seemed 
 to have a black letter taste in literature. 
 
 "Ah," said he, "these cats are a very myste- 
 4
 
 38 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 rious kind of folk. There is always more pass 
 ing 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 re 
 turning to his cottage one night, when in a lonely 
 out of the way place, he met with a funeral pro 
 cession 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, aston 
 ished 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 am I King of the 
 cats," and vanished up the chimney. The fu 
 neral seen by the gude man, was of one of the 
 cat dynasty. 
 
 " Our grimalkin, here," added Scott, " some 
 times 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." 
 
 In this way Scott would make the habits and 
 peculiarities of even the dumb animals about 
 him, subjects for humorous remark or whimsical 
 story. 
 
 Our evening was enlivened also by an occa-
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 39 
 
 sional 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 accom 
 paniment, in a simple manner, but with great 
 spirit and expression, and in their native dia 
 lects, 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 cur 
 rent among the adherents of the Pretender in 
 Scotland, in which he is designated by the ap 
 pellation of " the Young Chevalier." 
 
 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 speak 
 ing 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 set 
 tlements. 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
 
 40 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 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 suiter 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 ! 
 
 The picture in question represented the un 
 happy dilemma of the handsome youth. Before 
 him set the grim baron, with a face worthy of 
 the father of such a daughter, and looking dag-
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 41 
 
 gers and rat's bane. 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. 
 
 The story goes, that after long labouring 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 line, 
 that still flourishes on the border. 
 
 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 humour with 
 which Scott recounted it. 
 
 When I retired for the night, I found it al 
 most 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 
 
 4*
 
 42 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 had for some time past been the favourite scene 
 of romantic fiction ; and above all, the recollec 
 tions 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. 
 
 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 em 
 ployed 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 no 
 thing to do but bask in the sunshine and amuse 
 himself. 
 
 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
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 43 
 
 my visit. The great pile of Abbotsford, w^th 
 the huge expense it entailed upon him, of ser 
 vants, retainers, guests, and baronial style, was a 
 drain upon his purse, a task upon his exertions, 
 and a weight upon his mind, that finally crushed 
 him. 
 
 As yet, however, all was in embryo and per 
 spective, and Scott pleased himself with pictur 
 ing 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 in 
 corporated 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. 
 
 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 forget whose cog 
 nizance it was ; but I shall never forget the de 
 lightful 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
 
 44 ABIiOTSFORD. 
 
 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 in a Stilton cheese, 
 and in the same taste the mouklier the better." 
 
 He went on to mention circumstances of 
 "mighty import" connected with the Abbey, 
 which had never been touched, and w r hich had 
 even escaped the researches of Johnny Bow r er. 
 The heart of Robert Bruce, the hero of Scot 
 land, 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 pil 
 grimage ; and of the loyal expedition of Sir 
 James Douglas to convey the glorious relic. 
 Much might be made, he said, out of the adven 
 tures 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. 
 
 As Scott sat on a stone talking in this way, 
 and knocking with his staff against the little red
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 45 
 
 lion which lay prostrate before him, his gray 
 eyes kindled 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 ima 
 gination. That he subsequently contemplated 
 something of the kind, as connected with this 
 subject, and with his favourite ruin of Melrose, 
 is evident from his introduction to ' The Monas 
 tery ;' and it is a pity that he never succeeded 
 in following out these shadowy but enthusiastic 
 conceptions. 
 
 A summons to breakfast broke off our con 
 versation, 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 honourably entertained ; I hope, there 
 fore, that he still flourishes at Abbotsford. 
 
 Before dismissing the theme of the relics from 
 the Abbey, I will mention another, illustrative of 
 Scott's varied humours. This was a human 
 scull, which had probably belonged of yore to
 
 46 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 one of those jovial friars, so honourably mention 
 ed in the old border ballad : 
 
 " O the monks of Melrose made gudo kale 
 
 On Fridays, when they fasted ; 
 They wanted neither beef nor ale, 
 As long as their neighbours lasted." 
 
 This scull Scott 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. Some 
 times in changing his dress, he would leave his 
 neckcloth 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 " aw- 
 some fancy for an auld girning scull." 
 
 AT breakfast that morning, Scott gave an 
 amusing account of a little Highlander called 
 Campbell of the North, who had a law r suit of 
 many years' standing with a nobleman in his 
 neighbourhood about the boundaries of their es 
 tates. It was the leading object of the little 
 man's life ; the running theme of all his conver-
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 47 
 
 sations ; he used to detail all the circumstances 
 at full length to every body 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 ban 
 dy-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." 
 
 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 nights' lodgings ; telling the land 
 lords 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. 
 
 On one of his visits he called upon his law 
 yer, but was told he was not at home, but his 
 lady was. " It is just the same thing," said little 
 Campbell. On being shown into the parlour, 
 he unrolled his map, stated his case at full length, 
 and, having gone through with his story, gave
 
 48 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 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." 
 
 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 Mow- 
 bray," of tedious memory ; an Edinburgh wor 
 thy, much employed by the country people, for 
 he tired out every body in office by repeated 
 visits and drawling, endless prolixity, and gained 
 every suit by dint of boring. 
 
 These little stories and anecdotes which 
 abounded in Scott's conversation, rose naturally 
 out of the subject, and 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. 
 
 His daughter Sophia and his son Charles
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 49 
 
 were those of his family who seemed most to 
 feel and understand his humours, 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, Scott was 
 going on with great glee to relate an anecdote 
 of the laird of Macnab, " who, poor fellow !" said 
 he, " is dead and gone " " Why, Mr. Scott," 
 exclaimed the good lady, " Macnab 's not dead, 
 is he ?" " Faith, my dear," replied Scott with hu 
 morous gravity, " if he's not dead they've done 
 him great injustice, for they've buried him !" 
 
 AFTER breakfast, Scott was occupied for some 
 time correcting proof sheets, which he had re 
 ceived 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 
 Waverly novels was still a matter of conjecture 
 and uncertainty ; though few doubted their be 
 ing 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 any 
 thing Scottish, and any thing relating to national 
 history or local legend, could not have been 
 5
 
 50 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 mute respecting such productions, had they been 
 written by another. lie was fond of quoting 
 the works of his cotemporaries ; he was continu 
 ally 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 scrupu 
 lous silence on the subject. 
 
 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 minia 
 ture edition of his poems, which, on my return 
 to England, I forwarded to one of the young la 
 dies. " In my hurry," writes he, " I have not 
 thanked you, in Sophia's name, for the kind at 
 tention which furnished her with the American 
 volumes. 1 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 other 
 wise have learned ; for I have taken special 
 care they should never see any of these things 
 during their earlier years." 
 
 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
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 51 
 
 ladies started to accompany us, but had not gone 
 far, when they met a poor old labourer and 
 his distressed family, and turned back to take 
 them to the house, and relieve them. 
 
 On passing the bounds of Abbotsford, we 
 came upon a bleak looking farm, with a forlorn 
 crazy old manse, or farm house, standing in na 
 ked desolation. This, however, Scott told me 
 was an ancient hereditary property called Lauck- 
 end, about as valuable as the patrimonial estate 
 of Don Quixote, and which, in like manner, con 
 ferred a 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 cus 
 tom of naming a man after his family estate, but 
 he was more generally known through the coun 
 try 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 dis 
 tance 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. 
 
 Lauckie knew nothing of the world beyond 
 his neighborhood. Scott told me that on return 
 ing to Abbotsford from his visit to France, im 
 mediately after the war, he was called on by
 
 52 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 his neighbours 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, who they seemed to consider some re 
 mote and semi-barbarous horde " And what 
 like are thae barbarians in their own country ?" 
 said Lauckie, " can they write ? can they cy 
 pher?" He was quite astonished to learn that 
 they were nearly as much advanced in civili 
 zation as the gude folks of Abbotsford. 
 
 After living for a long time in single blessed 
 ness, Lauckie all at once, and not long before my 
 visit to the neighbourhood, took it into his head 
 to get married. The neighbours were all sur 
 prised ; but the family connexion, who were as 
 proud as they were poor, were grievously scan 
 dalized, for they thought the young woman on 
 which 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 de 
 parted 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.
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 53 
 
 A small event of the kind makes a great stir 
 in a little quiet country neighbourhood. The 
 word soon circulated through the village of Mel- 
 rose, 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 afterwards 
 in letter by Scott. From the time of his mar 
 riage he had no longer any peace, owing to the 
 constant intermeddlings of his relations, who 
 would not permit him to be happy in his own 
 way, but endeavoured to set him at variance 
 with his wife. Lauckie refused to credit any 
 of their stories to her disadvantage ; but the in 
 cessant 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 scold 
 ing match took place between them ; Lauckie 
 made a vehement profession of faith in her im 
 maculate honesty, and then fell dead at the 
 threshold of his own door. His person, his 
 character, his name, his story, and his fate, enti- 
 5*
 
 54 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 tied him to be immortalized in one of Scott's 
 novels, and I looked to recognise him in some of 
 the succeeding works from his pen ; but I looked 
 in vain. 
 
 AFTER passing by the domains of honest 
 Lauckie, Scott pointed out, at a distance, the Eil- 
 don stone. There in ancient days stood the Eildon 
 tree, beneath which Thomas the Rhymer, accord 
 ing to popular tradition, dealt forth his prophe 
 cies, some of which still exist in antiquated 
 ballads. 
 
 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. 
 
 "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 :
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 55 
 
 " 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." 
 
 Here Scott repeated several of the stanzas and 
 recounted the circumstance of Thomas the Rhy 
 mer's interview with the fairy, and his being 
 transported by her to fairy land 
 
 " And til seven years were gone and past, 
 True Thomas on earth was never seen." 
 
 It is a fine old story, said he, and might be 
 wrought up into a capital tale. 
 
 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 dis 
 tinguishing the words, until pausing, and turn 
 ing his face towards 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 neigh 
 bourhood. His mind was fraught with the tra 
 ditionary fictions connected with every object 
 around him, and he would breathe it forth as he
 
 56 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 went, apparently as much for his own gratifica 
 tion as for that of his companion. 
 
 " Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, 
 But had its legend or its song." 
 
 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 elocu 
 tion. His recitation of poetry was, at times, 
 magnificent. 
 
 I think it was in the course of this ramble that 
 my friend Hamlet, the black greyhound, got into 
 a sad 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 flagrante delictu. I supposed the 
 doom of poor Hamlet to be sealed ; for no higher
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 57 
 
 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 favourite. 
 He would not for some time believe it could be 
 he who had killed the sheep. It must have been 
 some cur of the neighbourhood, 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." 
 
 I understood, afterwards, that Scott actually 
 got a pony, and went out now and then coursing 
 with Hamlet, who, in consequence, showed no 
 further inclination for mutton. 
 
 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,
 
 58 ABBOTSFORD, 
 
 he pointed oat the traces of the lines and 
 bulwarks, and the praetorium, and showed a 
 knowledge of castramatation that would not have 
 disgraced the antiquarian Oldbuck himself. In 
 deed, various circumstances that I observed 
 about Scott during my visit, concurred to per 
 suade me that many of the antiquarian humours 
 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 neighbourhood. 
 
 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 oppo 
 site Abbotsford, and whom he had seen and 
 talked and joked with when a boy ; and I in 
 stantly recognised the likeness of that mirror of 
 philosophic vagabonds and Nestor of beggars, 
 Edie Ochiltree. I v/as on the point of pronoun 
 cing the name and recognising the portrait, when 
 I recollected the incognito observed by Scott 
 with respect to the novels, and checked myself; 
 but it was one among many things that tended 
 to convince me of his authorship. 
 
 His picture of Andrew Gemmells exactly ac 
 corded with that of Edie as to his height, car 
 riage, and soldier-like air, as well as his arch and 
 sarcastic humour. His home, if home he had,
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 59 
 
 was at Gallashiels ; 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 gos 
 sip from house to house, commenting on the in 
 habitants and their concerns, and never hesi 
 tating to give them a dry rub as to any of their 
 faults or follies. 
 
 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 
 visiter at a lonely manse or cottage. The chil 
 dren 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. 
 
 As to Andrew, he looked upon them all as a 
 parson does upon his parishioners, and consider 
 ed the alms he received as much his due as the 
 other does his tythes. 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 pains 
 taking peasants that fed and sheltered him. 
 
 He had derived his aristocratical notions in 
 some degree from being admitted occasionally 
 to a precarious sociability with some of the small
 
 60 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 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. 
 
 Among those who occasionally admitted him 
 to this familiarity, was old John Scott of Galla, 
 a man of family, who inhabited his paternal man 
 sion of Torwoodlee. Some distinction of rank, 
 however, \vas 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. 
 
 Andrew now and then told the laird a piece 
 of his mind very freely ; especially on one oc 
 casion, 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 shrew r dness of Edie Ochiltree. 
 
 " It's a' varra weel it's a' varra weel, Tor 
 woodlee," 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 ?"
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 61 
 
 THAT day there was an arrival at Abbotsford 
 of two English tourists ; one a gentleman of for 
 tune and landed estate, the other a young cler 
 gyman whom he appeared to have under his 
 patronage, and to have brought with him as a 
 travelling companion. 
 
 The patron was one of those well bred, com 
 monplace gentlemen with which England is 
 overrun. He had great deference for Scott, 
 and endeavoured to acquit himself learnedly in 
 his company, aiming continually at abstract dis 
 quisitions, 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 humour : the well bred gentleman 
 was either too dull to feel their point, or too de 
 corous 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. 
 
 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, 
 6
 
 62 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 " 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 humour to his patron's good breed 
 ing ; I have a great regard for a hearty laugher." 
 He went on to speak of the great influx of 
 English travellers, which of late years had inun 
 dated 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, with 
 out 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 ven 
 geance 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. For 
 merly," 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 stran 
 gers, and were gratified by the smallest com-
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 63 
 
 pensation ; but now they make a trade of show 
 ing rocks and ruins, and are as greedy as Italian 
 cicerone. They look upon the English as so 
 many walking money bags, the more they are 
 shaken and poked, the more they will leave be 
 hind them." 
 
 I told him that he had a great deal to answer 
 for on that head, since it was the romantic asso 
 ciations 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. 
 
 Scott laughed, and said he believed I might 
 be in some measure in the right, as he recol 
 lected 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 abso 
 lutely incommoded him with her civilities. The 
 secret at length came out. As he was about 
 to depart, she addressed him with many curt 
 sies, and said she understood he was the gen 
 tleman that had written a bonnie book about 
 Loch Katrine. She begged him to write a lit 
 tle about their lake also, for she understood his 
 book had done the inn at Loch Katrine a muckle 
 deal of good.
 
 64 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 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, pecu 
 liarly dear to him, from the recollections of 
 childhood. His grandfather 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 un 
 der the care of his grandmother and aunts. 
 
 In the introduction of one of the cantos of Mar- 
 mion, he has depicted his grandfather, and the 
 fireside of the farm house ; and has given an 
 amusing picture of himself in his boyish years. 
 
 " 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,
 
 ABBOTSFORU. 65 
 
 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 neighbours 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." 
 
 It was, he said, during his residence at Small- 
 holm 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 
 visiters ; and little Walter would sit and listen 
 with greedy ear; thus, taking into his infant 
 mind, the seeds of many a splendid fiction. 
 
 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 re 
 cite old time ballads, as he knitted stockings. 
 Scott used to be wheeled out in his chair, in 
 6*
 
 66 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 fine weather, and would sit beside the old man, 
 and listen to him for hours. 
 
 The situation of Sandy Knowe was favourable 
 both for story teller 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 re 
 tained 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 fu 
 ture glory. 
 
 On referring to Scott's works, I find many 
 of the circumstances related in this conversation, 
 about the old tower, and the boyish scenes con 
 nected 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
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 67 
 
 much of the foregone imagery, and with vastly 
 superior effect. 
 
 "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 turfs 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 marvelled 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,
 
 68 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 And, home returning, filled the hall 
 
 With revel, wassell-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 wo or mirth, 
 
 Of lovers' sleights, 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." 
 
 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, repair 
 ing 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 and 
 further delapidation.
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 69 
 
 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 Haga's, one of the oldest families of the 
 border. " There had seemed to him," he said, 
 "almost a wizard spell hanging over it, in conse 
 quence of a prophecy of Thomas the Rhymer, in 
 which, in his young days, he most potently be 
 lieved :" 
 
 " Betide, betide, whate'er betide, 
 Haig shall be Haig of Bemerside." 
 
 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 strong hold of the 
 ancient family of Haig. 
 
 Prophecies, however, often ensure their own 
 fulfilment. It is very probable that the predic 
 tion 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 supersti-
 
 70 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 tiously, through hardship and inconveniences that 
 would, otherwise, have caused its abandonment. 
 I afterwards saw, at Dryburgh Abbey, the 
 burying place of this predestinated and tena 
 cious family, the inscription of which showed the 
 value they set upon their antiquity: 
 
 " Locus Sepulturce, 
 Antiquessimae Families 
 
 De Haga 
 Do Bemerside. 
 
 In reverting to the days of his childhood, Scott 
 observed that the lameness that 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 noth 
 ing but a pedler. 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.
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 71 
 
 His first visit to Loch Katrine, he said, was 
 in his boyish days, on a shooting excursion. The 
 island, which he has made the romantic resi 
 dence of the Lady of the Lake, was then gar 
 risoned 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 after 
 wards a resort of smugglers, until they were 
 ferreted out. 
 
 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 
 endeavoured to secure the fugitive remains of the 
 traditions and songs that had charmed his boy 
 hood. 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 charac 
 teristic old ballad or tradition from oblivion. 
 
 I regret to say that I can recollect scarce any 
 thing 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 contain 
 ing the family vault, and the tombs and monu 
 ments of his ancestors. He appeared to feel 
 much chagrin at their being in the possession,
 
 72 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 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 honour of burying Scott, and 
 adding his monument to the collection, which he 
 intended should be worthy of the " mighty min 
 strel of. the north," a prospective compliment 
 which was by no means relished by the object 
 of it. 
 
 ONE of my pleasantest rambles with Scott, 
 about the neighbourhood 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 misfor 
 tune, Scott had got him to take charge of his 
 estate. He lived at a small farm on the hill 
 side above Abbotsford, and was treated by Scott 
 as a cherished and confidential friend, rather 
 than a dependant. 
 
 As the day was showery, Scott was attended 
 by one of his retainers, who carried his plaid.
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 73 
 
 This man, whose name, I think, was George, 
 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 George used to have about mat 
 ters relative to farming. * George was tenacious 
 of his opinions, and he and Scott would have 
 long disputes in front of the house, as to some 
 thing that was to be done on the estate, until the 
 latter, fairly tired out, would abandon the ground 
 and the argument, exclaiming, " Well, well, 
 George, have it your own way." 
 
 After a time, however, George would present 
 himself at the door of the parlour, and observe, 
 "I ha' been thinking over the matter, and 
 upon the whole, I think I'll take your honour's 
 advice." 
 
 Scott laughed heartily when this anecdote was 
 told of him. " It was with him and George," 
 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 deel does your honour mean to go ?' 
 replied the other." 
 
 I would, moreover, observe of George, that he 
 was a firm believer in ghosts, and warlocks, and 
 7
 
 74 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 al! kinds of old wives' fable. He was a religous 
 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. 
 
 In the course of our morning's walk, we stop 
 ped at a small house belonging to one of the 
 labourers on the estate. The object of Scott's 
 visit was to inspect a relic which had been 
 digged up in the 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 ad 
 dressed 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 inimita 
 ble character of Monkbarns was again brought 
 to mind, and I seemed to see before me that 
 prince of antiquarians and humourists holding 
 forth to his unlearned and unbelieving neigh 
 bours. 
 
 Whenever Scott touched, in this way, upon 
 local antiquities, and in all his familiar conver 
 sations about local traditions and superstitions,
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 75 
 
 there was always a sly and quiet humour run 
 ning 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 humours and peculiarities, yet, at the 
 same time, a poetic gleam in his eye would 
 show that he really took a strong relish and inte 
 rest in them. " It was a pity," he said, " that 
 antiquarians were generally so dry, for the sub 
 jects they handled were rich in historical and 
 poetic 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." 
 
 For my own part I never met with antiquarian 
 so delightful, either in his writings or his con 
 versation, and the quiet subacid humour that was 
 prone to mingle in his disquisitions, gave them, 
 to me, a peculiar and an exquisite flavour. But he 
 seemed, in fact, to undervalue every thing that 
 concerned himself. The play of his genius was 
 so easy that he was unconscious of its mighty
 
 76 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 power, and made light of those sports of intel 
 lect that shamed the efforts and labours of other 
 minds. 
 
 Our ramble this morning took us again up the 
 Rhymer's glen, and by Huntley bank, and Hunt- 
 ley wood, and the silver waterfall overhung with 
 weeping birches and mountain ashes, those deli 
 cate and beautiful trees which grace the green 
 shaws and burn sides of Scotland. The heather, 
 too, that closely woven robe of Scottish land 
 scape which covers the nakedness of its hills 
 and mountains, tinted the neighbourhood with 
 soft and rich colours. As we ascended the glen, 
 the prospects opened upon us ; Melrose, with its 
 towers and pinnacles, lay below; beyond was 
 the Eildon hills, the Cowden Knowes, the Tweed, 
 the Galla water, and all the storied vicinity ; 
 the whole landscape varied by gleams of sun 
 shine and driving showers. 
 
 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 compa 
 nions trudged on as unconcernedly as if it had 
 been fine weather. 
 
 At length, I asked whether we had not better 
 seek some shelter. " True," said Scott, " I did
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 77 
 
 not recollect that you were not accustomed to 
 our Scottish mists. This is a lachrymose climate, 
 evermore showering. We, however, are chil 
 dren of the mist, and must not mind a little 
 whimpering of the clouds any more than a man 
 must 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 point 
 ed 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 venera 
 ble anchorite, and would not suffer him to be 
 disturbed. He was a kind of successor to Tho 
 mas the Rhymer, and perhaps might be Thomas 
 himself returned from fairy land, but still under 
 fairy spell. 
 
 7*
 
 78 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 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 farm house, poor Hogg would take 
 to the shepherd's hut, in the field on the hill side, 
 and there lie awake for hours together, and look 
 at the stars and make poetry, which he would 
 repeal, the next day to his companion. 
 
 Scott spoke in warm terms of Hogg, and re 
 peated passages from his beautiful poem of 
 Kelmeny, to which he gave great and well me 
 rited praise. He gave, also, some amusing 
 anecdotes of Hogg and his publisher, Black wood, 
 who was at that time just rising into the bibliogra 
 phical importance which he has since enjoyed. 
 
 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 immoveable.
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 79 
 
 " 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. 
 
 Scott promised to invite the Shepherd to Ab- 
 botsford during my visit, and I anticipated much 
 gratification in meeting with him, from the ac 
 count I had received of his character and man 
 ners, 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. 
 
 When the weather held up, we continued our 
 walk until we carne to a beautiful sheet of water, 
 in the bosom of the mountain, called, if I recol 
 lect 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 neighbour 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
 
 80 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 inscription aloud, trying to recollect something I 
 had heard or read to which it alluded. " Pshaw," 
 cried Scott, " it is only some of Lord Somer- 
 ville'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 ad 
 verted no more to the circumstance. 
 
 We had a pleasant row about the lake, which 
 commanded some pretty scenery. The most 
 interesting circumstance connected with it, how 
 ever, according to Scott, was, that it was haunt 
 ed 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 imme 
 morial ; there was a man living who declared 
 he had seen the bull, and he was believed by 
 many of his simple neighbours. " 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 neighbours think proper 
 to put into it ; and these old wives' fables are a 
 kind of property in Scotland that belong to the 
 estates and go with the soil. Our streams and 
 lochs are like the rivers and pools in Germany, 
 that have all their Wasser Nixe, or water witches,
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 81 
 
 and I have a fancy for these kind of amphibious 
 bogles and hobgoblins." 
 
 SCOTT went on after we had landed to make 
 many remarks, mingled with picturesque anec 
 dotes, 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 clanish divisions of its people ; their 
 local feelings, notions, and prejudices ; the indi 
 viduality 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 hill sides ; 
 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
 
 82 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 strength of the latter gave perpetuity and luxu 
 riance 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 abundant 
 ly. " You will never weed these popular stories 
 and songs and superstitions out of Scotland," 
 said he. " It is not so much that the people be 
 lieve 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 forefa 
 thers of which they are proud." 
 
 " 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 beggar, 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 fight 
 ing 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 peasant 
 ry, 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."
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 83 
 
 I do not pretend to give the precise words, 
 but, as nearly as I can from scanty memoran 
 dums and vague recollections, the leading ideas 
 of Scott. I am constantly sensible, however, 
 how far I fall short of his copiousness and rich 
 ness. 
 
 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 burn sides, 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 visiters." 
 
 Here Scott recounted, in graphic style, and 
 with much humour, a little story which used to 
 be current in the neighbourhood, 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 aston 
 ishment, for he was in the market place of a 
 great city, with a crowd of people bustling
 
 84 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 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 as 
 tonished, and would not believe either ears or 
 eyes ; he insisted that he had laid down to sleep 
 but half an hour before on the Peatlaw, near 
 Selkirk. He came well nigh being taken up for 
 a mad man, 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. 
 
 I give this little story but meagerly 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 
 humour, the bonhommie with which he seasoned
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 85 
 
 them, and the sly glance of the eye from under 
 his bushy eyebrows, with which they were ac 
 companied. 
 
 THAT day at dinner, we had Mr. Laidlaw and 
 his wife, and a female friend who accompanied 
 them. The latter was a very intelligent, respec 
 table 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 ap 
 preciated. 
 
 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 every where, and 
 they are every where the same. The character 
 of a nation is not to be learnt from its fine folks." 
 
 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 
 8
 
 86 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 care, by which she earned a decent mainte 
 nance. That, however, was not her main ob 
 ject. Her first care was to pay off her father's 
 debts, that no ill word or ill will might rest upon 
 his memory. This, by dint of Scottish econo 
 my, 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 
 neighbours, 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." 
 
 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 conver 
 sation with Scott ; it was, as if I were admitted 
 to a social communion with Shakspeare, 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 enjoy-
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 87 
 
 ment. 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 cha 
 racters, and giving anecdotes of them individu 
 ally, it is because I consider them shielded by 
 the sanctity of domestic life : Scott, on the con 
 trary, belongs to history. As he accompanied 
 me on foot, however, to a small gate on the con 
 fines 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
 
 88 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 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." 
 
 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 Abbots- 
 ford open to you, and a hearty welcome." 
 
 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 meager, scattered, and colourless 
 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 neighbourhood, 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
 
 ABBOTSPORD. 89 
 
 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, atten 
 tion, 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 na 
 ture to require reading and research. I could 
 not find that his life was ever otherwise than a 
 life of leisure and hap-hazard 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 subse 
 quently. 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 set went 
 8*
 
 90 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 another arrived, and so it continued for several 
 days, and with each set he was completely occu 
 pied. 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 mor 
 ning we'll go across the water and take the dogs 
 with us thre's a place where I think we shall 
 be able to find a hare.' 
 
 " In short," added Wilkie, " I found that in 
 stead of business, he was thinking only of amuse 
 ment, as if he had nothing in the world to occupy 
 him; so I no longer feared to intrude upon 
 him." 
 
 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 humour in social 
 intercourse, and laughed with right good will. 
 He talked not for effect or display, but from the 
 flow of his spirits, the stores of his memory, and 
 the vigour of his imagination. He had a natural 
 turn for narration, and his narratives and de-
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 91 
 
 scriptions were without effort, yet wonderfully 
 graphic. He placed the scene before you like a 
 picture ; he gave the dialogue with the appro 
 priate dialect or peculiarities, and described the 
 appearance and characters of his personages 
 with that spirit and felicity evinced in his wri 
 tings. 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. 
 
 He was as good a listener as talker, appreci 
 ated every thing that others said, however hum 
 ble 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 him 
 self 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 per 
 fectly at their ease.
 
 92 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 It was delightful to observe the generous mode 
 in which he spoke of all his literary cotempora- 
 ries, 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. 
 
 His humour 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 indul 
 gent 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 bonhommie to Scott's humour through 
 out 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 conver 
 sation any more than there is throughout his 
 works. 
 
 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
 
 ABBOTSFORD. 93 
 
 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 hiJMiifrtn -being ever exercise 
 an influence more salutary and benignant ? Who 
 is there that, on looking back over a great por 
 tion 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 guard his works as a treasury of 
 pure enjoyment, an armoury 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 given spot at a distance, where 
 he feels assured of solace and refreshment. 
 When I consider how much he has thus con 
 tributed 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
 
 94 ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 career, that it has elevated me into genial com 
 munion 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.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY.

 
 97 
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 HISTORICAL NOTICE. 
 
 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. 
 
 Newstead Abbey is one of the finest speci 
 mens 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 neigh 
 bourhood ; being in the heart of Sherwood Fo 
 rest, and surrounded by the haunts of Robin 
 Hood and his band of outlaws, so famous in an 
 cient 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 en 
 livened with villages. 
 
 Newstead, which probably once exerted a 
 9
 
 98 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 monastic sway over this region, and controlled 
 the consciences of the rude foresters, was ori 
 ginally 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 sim 
 ple 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 es 
 tablishments ; 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 un 
 derwent a sudden reverse, being given, with the 
 neighbouring 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 tradi 
 tions 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 edi-
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 99 
 
 fice into a castellated dwelling, making it his 
 favourite residence and the seat of his forest ju 
 risdiction. 
 
 The Byron family being subsequently enno 
 bled by a baronial title, and enriched by various 
 possessions, maintained great style and retinue 
 at Nevvstead. The proud edifice partook, how 
 ever, of the vicissitudes of the times, and Lord 
 Byron, in one of his poems, represents it as alter 
 nately the scene of lordly wassailing and of civil 
 war. 
 
 " 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 offcasts, the clang of burnish'd arms, 
 The braying trumpet, and the hoarser drum, 
 
 Unite in concert with increased alarms." 
 
 About the middle of the last century, the Ab 
 bey came into the possession of another noted 
 character, who makes no less figure in its sha 
 dowy 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
 
 100 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 to his whole character and life, and in some 
 measure affected the fortunes of the Abbey. In 
 his neighbourhood 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 arose 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 of the contest as induced the coro 
 ner's jury to return a verdict of wilful murder. 
 Lord Byron was sent to the tower, and subse 
 quently tried before the House of Peers, where 
 an ultimate verdict was given of manslaughter. 
 
 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 neighbour 
 hood was to dine tete a tete with him, it is said a
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 101 
 
 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 rumour 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 ru 
 mours, 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 malignancy towards 
 him. Not being able to cut off his succession 
 to the Abbey estate, which descended to him by 
 entail, he endeavoured 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 every thing to 
 go to waste about it, and cut down all the tim 
 ber on the estate, laying low many a tract of old 
 Sherwood Forest, so that the Abbey lands lay 
 9*
 
 102 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 stripped and bare of all their ancient honours. 
 He was baffled in his unnatural revenge by the 
 premature death of his son, and passed the re 
 mainder of his days in his deserted and dilapi 
 dated halls, a gloomy misanthrope, brooding 
 amidst the scenes he had laid desolate. 
 
 His wayward humours drove from him all 
 neighbourly society, and for a part of the time 
 he was almost without domestics. In his mis 
 anthropic mood, when at variance with all hu 
 man 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. 
 
 The death of the " Old Lord," or " The Wicked 
 Lord Byron," for he is known by both appella 
 tions, 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 pos 
 session. Moore gives a simple but striking an 
 ecdote of the first arrival of the poet at the 
 domains of his ancestors.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 103 
 
 hey 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.* 
 
 During Lord Byron's minority, the Abbey 
 was let to Lord Grey de Ruthen, but the poet 
 visited it occasionally during the Harrow vaca 
 tions, when he resided with his mother at lodg 
 ings 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. 
 
 " Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds 
 
 whistle, 
 Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay : 
 
 * Moore's Life of Lord Byron.
 
 104 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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."* 
 
 In another poem he expresses the melancholy 
 feeling with which he took possession of his an 
 cestral mansion. 
 
 " Newstead ! what saddening scene of change is thino, 
 
 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."t 
 
 Lord Byron had not fortune sufficient to put 
 the pile in extensive repair, or to maintain any 
 thing like the state of his ancestors. He restored 
 some of the apartments, so as to furnish his mo 
 ther with a comfortable habitation, and fitted up 
 
 * Lines on leaving Newstead Abbey. 
 t Elegy on Newstead Abbey,
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY 105 
 
 a quaint suidy for himself, in which, among 
 books, and busts, and other library furniture, 
 were two sculls 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. 
 
 " 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."* 
 
 Even the repairs thus made were but of tran 
 sient benefit, for the roof being left in its dilapi 
 dated 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. 
 
 * Letter of the late Charles Sk'inner Mathews, Esq.
 
 106 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 New- 
 stead Abbey, the first fortune in the country, 
 I would reject the proposition." 
 
 His residence at the Abbey, however, was 
 fitful and uncertain. He passed occasional por 
 tions of time there, sometimes studiously and 
 alone, oftener idly and recklessly, and occasion 
 ally 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 clois 
 ters, at other times turned the state chambers 
 into schools for boxing and single-stick, and shot 
 
 O O ' 
 
 pistols in the great hall. The country people of 
 the neighbourhood were as much puzzled by 
 these madcap vagaries of the new incumbent, 
 as by the gloomier habits of the " old lord," and 
 
 \
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 107 
 
 began to think that madness was inherent in the 
 Byron race, or that some wayward star ruled 
 over the Abbey. 
 
 It is needless to enter into a detail of the cir 
 cumstances which led his Lordship to sell his 
 ancestral estate, notwithstanding the partial pre 
 dilections 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. Colo 
 nel (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 monu 
 ments and memorials of his line.* 
 
 * The following letter, written in the course of the transfer 
 of the estate, has never been published : 
 
 Venice, Nov. 18, 1818. 
 MY DEAR WJLDMAN, 
 
 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 every
 
 108 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 splendour, and addi 
 tions 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 digni 
 fied formality. 
 
 The farms on the estate have been put in 
 
 thing 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. 
 
 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 dependants. 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 school-fellow fellow monitor, 
 and friend, and recognise 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. 
 
 Ever yours most truly and affectionately, 
 
 BYRON.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 109 
 
 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 ; every 
 thing, in a word, gives happy indications of a 
 liberal and beneficent landlord. 
 
 What most, however, will interest the visitors 
 to the Abbey in favour of its present occupant, 
 is the reverential care with which he has pre 
 served 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 
 
 " 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." 
 
 10
 
 110 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 ARRIVAL AT THE ABBEY. 
 
 I HAD been passing a merry christmas in the 
 good old style at a venerable family hall in Der 
 byshire, and set off to finish the holydays 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 impos 
 ing, the fine old trees that once adorned it hav 
 ing been laid low by Lord Byron's wayward 
 predecessor. 
 
 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. 
 
 The irregular gray pile, of motley architec 
 ture, answered to the description given by Lord 
 Byron : 
 
 " An old, old monastery once, and now 
 Still older mansion, of a rich and rare 
 Mixed Gothic "
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. Ill 
 
 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 tem 
 pest on the pinnacle of the chapel, and below, 
 the blessed effigies of the Virgin and child, sculp 
 tured in gray stone, remained uninjured in their 
 niche, giving a sanctified aspect to the pile.* 
 
 A flight of rooks, tenants of the adjacent grove, 
 were hovering about the ruin, and balancing 
 themselves upon every airy projection, and look 
 ed down with curious eye and cawed as the 
 postchaise rattled along below. 
 
 The chamberlain of the Abbey, a most deco 
 rous personage, dressed in black, received us at 
 the portal. Here, too, we encountered a me 
 mento of Lord Byron, a great black and white 
 
 * " in a higher niche, alone, but crowned, 
 
 The Virgin Mother of the God-born child 
 With her son in her blessed arms, looked round, 
 
 Spar'd by some chance, when all beside was spoiled : 
 She made the earth below seem holy ground," 
 
 DON JUAN, Canto III.
 
 112 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 Newfoundland dog, that had accompanied his 
 remains from Greece. He was descended from 
 the famous Boatswain, and inherited his gene 
 rous qualities. He was a cherished inmate of 
 the Abbey, and honoured and caressed by every 
 visiter. Conducted by the chamberlain, and 
 followed by the dog, who assisted in doing the 
 honours 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. 
 From this we ascended a stone staircase, at 
 the head of which a pair of folding doors admit 
 ted 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 edi 
 fice, and which has been well described by Lord 
 Byron. 
 
 " Amidst the court a gothic fountain play'd, 
 
 Symmetrical, but decked 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."* 
 
 * Don Juan, Canto III.
 
 NEWSTE AD ABBEY. 113 
 
 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. Every thing thus far had a so 
 lemn monastic air ; but, on arriving at an angle 
 of the corridor, the eye, glancing along a sha 
 dowy gallery, caught a sight of two dark figures 
 in plate armour, with closed visors, bucklers 
 braced, and swords drawn, standing motionless 
 against the wall. They seemed two phantoms 
 of the chivalrous era of the Abbey. 
 
 Here the chamberlain, throwing open a fold 
 ing door, ushered us at once into a spacious and 
 lofty saloon, which offered a brilliant contrast to 
 the quaint and sombre apartments we had tra 
 versed. Tt 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 wfndow 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. 
 
 Here, too, were emblems of the former and lat 
 ter days of the Abbey, in the effigies of the first 
 10*
 
 114 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 canvass, while, at the op 
 posite end, a white marble bust of the genius 
 loci, the noble poet, shone conspicuously from 
 its pedestal. 
 
 The whole air and style of the apartment 
 partook more of the palace than the monastery, 
 and its windows looked forth on a suitable pros 
 pect, composed of beautiful groves, smooth ver 
 dant lawns, and silver sheets of water. Below 
 the windows was a small flower garden, enclosed 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
 " 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 unimpaired, to decorate the scene ;
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 1 15 
 
 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." 
 
 It is not my intention to lay open the scenes 
 of domestic life at. the Abbey, or 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. 
 
 I forbear, therefore, to dwell on my reception 
 by my excellent and amiable host and hostess, 
 or to make my reader acquainted with the ele 
 gant 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 chamber 
 lain. 
 
 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
 
 116 NEWSTEAD ABBE 
 
 ruinous condition in the time of Lord Byron. It 
 had since been restored to its ancient splendour, 
 of which my chamber may be cited as a speci 
 men. It was lofty and well proportioned ; the 
 lower part of the walls was panelled with 
 ancient oak, the upper part hung with goblin 
 tapestry, representing oriental hunting scenes, 
 wherein the figures were of the size of life, and 
 of great vivacity of attitude and colour. 
 
 The furniture was antique, dignified, and cum 
 brous. High backed chairs curiously carved, 
 and wrought in needle-work; 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 moveable 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. 
 
 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 tes 
 sellated oak, shining with wax, and partly cover 
 ed 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 rose wood.
 
 NEWSTE AD ABBEY. 117 
 
 A sober light was admitted into the room 
 through gothic stone shafted casements, partly 
 shaded by crimson curtains, and partly over 
 shadowed by the trees of the garden. This 
 solemnly tempered light added to the effect of 
 the stately and antiquated interior. 
 
 Two portraits, suspended over the doors, were 
 in keeping with the scene. They were in an 
 cient 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 has been rescued by some
 
 118 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 emblazon 
 ed the armorial bearings of the Byrons. 
 
 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.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 119 
 
 THE ABBEY GARDEN. 
 
 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 in 
 terior 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 walks 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 
 led walks, and stately stone balustrades. 
 
 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. Dress 
 ing myself, therefore, with all speed, I descended 
 a small flight of steps from the state apartment 
 into the long corridor over the cloisters, along
 
 120 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 which I passed to a door at the farther end. 
 Here I emerged into the open air, and, descend 
 ing another flight of stone steps, found myself in 
 the centre of what had once been the Abbey 
 chapel. 
 
 Nothing of the sacred edifice remained, how 
 ever, 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 aisles, and stately 
 trees to the clustering columns. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 Instead of the matin orisons of the monks, 
 however, the ruined walls of the chapel now re 
 sounded to the cawing of innumerable rooks 
 that were fluttering and hovering about the dark 
 grove which they inhabited, and preparing for 
 their morning flight. 
 
 My ramble led me along quiet alleys, border 
 ed by shrubbery, where the solitary water hen
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 121 
 
 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 fa 
 vourite 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 neighbouring 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 neighbourhood. It was planted 
 by " The Wicked Lord Byron," during the early 
 part of his residence at the Abbey, before his fa 
 tal duel with Mr. Chaworth. Having something 
 of a foreign and classical taste, he set up leaden 
 statues of satyrs or fawns at each end of the 
 grove. These statues, like every thing 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 ob 
 ject of secret worship of the gloomy and seclu- 
 11
 
 122 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 ded misanthrope, and reputed murderer, and 
 gave them the name of " The old Lord's Devils." 
 
 I penetrated the recesses of the mystic grove. 
 There stood the ancie"ht and much slandered 
 statues, overshadowed by tall larches, and stain 
 ed by dank green mould. It is not a matter of 
 surprise, that strange figures thus behoofed and 
 behorned, 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 un 
 educated must savour of insanity. 
 
 I was attracted to this grove, however, by 
 memorials of a more touching character. It 
 had been one of the favourite 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. 
 
 The feelings that agitated his bosom during 
 this farewell visit, when he beheld round him 
 objects dear to his pride, and dear to his juve 
 nile 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.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 123 
 
 " I did remind you of our own dear lake 
 By the old hall, which may be mine no more; 
 Lemans is fair ; but think not I forsake 
 The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore : 
 Sad havoc Time must with my memory make 
 Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before ; 
 Though, like all things which I have loved, they are 
 Resigned 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." 
 
 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, min 
 gled 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. 
 
 Leaving the grove, I continued my ramble 
 along a spacious terrace, overlooking what had
 
 124 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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. 
 
 A little further 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 land of my fathers I reared thee with pride ;
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 125 
 
 They are past, and I water thy stem with my tears 
 Thy decay not the weeds that surround thee can hide." 
 
 I leaned over the stone balustrade of the ter 
 race, 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 in 
 fluence over the landscape, probably from the 
 quiet of the day, and the cessation of all kinds 
 of week day labour. As I mused upon the 
 mild and beautiful scene, and the wayward des 
 tinies 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 calcula 
 ted to summon up touching recollections of poor 
 Byron. The chime was from the village spire 
 of Hucknall Torkard, beneath which his remains 
 lie buried ! 
 
 1 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 
 11*
 
 126 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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, 
 
 " After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well. 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing 
 Can touch him further !" 
 
 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 mis 
 anthropy : 
 
 " 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 coming blow : 
 
 No maiden with dishevelled hair, 
 To feel, or feign decorous wo. 
 
 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 fear." 
 
 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 er 
 rors, and passions, and caprices, he had the gift
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 127 
 
 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.
 
 128 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 PLOUGH MONDAY. 
 
 SHERWOOD Forest is a region that still retains 
 much of the quaint customs and holyday games 
 of the olden time. A day or two after my arri 
 val at the Abbey, as I was walking in the clois 
 ters, I heard the sound of rustic music, and now 
 and then a burst of merriment, proceeding from 
 the interior of the mansion. Presently the cham 
 berlain came to me 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 assent 
 ed, 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, from 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 bearskin, and a bell dangling behind him, that
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 129 
 
 jingled at every movement. He was the clown, 
 or fool of the party, probably a traditional repre 
 sentative of the ancient satyr. The rest were 
 decorated with ribands and armed with wooden 
 swords. The leader of the troop recited the 
 old ballad of St. George and the Dragon, which 
 has been current among the country people for 
 ages ; his companions accompanied the recita 
 tion with some rude attempt at acting, while the 
 clown cut all kinds of antics. 
 
 To these succeeded a set of morrice dancers, 
 gaily dressed up with ribands and hawks' bells. 
 In this troop we had Robin Hood and Maid Ma 
 rian, the latter represented by a smooth faced 
 boy : also, Belzebub, equipped with a broom, 
 and accompanied by his wife Bessy, a terma 
 gant 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, drag 
 ged what was called the " fool plough" from 
 house to house, singing ballads and performing 
 antics, for which they were rewarded with mo 
 ney and good cheer. 
 
 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.
 
 130 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 clog 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 neighbouring village, who went their rounds 
 about the ancient Hall at midnight, according to 
 immemorial christmas custom. We had mum 
 mers 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 represent 
 ed in the antichamber and servants' hall by rus 
 tics, who inherited the custom and the poetry 
 from preceding generations. 
 
 The boar's head, crowned with rosemary 7 , had 
 taken its honoured 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
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 131 
 
 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 holydays. 
 
 I specify these rural pageants and ceremoni 
 als, which I saw during my sojourn in this neigh 
 bourhood, because it has been deemed that some 
 of the anecdotes of holyday 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 neighbourhoods. 
 
 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 re 
 gion. The moss green cottages, the lowly man 
 sions of gray stone, the gothic crosses at each 
 end of the villages, and the tall May pole in the 
 centre, transport us in imagination to foregone 
 centuries : every thing has a quaint and anti 
 quated air. 
 
 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 man 
 sions fell to decay, and every thing about them 
 partook of the general waste and misrule of the 
 Byron dynasty, yet nothing could uproot them
 
 132 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 from their native soil. I am happy to say, that 
 Colonel Wildman has taken these staunch loyal 
 families under his peculiar care. He has favour 
 ed 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 la 
 bourers, once more to hold up their heads among 
 the yeomanry of the land. 
 
 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 conse 
 quence with the improvement of his mansion, 
 and now began to be known among his rustic 
 neighbours by the appellation of "the young 
 Squire."
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 133 
 
 OLD SERVANTS. 
 
 [N an old, time-worn, and mysterious looking 
 mansion like Newtead Abbey, and one so haunt 
 ed by monkish, and feudal, and poetical associ 
 ations, 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, yet 
 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 " rock houses," which are 
 nothing more than a little neighbourhood 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 
 12
 
 134 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 but comfortably; her son William laboured in 
 the neighbourhood, 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 my house" So 
 much for the love of rule poor Nanny's house 
 was a hole in a rock ! 
 
 Colonel Wildman, on taking possession of the 
 Abbey, found Nanny Smith thus humbly nestled. 
 With that active benevolence which characteri 
 zes 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 Wil 
 liam with much more respect now that he is a 
 farmer, than they did when he was a labourer. 
 A farmer of the neighbourhood has even endea 
 voured 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. 
 
 " 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
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 135 
 
 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 gra 
 titude to so severe a test. 
 
 Another worthy whom Colonel Wildman found 
 vegetating upon the place, and who had lived 
 there for at least sixty years, \vas old Joe Mur 
 ray. 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 afterwards 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. 
 
 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,
 
 136 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 afterwards, 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." 
 
 " 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." 
 
 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 house 
 keeper, 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 pre-
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 1 37 
 
 sided 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 coun 
 try 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 honest 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 to 
 wards 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, continu 
 ed Nanny, he relapsed and became as bad as 
 ever, and continued to sing loose and profane 
 songs to his dying day. 
 
 When Colonel Wildman became proprietor of 
 the Abbey he found Joe Murray flourishing in a 
 green old age, though upwards of fourscore, and 
 12*
 
 138 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 splendour, its 
 gates be thronged with trains and equipages, 
 and its halls once more echo to the sound of 
 joyous hospitality. 
 
 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, con 
 verted into a servants' hall. Here Joe looked 
 forward to rule the roast at the head of the ser 
 vants' 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 work 
 men. 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. 
 
 "Lord, sir," exclaimed the hale old fellow, 
 " it's my air bath, I'm all the better for it."
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 139 
 
 Unluckily as he was thus employed one morn 
 ing, 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 me 
 lancholy. 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." 
 
 " 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 afterwards, 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.
 
 140 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 SUPERSTITIONS OF THE ABBEY. 
 
 THE anecdotes I had heard of the quondam 
 housekeeper of Lord Byron, rendered me desi 
 rous 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 favourite cat 
 perched upon her shoulder and purring in her 
 ear. Nanny Smith is a large good looking wo 
 man, 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 per 
 plexed by some of his vagaries : and especially 
 by the means he adopted to counteract his ten 
 dency to corpulency. He used various modes 
 to sweat himself down ; sometimes he would lie 
 for a long time in a warm bath, sometimes he
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 141 
 
 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." 
 
 His meals were scanty and irregular, consist 
 ing of dishes which Nanny seemed to hold in 
 great contempt, such as pilaw, maccaroni, and 
 light puddings. 
 
 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 sopha reading. 
 Sometimes he had young gentlemen of his ac 
 quaintance with him, and they played some mad 
 pranks ; but nothing but what young gentlemen 
 may do, and no harm done." 
 
 " Once, it is true," she added, " he had with 
 him a beautiful boy as a page, which the house 
 maids 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 favourite 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 six-
 
 142 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 pence. 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 mis 
 tress 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 bet 
 ter than I thought for ; she is now married, and 
 keeps a public house at Warwick." 
 
 Finding that we listened to her with great at 
 tention, Nanny Smith went on with her gossip 
 ing. " 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 sculls 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 sculls always do. I 
 can't say but I was glad to get out of the room. 
 
 " There was at one time (and for that matter 
 there is still) a good deal said about ghosts haunt-
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEV._ 143 
 
 ing about the Abbey. The keeper's wife said 
 she saw two standing in a dark part of the clois 
 ters just opposite the chapel, and one in the gar 
 den, 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 die room, and go 
 into the wall on the opposite side. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " For my part," continued Nanny Smith, " I 
 never saw any tiling 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
 
 144 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 went to see what it was. I heard the steps 
 come from the lower end of the hall to the fire 
 place 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 no 
 thing. 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 scull and bones that had 
 been digged up in the cloisters." 
 
 Here Nanny paused : I asked her if she be 
 lieved that the mysterious footsteps had any con 
 nexion 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 pe-
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 145 
 
 culiar 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 car 
 riage 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 gra 
 vel 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 humouredly, 
 " I am glad to find I have a brownie to work 
 for me." 
 
 Lord Byron did much to foster and give cur 
 13
 
 146 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 rency 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 ruin 
 ous melancholy state, and brooding over the 
 sculls and effigies of its former inmates. I should 
 rather think that he found poetical enjoyment in 
 these supernatural themes, and that his imagina 
 tion delighted to people this gloomy and roman 
 tic 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 stuperstitiously 
 inclined. 
 
 I have already mentioned some of the fabled 
 visitants of the Abbey. The goblin friar, how 
 ever, 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 appear 
 ance was said to portend some impending evil 
 to the master of the mansion. Lord Byron pre 
 tended to have seen it about a month before he
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 147 
 
 contracted his ill-starred marrage with Miss Mil- 
 banke. 
 
 He has embodied this tradition in the follow 
 ing ballad, in which he represents the friar as 
 one of the ancient inmates of the Abbey, main 
 taining 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 
 
 ' Beware ! beware ! of the Black Friar, 
 
 Who sitteth by Norman stone, 
 For he mutters his prayer 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. .:--
 
 148 frfiWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 By the marriage bod of their lords, 'tis said, 
 
 He flits on the bridal eve ; 
 And 'tis held as faith, to their bed of death, 
 
 He conies 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." 
 
 Such is the story of the goblin friar, which, 
 partly through old tradition, and partly through 
 the influence of Lord Byron's rhymes, has be 
 come completely established in the Abbey, and
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 149 
 
 threatens to hold possession as long as the old 
 edifice shall endure. Various visiters 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 super 
 stitious fancies. The long corridors and gothic 
 halls, with their ancient portraits and dark figures 
 in armour, 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. 
 
 Even the magnificent chamber in which I 
 was lodged was subject to the supernatural in 
 fluences 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 con 
 fined 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 identi 
 cal chamber I have described, which stood partly 
 open, she saw Sir John Byron the Little seat 
 ed by the fireplace, reading out of a great 
 13*
 
 150 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 black letter book. From this circumstance 
 some have been led to suppose that the story of 
 Sir John Byron may be in some measure con 
 nected with the mysterious sculptures of the 
 chimney piece already mentioned; but this has 
 no countenance from the most authentic anti 
 quarians of the Abbey. 
 
 For my own part, the moment I learned the 
 wonderful stories and strange suppositions con 
 nected with my apartment, it became an imagi 
 nary 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 thou 
 sand fancies concerning them. The great figures 
 in the tapestry, also, were almost animated by 
 the workings of my imagination, and the Van 
 dyke portraits of the cavalier and lady that 
 looked down with pale aspects from the wall, 
 had almost a spectral effect, from their immove- 
 able gaze and silent companionship 
 
 "For by dim lights the portraits of the dead 
 Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread. 
 
 Their buried looks still wave 
 
 Along the canvass ; their eyes glance like dreams 
 
 On ours, as spars within some dusky cave, 
 But death is mingled in their shadowy beams." 
 
 In this way I used to conjure up fictions of the 
 brain, and clothe the objects around me with
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 151 
 
 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.
 
 152 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 ANNESLEY HALL. 
 
 AT about three miles distance from Newstead 
 Abbey, and contiguous to its lands, is situated 
 Annesley Hall, the old family mansion of the Cha- 
 worths. The families, like the estates, of the 
 Byrons and Chaworths, were connected in for 
 mer times, until the fatal duel between their two 
 representatives. The feud, however, which pre 
 vailed for a time, premised 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 child 
 hood, he became almost immediately enamoured 
 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 retain 
 ed 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
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 153 
 
 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. 
 
 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 resi 
 ded 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 youth 
 ful Lord was always a welcome guest at the 
 Abbey. He would pass days at a time there, 
 and from thence make frequent visits to Annes 
 ley Hall. His visits were encouraged by Miss 
 Chaworth's mother; she partook none of the 
 family feud, and probably looked with compla 
 cency upon an attachment that might heal old 
 differences and unite two neighbouring estates. 
 
 The six weeks' vacation passed as a dream 
 amongst the beautiful bowers 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 at-
 
 154 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 tachments in after years, the memory will con 
 tinually recur to them, and fondly dwell upon 
 their recollections. 
 
 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 that runs 
 through a complicated piece of music, and links 
 it all in a pervading chain of melody. 
 
 How tenderly and mournfully does he recall 
 in after years, the feelings awakened in his youth 
 ful and inexperienced bosom, by this impassioned, 
 yet innocent attachment ; feelings, he says, lost 
 or hardened in the intercourse of life : 
 
 " 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." 
 
 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 he acknowledges that she never gave him 
 reason to believe she loved him. It is probable,
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 155 
 
 however, that at first she experienced some 
 flutterings of the heart. She was at a suscepti 
 ble age ; had as yet formed no other attach 
 ments ; her lover, though boyish in years, was a 
 man in intellect, a poet in imagination, and had 
 a countenance of remarkable beauty. 
 
 With the six weeks' vacation ended this brief 
 romance. Byron returned to school deeply 
 enamoured, but if he had really made any im 
 pression 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 the woman, and leaves her boyish lovers 
 far behind her. While Byron was pursuing his 
 school-boy studies, she was mingling with soci 
 ety, 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 favour 
 able auspices, he wooed and won her, and when 
 Lord Byron next met her, he learned to his dis 
 may that she was the affianced bride of another. 
 
 With that pride of spirit which always distin 
 guished him, he controlled his feelings and main 
 tained a serene countenance. He even affected
 
 156 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 to speak calmly on the subject of her approach 
 ing 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." 
 
 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 un 
 derstood was shut up, neglected, and almost in 
 a state of desolation ; for Mr. Musters rarely 
 visited it, residing with his family in the neigh 
 bourhood of Nottingham. I set out for the Hall 
 on horseback, in company with Colonel Wild- 
 man, 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 neighbouring country. 
 The grove and promontory are graphically de 
 scribed by Lord Byron in his " Dream," and an 
 exquisite picture given of himself, and the lovely 
 object of his boyish idolatry 
 
 " I saw two beings in 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,
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 157 
 
 Save that there was no sea to lave its base, 
 But a most living landscape, and the wave 
 Of woods and corn fields, and the abodes of men, 
 Scatter'd 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." 
 
 I stood upon the spot consecrated by this me 
 morable interview. Below me extended the 
 " living landscape," once contemplated by the 
 loving pair; the gentle valley of Newstead, di 
 versified by woods and corn fields, and village 
 spires, and gleams of water, and the distant 
 towns and pinnacles of the venerable Abbey. 
 The diadem of trees, however, was gone. The 
 attention drawn to it by the poet, and the roman 
 tic manner in which he had associated it with 
 his early passion for Mary Chaworth, had net 
 tled the irritable feelings of her husband, who 
 but ill brooked the poetic celebrity conferred on 
 14
 
 158 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 his wife by the enamoured 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 pil 
 grim. 
 
 Descending the hill, 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 gentle 
 man'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. 
 
 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 
 flower pots, with a ruined stone fountain in
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 159 
 
 the centre. The whole approach resembled 
 that of an old French chateau. 
 
 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. 
 
 At the lower end of the court, and immedi 
 ately 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. 
 
 We applied for admission at the front door, 
 which was under a heavy porch. The portal 
 was strongly barricadoed, and our knocking was 
 echoed by waste and empty halls. Everything 
 bore an appearance of abandonment. After a 
 time, however, our knocking summoned a soli 
 tary 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
 
 160 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 barricadoed 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 
 getting in years, 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." 
 
 Guided by the worthy little custodian of the 
 fortress, we entered through the sally port by 
 which she had issued forth, and soon found our 
 selves in a spacious, but somewhat gloomy hall, 
 where the light w r as partially admitted through 
 square stone-shafted windows, overhung with 
 ivy. Every thing around us had the air of an 
 old fashioned country squire's establishment. In 
 the centre of the hall was a billiard table, and 
 about the walls were hung portraits of race 
 horses, hunters, and favourite dogs, mingled 
 indiscriminately with family pictures.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 161 
 
 Staircases led up from the Hall to various 
 apartments. In one of the rooms we were shown 
 a couple of buff jerkens, and a pair of ancient 
 jack boots, 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 they 
 had belonged to Robin Hood. As we were in the 
 midst of the region over which that famous out 
 law 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. 
 
 As we were strolling about the mansion, our 
 four-footed attendant, Boatswain, followed lei 
 surely, 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 towards 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 
 14*
 
 162 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 have thought that I should see a dog of Lord 
 Byron in Annesley Hall?" 
 
 "I suppose, then," said I, "you recollect some 
 thing 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 
 his bright morning star of Annesley" 
 
 I felt the beautiful poetic phrase thrill through 
 me. 
 
 "You appear to like the memory of Lord 
 Byron," said I. 
 
 "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." 
 
 The simple soul now showed us into the 
 favourite sitting room of Miss Chaworth, with a 
 small flower garden under the windows, in which 
 she had delighted. In this room Byron used to
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 163 
 
 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 : 
 
 i 
 
 " He had 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 coloured 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." 
 
 There was a little Welsh air, called Mary 
 Ann, which, from bearing her own name, he 
 associated with herself, and often persuaded her 
 to sing it over and over for him. 
 
 The chamber, like all the other parts of the 
 house, had a look of sadness and neglect ; the 
 flower plots 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. 
 
 We continued our stroll about the waste apart 
 ments, of all shapes and sizes, and without much
 
 164 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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." 
 
 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. 
 
 A feeling of the kind he has embodied in one 
 of his stanzas of Don Juan : 
 
 " 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." 
 
 Nor was the youthful poet singular in these 
 fancies ; the Hall, like most old English man 
 sions that have ancient family portraits hanging 
 about their dusky galleries and waste apart 
 ments, had its ghost story connected with these
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 165 
 
 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 inhabit 
 ed the Hall in the heyday of her charms. 
 Something mysterious or melancholy was con 
 nected 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 visiters, and 
 it was with much difficulty her troubled spirit 
 was conjured down and put to rest. 
 
 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 ever 
 greens. 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. 
 
 The retired and quiet garden, once a little 
 sequestered world of love and romance, was
 
 166 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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. 
 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, how 
 ever, 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 Annes- 
 ley, after learning that Mary Chaworth was 
 engaged to be married 
 
 "There was an ancient mansion, and before 
 Its walls there was a steed caparison'd : 
 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 lean'd 
 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,
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 167 
 
 For quickly comes such knowledge, that his heart 
 
 Was darken'd 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 repass'd that hoary threshold more." 
 
 In one of his journals, Lord Byron describes 
 his feelings after thus leaving the oratory. Arri 
 ving 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 ten 
 derness. The conviction at length recurred 
 that she never could be his, when, rousing him 
 self from his reverie, he stuck his spurs into his 
 steed and dashed forward, as if by rapid motion 
 to leave reflection behind him. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding what he asserts in the 
 verses last quoted, he did pass the "hoary thresh 
 old" of Annesley again. It was, however, after 
 the lapse of several years, during which he had 
 grown up to manhood, had passed through the
 
 168 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 in 
 struments 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 devotion, with all these re 
 collections throbbing in his bosom, her infant 
 daughter was brought into the room. At sight 
 of the child he started ; it dispelled the last lin- 
 gerings of his Dream, and he afterwards confess 
 ed, that to repress his emotion at the moment, 
 was the severest part of his task.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 169 
 
 The conflict of feelings that raged within his 
 bosom throughout this fond and tender, yet pain 
 ful and embarrassing visit, are touchingly depicted 
 in lines which he wrote immediately afterwards, 
 and which, though not addressed to her by 
 name, are evidently intended for the eye and 
 the heart of the fair lady of Annesley 
 
 " 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 favourite 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. 
 15
 
 170 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 flabled stream ? 
 
 My foolish heart, be still, or break." 
 
 The revival of this early passion, and the 
 melancholy associations which it spread over 
 those scenes in the neighbourhood 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 
 
 " When man expell'd from Eden's bowers 
 
 A monent 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."
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 171 
 
 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 embarca- 
 tion 
 
 " '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 wo 
 
 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.
 
 172 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 that wanders o'er the deep; 
 His home, his hope, his youth are gone, 
 Yet still he loves, and loves but one." 
 
 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 " wan 
 dering through distant climes," to which he trusted 
 as an oblivious antidote. Upwards of two years 
 after the 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 
 
 "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 fplt no secret pain,
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 173 
 
 And I have acted well my part, 
 And made my cheek belie my heart, 
 Return'd the freezing glance she gave, 
 Yet felt the while that 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." 
 
 " 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 real 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 dear 
 est 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 recollec 
 tions of the young and the dead mingled them 
 selves 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 imagina 
 tion, 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 
 15*
 
 174 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 feeling touched over with such a light as no 
 reality ever wore." 
 
 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 gushes 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 remem 
 brance 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. 
 
 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
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 175 
 
 Hall, among her native bowers of Annesley, 
 surrounded by a blooming and beautiful family, 
 yet a prey to secret and withering melancholy 
 
 " 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, 
 
 As if its lids were charged with unshed tears." 
 
 For an instant the buried tenderness of early 
 youth and the fluttering hopes which accompa 
 nied it, seem 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. 
 
 " 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 affliction, 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." 
 
 The cause of her grief was a matter of rural 
 comment in the neighbourhood of Newstead and 
 Annesley. It was disconnected from all idea 
 of Lord Byron, but attributed to the harsh and
 
 176 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 ?tar of Annesley" was eclipsed 
 for ever. 
 
 " The lady of his love, ah ! she was changed 
 As by the sickness of the soul ; her mind 
 Had wandered from its dwelli ag, 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." 
 
 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 By 
 ron, 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 Mil- 
 banke ; Annesley Hall and all its fond associa 
 tions floated like a vision before his thoughts, 
 even when at the altar, and on the point of pro 
 nouncing the nuptial vows. The circumstance
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 177 
 
 is related by him with a force and feeling that 
 persuade us of its truth. 
 
 "A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
 The wanderer was return'd. 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 heard 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 ?" 
 
 The history of Lord Byron's union is too well 
 known to need narration. The errors, and hu 
 miliations, 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
 
 178 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 my ? 
 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 one heart, and two persons not ill 
 matched in years and and and what has 
 been the result !" 
 
 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 reve 
 ries 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.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 179 
 
 THE LAKE. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 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 favourite recreations of swimming and sail 
 ing. 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, endeavoured to restore them, and 
 a beautiful young wood, planted by him, now 
 sweeps up from the water's edge, and clothes 
 the hill side opposite to the Abbey. To this 
 woody nook Colonel Wildman has given the ap 
 propriate title of " the Poet's Corner." 
 
 The lake has inherited its share of the tradi 
 tions and fables connected with every thing in
 
 180 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 and about the Abbey. It was a petty Mediter 
 ranean sea on which the " wicked old Lord" 
 used to gratify his nautical tastes and humours. 
 He had his mimic castles and fortresses along 
 its shores, and his mimic fleets upon its waters, 
 and used to get up mimic seafights. The re 
 mains of his petty fortifications still awaken the 
 curious inquiries of visitors. In one of his vaga 
 ries, 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 Fo 
 rest, 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. 
 
 The most important stories about the lake, 
 however, relate to the treasures that are suppo 
 sed to lie buried in its bosom. These may have 
 taken their origin in a fact which actually occur 
 red. 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 pe-
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 181 
 
 destal or perch of 'the same metal. It had doubt 
 less served as a stand or reading desk, in the 
 Abbey chapel, to hold a folio bible or missal. 
 
 The sacred relic was sent to a brasier to be 
 cleaned. As he was at work upon it, he disco 
 vered that the pedestal was hollow and compo 
 sed 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. 
 
 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 speci 
 fically mentioned. 
 
 After inspecting these testimonials of monk 
 ish 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 : 
 
 " I never hurt the husbandman, 
 That use to till the ground, 
 Nor spill their blood that range the wood 
 To follow hawk and hound. 
 16
 
 182 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 docu 
 ments 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. 
 
 The fishing up of this brazen relic, as I have 
 already hinted, has given rise to tales of treasure 
 lying at the bottom of the lake, thrown in there 
 by the monks when they abandoned the Abbey. 
 The favourite story is, that there is a great iron 
 chest there filled with gold and jewels, and cha 
 lices 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.
 
 183 
 
 ROBIN HOOD AND SHERWOOD FOREST. 
 
 WHILE at Newstead Abbey I took great de 
 light in r-iding and rambling about the neigh 
 bourhood, 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 that 
 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 New- 
 stead 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 holyday money. How I devoured its 
 pages, and gazed upon its uncouth wood cuts ! 
 For a time my mind was filled with picturings
 
 184 NEWSTEAU ABBEY. 
 
 of " merry Sherwood," and the exploits and 
 revelling of the bold foresters ; and Robin Hood, 
 Little John, Friar Tuck, and their doughty corn- 
 peers, were my heroes of romance. 
 
 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 chi 
 valry. One of the first of my antiquarian ram 
 bles was on horseback, in company with Colonel 
 Wildman and his lady, who undertook to guide 
 me to some of the mouldering monuments of the 
 forest. One of these stands in front of the very 
 gate of Newstead Park, and is known through 
 out the country by the name of " the Pilgrim 
 Oak." It is a venerable tree, of great size, over 
 shadowing a wide area of the road. Under its 
 shade the rustics of the neighbourhood have 
 been accustomed to assemble on certain holy- 
 days, 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. 
 
 The "old Lord Byron," however, in whose 
 eyes nothing was sacred, when he laid his deso 
 lating hand on the groves and forests of New- 
 stead, doomed likewise this traditional tree to 
 the axe. Fortunately the good people of Not-
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 185 
 
 tingham heard of the danger of their favourite 
 oak, and hastened to ransom it from destruction. 
 They afterwards made a present of it to the 
 poet, when he came to the estate, and the 
 Pilgrim Oak is likely to continue a rural gather 
 ing place for many coming generations. I 
 From this magnificent and time-honoured 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 survivers 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. 
 
 "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. 
 16*
 
 186 NEWSTEAD ABBfci. 
 
 While doe, and roe, and red-deer good, 
 Have bounded by through gay green-wood." 
 
 At no great distance from the 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 
 attempts 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. 
 
 There was an agreeable wildncss and loneli 
 ness 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, soli 
 tary scenes, the partridge and pheasant would 
 now and then burst upon the wing, and the hare 
 scud away before us. 
 
 Another of these rambling rides in quest of 
 popular antiquities, was to a chain of rocky
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 187 
 
 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. 
 
 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, ac 
 cording to tradition, that jovial anchorite used 
 to make good cheer and boisterous revel with 
 his freebooting comrades. 
 
 Such were some of the vestiges of old Sher 
 wood and its renowned " yeornandrie," which 1 
 visited in the neighbourhood 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
 
 188 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 even 
 ings, and pleased himself with loitering in the 
 twilight about the green alleys and under the 
 venerable trees. 
 
 The description given by the chaplain made 
 me anxious to visit this remnant of old Sher 
 wood, 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 neighbourhood was an open 
 royal forest, or Frank chase, as it was termed ; for 
 King John was an enemy to parks and warrens, 
 and other enclosures, by which game was fenced 
 in for the private benefit and recreation of the 
 nobles and the clergy. 
 
 Here, on the brow of a gentle hill, command 
 ing an extensive prospect of what had once been 
 forest, stood another of those monumental trees ? 
 which, to my mind, gave a peculiar interest to
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 189 
 
 this neighbourhood. 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 upwards of six centuries had reduced 
 this once mighty tree to a mere crumbling frag 
 ment, yet, like a gigantic torso in ancient sta 
 tuary, 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. 
 
 "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." 
 
 Such was the phantasmagoria that presented 
 itself for a moment to my imagination, peopling
 
 190 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 the silent place before me with empty shadows 
 of the past. The reverie however was transient; 
 king, courtier, and steel-clad warrior, and fores 
 ter 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 tra 
 dition. 
 
 " We are such stuff as dreams are made of!" 
 
 A ride of a few miles further brought us at length 
 among the venerable and classic shades of Sher 
 wood. 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 re 
 minded 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 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 honours" were nearly departed ; but 
 like mouldering towers they were noble and pic 
 turesque in their decay, and gave evidence, even 
 in their ruins, of their ancient grandeur. 
 
 As I gazed about me upon these vestiges of
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 191 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 The horn of Robin Hood again seemed to 
 sound through the forest. I saw his sylvan chiv 
 alry, half huntsmen, half freebooters, trooping 
 across the distant glades, or feasting and revel 
 ling beneath the trees ; I was going on to em 
 body 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. 
 
 The boding apprehensions which it awakened 
 were too soon verified. I had not ridden much 
 further, 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.
 
 192 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 Alas ! for old Sherwood Forest : it had fallen 
 into the possession of a noble agriculturist : 
 a modern utilitarian, who had no feeling for po 
 etry or forest scenery. In a little while and this 
 glorious woodland will be laid low ; its green 
 glades turned into sheep walks ; its legendary 
 bowers supplanted by turnip fields ; and " Merrie 
 Sherwood" will exist but in ballad and tradition. 
 
 " O for the poetical superstitions," thought I, 
 " of the olden time ! that shed a sanctity over 
 eveiy 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 every thing is coined into 
 gold, and this once holyday planet of ours is 
 turned into a mere ' working day world.' " 
 
 My cobweb fancies put to flight, and my feel 
 ings out of tune, I left the forest in a far differ 
 ent 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 even 
 ing bells came on the breeze across a heath from 
 a distant village. 
 
 I paused to listen. 
 
 " They are merely the evening bells of Mans 
 field," said my companion. 
 
 " Of Mansfield !" Here was another of the 
 legendary names of this storied neighbourhood,
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 193 
 
 that called up early and pleasant associations. 
 The famous old ballad of the King and the Mil 
 ler of Mansfield came at once to mind, and the 
 chime of the bells put me again in good humour. 
 A little further on, and we were again on the 
 traces of Robin Hood. Here was Fountain dale 
 where he had his encounter with that stalworth 
 shaveling Friar Tuck, who was a kind of saint 
 militant, alternately wearing the casque and the 
 cowl : 
 
 "The curtal fryar kept Fountain dale 
 
 Seven long years and more, 
 There was neither lord, knight or earl 
 Could make him yield before." 
 
 The moat is still shown which is said to have 
 surrounded the strong hold 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 
 
 " From ten o'clock that very day 
 Until four in the afternoon," 
 
 and ended in the treaty of fellowship. As to 
 the hardy feats, both of sword and trencher, per. 
 formed by this " curtal fryar," behold are they 
 not recorded at length in the ancient ballads, and 
 in the magic pages of Ivanhoe ? 
 
 The evening was fast coming on, and the twi 
 light thickening, as we rode through these haunts 
 17
 
 194 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 famous in outlaw story. A melancholy seemed 
 to gather over the landscape as \ve 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 " Mur 
 derers' Stone," and " the Hag Nook," had all to 
 be encountered in the gathering gloom of even 
 ing, 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 greenwood foray.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 195 
 
 THE ROOK CELL. 
 
 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 an 
 cient 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 surmount 
 ed by coronets, giving evidence of his aristocrat- 
 ical feelings. Here was likewise his college 
 sofa ; and about the walls were the portraits of 
 his favourite 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 
 Rook Cell, from its vicinity to the Rookery which, 
 since time immemorial, has maintained posses 
 sion of a solemn grove adjacent to the chapel. 
 This venerable community afforded me much
 
 196 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 pinnacles of the 
 Abbey church, or wheeling and hovering about 
 in the air, and the ruined walls would reverbe 
 rate with their incessant cawings. In this way 
 they would linger about the rookery and its vi 
 cinity for the early part of the morning, when, 
 having apparently mustered all their forces, call 
 ed 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. Towards night the whole host might 
 be seen, like a dark cloud in the distance, wing 
 ing their way homeward. They came, as it, 
 were, with whoop and halloo, wheeling high in 
 the air above the Abbey, making various evolu 
 tions before they alighted, and then keeping up 
 an incessant cawing in the tree tops, until they 
 gradually fell asleep. 
 
 It is remarked at the Abbey, that the rooks, 
 though they daily sally forth on forays through 
 out the week, yet keep about the venerable edi-
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 197 
 
 fice on Sundays, as if they had inherited a 
 reverence for the day, from their ancient con 
 freres, the monks. Indeed, a believer in the 
 metemsychosis might easily imagine these gothic 
 looking birds to be the embodied souls of the 
 ancient friars still hovering about their sanctified 
 abode. 
 
 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. 
 
 Beside the occasional clamour of the rookery? 
 this remote apartment was often greeted with 
 sounds of a different kind, from the neighbour 
 ing 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 : 
 
 ' 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 
 
 17*
 
 198 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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." 
 
 Never was a traveller in quest of the roman 
 tic 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 visiter. 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 appari 
 tion is said to have disturbed the slumbers of a 
 newly married couple that once passed their 
 honey-moon in this apartment. 
 
 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 cor 
 ridor over the cloisters, one of the midnight 
 walks of the goblin friar. Indeed, to the fan 
 cies engendered in his brain in this remote and 
 lonely apartment, incorporated with the floating
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 199 
 
 superstitions of the Abbey, we are no doubt in 
 debted for the spectral scene in Don Juan. 
 
 "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 rumour 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 vapour ? 
 
 Once, twice, thrice pass'd, repass'd the thing of air, 
 Or earth beneath, or heaven, or t'other place ;
 
 200 NEWSTEAI) ABBEY. 
 
 And Juan gazed upon it with a stare, 
 
 Yet could not speak or move ; but, on its base 
 
 As stands 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 his 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 returned at length 
 
 Back to his chamber, shorn of half his strength." 
 
 As I have already observed, it is difficult to 
 determine whether Lord Byron was really sub 
 ject 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 dependants. He certainly never 
 scrupled to express a belief in supernatural visi 
 tations, both verbally and in his correspondence. 
 If such were his foible, the Rook Cell was an 
 admirable place to engender these delusions.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 201 
 
 As I have lain awake at night, I have heard all 
 kinds of mysterious and sighing sounds from the 
 neighbouring ruin. Distant footsteps, too, and 
 the closing of doors in remote parts of the Ab 
 bey, would send hollow reverberations and 
 echoes along the corridor and up the spiral stair 
 case. 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, how 
 ever, 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 ho 
 nest Boatswain may we attribute some of the 
 marvellous stories about the Goblin Friar.
 
 202 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 THE LITTLE WHITE LADY. 
 
 IN the course of a morning's ride with Colonel 
 Wildman, about the Abbey lands, we found our 
 selves 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 beau 
 tiful 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 appear 
 ance 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 farm 
 house, of ancient date, situated in a solitary glen,
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 203 
 
 on the margin of the brook, and overshadowed 
 by venerable trees. It went by the name, as I 
 was told, of the Weir Mill farm house. 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. 
 
 Not long after Colonel Wildman had purchas 
 ed 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 pecu 
 liar 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. 
 
 "What a figure," exclaimed Colonel Wild 
 man, "for a fairy or sprite ! How much a poet or 
 a romance writer would make of such an appa 
 rition, at such a time and in such a place." 
 
 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.
 
 204 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 "Well," said he, "after all, this is neither 
 sprite nor fairy, but a being of flesh, and blood, 
 and muslin." 
 
 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. 
 
 " Has nobody passed by here ?" 
 
 " No one, sir." 
 
 " That's strange ! Surely I met a female in 
 white, who must have passed along this path." 
 
 " Oh, sir, you mean the Little White La 
 dy oh, yes, she passed by here not long 
 since." 
 
 " The Little White Lady ! And pray who is 
 the Little White Lady ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, that nobody knows, she lives in 
 the Weir Mill farm house, 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." 
 
 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
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 205 
 
 absent for some time. In the interim, his sister, 
 who was newly married, came with her husband 
 to pass the honey-moon at the abbey. The Little 
 White Lady still resided in the Weir Mill farm 
 house, 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 Newfound 
 land 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 sit 
 ting 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, some 
 times 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. 
 
 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 
 
 18
 
 206 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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. 
 
 Colonel Wildman's sister was informed of all 
 these circumstances by the servants of the Ab 
 bey, 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 per 
 son unaccustomed to the place. As Colonel 
 Wildman's sister was one day walking along a 
 broad terrace of the garden, she suddenly beheld 
 the Little White Lady coming towards 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 rencounter 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 wander 
 ings about the Abbey. The mystery was soon 
 explained. Immediately after his arrival he re-
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 207 
 
 ceived 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 idol 
 atry of the genius of Lord Byron, and a solitary 
 and passionate delight in haunting the scenes he 
 had once inhabited. She hinted at the infirmi 
 ties 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 its walks and 
 gardens. 
 
 Colonel Wildman now made further inquiries 
 concerning her, and found that she was a great 
 favourite with the people of the farm house 
 where she boarded, from the gentleness, quie 
 tude, 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 farm house. She received him with some
 
 208 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 wri 
 ting or reading she always approached her eyes 
 close to the written characters. 
 
 This defective organization was accompanied 
 by a morbid sensibility almost amounting to dis 
 ease. 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 chequered and unhappy ; 
 she was apparently without family or friend, a 
 lonely desolate being, cut off from society by 
 her infirmities. 
 
 " I am always amongst strangers," said she, 
 " 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 connexion with me. I 
 seem not to belong to the human species." 
 
 Such were the circumstances that Colonel 
 Wildman was able to draw forth in the course 
 of his conversation, and they strongly interested
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 209 
 
 him in favour 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 re 
 new her visits to the Abbey, assuring her that 
 the edifice and its grounds should always be 
 open to her. 
 
 The Little White Lady now resumed her 
 daily walks in the Monk's Garden, and her occa 
 sional 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 em 
 bodied in verse, noted down on her tablet, and 
 transferred to paper in the evening on her re 
 turn to the farm house. Some of these verses 
 now lie before me, written with considerable 
 harmony of versification, but chiefly curious as 
 being illustrative of that singular and enthusi 
 astic idolatry with which she almost worshipped 
 the genius of Byron, or rather, the romantic 
 image of him formed by her imagination. 
 
 Two or three extracts may not be unaccept 
 able. The following are from a long rhapsody 
 addressed to Lord Byron : 
 18*
 
 210 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 " 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 sweetest 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." 
 
 This singular and romantic infatuation, for 
 such it might truly be called, was entirely spirit 
 ual and ideal, for, as she herself declares in an 
 other of her rhapsodies, she had never beheld 
 Lord Byron ; he was, to her, a mere phantom of 
 the brain. 
 
 ' 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.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 211 
 
 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." 
 
 Her poetical wanderings and musings were 
 not confined to the Abbey grounds, but ex 
 tended to all parts of the neighbourhood con 
 nected 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 " favourite child," 
 seen by Lord Byron, in his memorable interview 
 with Miss Chaworth after her marriage. That fa 
 vourite child was now a blooming girl approach 
 ing to womanhood, and seems to have under 
 stood 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 un 
 fortunate writer of these simple lines, will re 
 main engraved upon a grateful memory, till the 
 vital spark that now animates a heart that too'
 
 212 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 sensibly feels, and too seldom experiences such 
 kindness, is for ever extinct." 
 
 In the meantime, Colonel Wildrnan, in occa 
 sional interviews, had obtained further particu 
 lars of the story of the stranger, and found that 
 poverty was added to the other evils of her for 
 lorn 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 depend- 
 ance 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
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 213 
 
 abject want, but for a pittance quarterly doled 
 out to her by her cousin in England. 
 
 Colonel Wildman entered with characterestic 
 benevolence into, the story of her troubles. He 
 saw that she was a helpless, unprotected being, 
 upable 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 connexion of 
 her brother ; promised through the medium of 
 his own agents in Liverpool, to institute an in 
 quiry 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 destina 
 tion. 
 
 Inspired with some faint hopes, the Little 
 White Lady continued her wanderings about the 
 Abbey and its neighbourhood. The delicacy and 
 timidity of her deportment increased the inter 
 est already felt for her by Mrs. Wildman. That 
 lady, with her wonted kindness, sought to make 
 acquaintance with her, and inspire her with con 
 fidence. 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
 
 214 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 study in which she delighted, and when not oc 
 cupied in reading those, her time was passed in 
 passionate meditations on his genius. Her en 
 thusiasm spread an ideal world around her in 
 which she moved and existed as in a dream, for 
 getful at times of the real miseries that beset her 
 in her mortal state. 
 
 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 : 
 
 " Written beneath the tree on Crowholt Hill, 
 where it is my wish to be interred, (if I should 
 die in Newstead)." 
 
 I subjoin a few of the stanzas: they are ad 
 dressed to Lord Byron : 
 
 " 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.
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 215 
 
 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 !" 
 
 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. 
 
 The following sonnet is the most coherent and 
 most descriptive of her peculiar state of mind. 
 
 " Well, thou art gone but what wert thou to me ? 
 
 1 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 I 
 Thine image haunteth 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 peopleth 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 do- 
 minion."
 
 216 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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. 
 
 " I have long," writes she, " too sensibly felt 
 the decay of my mental faculties, which I con 
 sider 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 or 
 dinary insanity I so much apprehend, but some 
 thing worse absolute idiotism ! 
 
 " 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 al 
 ways excite. But I dare not dwell upon the 
 thought ; it would facilitate the event I so much 
 dread, and contemplate with horror. Yet I can 
 not help thinking from people's behaviour to me 
 at times, and from after reflections upon my
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 217 
 
 conduct, that symptoms of the disease are al 
 ready apparent." 
 
 Five months passed away, but the letters 
 written by her, and forwarded by Colonel Wild- 
 man to America relative to her brother's affairs, 
 remained unanswered ; the inquiries instituted 
 by the Colonel had as yet proved equally fruit 
 less. 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 as 
 certain 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 fascina 
 tion. The following simple stanzas, selected 
 from a number written about the time, express 
 in humble rhymes the melancholy that preyed 
 upon her spirits : 
 
 " 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 shall I rind it, an outcast forlorn 
 19
 
 218 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 foilagc laid low in the dust." 
 
 At length she fixed upon a day for her depar 
 ture. On the day previous, she paid a farewell 
 visit to the Abbey ; wandering over every part 
 of the grounds and garden ; pausing and linger 
 ing 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 
 neighbourhood. This done, she took an affect 
 ing leave of her, and with many bitter tears bade 
 farewell to the Abbey. 
 
 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 medita 
 tions during her lonely rambles : from these the 
 foregoing extracts have been made. These were
 
 NEWSTEAD AB^EY. 219 
 
 accompanied by a voluminous letter, written 
 with the pathos and eloquence of genuine feel 
 ing, and depicting her peculiar situation and sin 
 gular state of mind in dark but painful colours. 
 
 " 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 con 
 cern 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." 
 
 She then goes on to detail precisely her pecu 
 niary circumstances, by which it appears that 
 her whole dependance 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 par 
 ish. 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 grudg 
 ingly, that she could not feel sure of its continu 
 ance 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. 
 
 "It is with extreme reluctance," observes she, 
 " that I have so far exposed my unfortunate situ-
 
 220 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 ation ; but 1 thought you expected to know some 
 thing more of it, and I feared that Colonel Wild- 
 man, deceived by appearances, might think that 
 I am in no immediate want, and that the delay 
 of a few weeks, or months, respecting the in 
 quiry, can be of no material consequence. It is 
 absolutely necessary to the success of the busi 
 ness that Colonel Wildman should know the ex 
 act state of my circumstances without reserve, 
 that he may be enabled to make a correct re 
 presentation of them to any gentlemen whom he 
 intends to interest, who, I presume, if they are 
 not of America themselves, have some connex 
 ions 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 in 
 volved 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 Wild- 
 man'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 submit 
 ting to imperious necessity it is not love of life,
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 221 
 
 believe me it is not, nor anxiety for its preserva 
 tion. 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." 
 
 Another part of her letter developes more com 
 pletely the dark despondency hinted at in the 
 conclusion of the foregoing extract and pre 
 sents a lamentable instance of a mind diseased, 
 which sought in vain, amidst sorrow and calam 
 ity, the sweet consolations of religious faith. 
 
 " That my existence has hitherto been pro 
 longed," says she, " often beyond what I have 
 thought to have been its destined period, is as 
 tonishing 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 distrust it 
 neither do I trust it. I feel perfectly unanxious, 
 unconcerned, and indifferent to the future ; but 
 this is not trust in Providence not that trust 
 which alone claims its protection. I know this 
 19*
 
 222 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 is a blameable indifference it is more for it 
 reaches to the interminable future. It turns al 
 most with disgust from the bright prospects 
 which religion offers for the consolation and sup 
 port of the wretched, and to which I was early 
 taught, by an almost adored mother, to look for 
 ward to with hope and joy ; but to me they can 
 afford no consolation. Not that I doubt the 
 sacred truths that religion inculcates. I can 
 not doubt though I confess I have some 
 times 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 end 
 less 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 evi 
 dence, 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 : 
 
 " 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
 
 NEWSTEAI) AIJBEY. 223 
 
 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 as 
 sociated 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 cou 
 rage to attempt their disclosure ; and yet of all 
 the pleasures of polished life which fancy has 
 often pictured to me in such vivid colours, there 
 is not one that I have so ardently coveted as 
 that sweet reciprocation of ideas, the supreme 
 bliss of enlightened minds in the hour of social 
 converse. But this I knew was not decreed for 
 me 
 
 " Yet this was in my nature " 
 
 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 favoured me, 
 you quickly discovered my peculiar unhappiness 
 in this respect : you perceived from my manner, 
 that any attempt to draw me into conversation
 
 224 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 encou 
 rage 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 ob 
 served that I generally endeavoured to avoid 
 both you and Colonel Wildman. It was to spare 
 your geneorus hearts the pain of witnessing dis 
 tress you could not alleviate. Thus cut off, as it 
 Were, from all human society, I have been com 
 pelled to live in a world of my own, and cer 
 tainly 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 indul 
 ged in must necessarily have an unhappy effect 
 upon the mind, which, when left to seek for re 
 sources solely within itself, will unavoidably, in 
 hours of gloom and despondency, brood over cor. 
 roding 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 ?
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 225 
 
 The utter loneliness of my lot would alone have 
 rendered existence a curse to one whose heart 
 nature has formed glowing with all the warmth 
 of social affection, yet without an object on which 
 to place.it without one natural connexion, one 
 earthly friend to appeal to, to shield me from the 
 contempt, indignities, and insults, to which my 
 deserted situation continually exposed me." 
 
 I am giving long extracts from this letter, yet I 
 cannot refrain from subjoining another, which 
 depicts her feelings with respect to Newstead. 
 
 " Permit me, madam, again to request your 
 and Colonel Wildman's acceptance of those ac 
 knowledgements which I cannot too often repeat, 
 foryour 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 my 
 self 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 fare 
 well of every dear and interesting spot, which I 
 now never hope to see again, unless my dis 
 embodied spirit may be permitted to revisit 
 them. Yet O ! if Providence should enable me 
 again to support myself with any degree of re-
 
 226 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 spectability, 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 offer 
 ing 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 my Altar I could not, I cannot re 
 sist 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 
 honour 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 ap 
 pearance of the wretched being who has dared 
 to devote her whole soul to the contemplation of 
 such more than human excellence. Yet ridicu 
 lous as such devotion may appear to some, I 
 must take leave to say, that if the sentiments
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY, 227 
 
 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 dishon 
 our even for him to have inspired." * * * 
 
 " I arn now coming to take a last, last view 
 of scenes too deeply impressed upon my mem 
 ory 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 sa 
 cred 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 grati 
 tude, the affectionate esteem, this heart must ever 
 bear you both." 
 
 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,
 
 228 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 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 farm houses, and 
 every arrangement made for her comfortable 
 and permanent maintenance on the estate. 
 With a woman's prompt benevolence, Mrs. Wild 
 man, before she laid her head upon her pillow, 
 wrote the following letter to the destitute stran 
 ger: 
 
 ' Newstead Abbey, 
 
 Tuesday night, Sept. 20th, 1825. 
 
 " On retiring to my bed chamber 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, ele 
 gant language in which they are conveyed. I 
 am anxious that my note should reach you pre 
 vious to your departure from this neighbourhood, 
 and should be truly happy if, by any arrangement 
 for your accomodation, I could prevent the ne 
 cessity of your undertaking the journey. Colo 
 nel Wildman begs me to assure you that he will
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 229 
 
 use his best exertion 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 atten 
 tion, that I have not as yet had time for the 
 attentive perusal of its companion. 
 Believe me, dear madam, 
 with sincere good wishes, 
 Yours truly, 
 
 LOUISA WlLDMAN." 
 
 Early the next morning a servant was des 
 patched 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. 
 
 The bearer of good tidings spared neither 
 20
 
 230 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 whip nor spur, and arrived at Nottingham on a 
 gallop. On entering the town a crowd ob 
 structed 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 ! 
 
 It seems that on arriving in town and dis 
 mounting 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, the wheels passed 
 over her body, and she died without a groan. 
 
 THE ENL,
 
 1TE7T BOOKS, 
 
 LATELY PUBLISHED 
 BY CAREY, LEA & BLANC HARD, 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 Neatly bound in Morrocco, with gilt edges, and Plates beauti 
 fully coloured, 
 
 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 " By all those token flowers that tell 
 
 What words can never speak so well." BYRON. 
 
 " But little study will be requisite for the science which we teach. 
 Nature has been before us. We must, however, premise two or 
 three rules. When a flower is presented in its natural position, the 
 sentiment is to be understood affirmatively; when reversed, nega 
 tively. For instance, a rosebud, with its leaves and thorns, indicates 
 fear with hope; but, if reversed, it must be construed as saying, 
 ' you may neither fear nor hope.' Again, divest the same rosebud 
 of its thorns, and it permits the most sanguine hope; deprive it of its 
 petals, and retain the thorns, and the worst fears are to be appre 
 hended. The expression of every flower may be thus varied by 
 varying its state or position. The Marygold is emblematical of 
 pain; place it on the head and it signifies trouble of mind; on the 
 heart, the pangs of love; on the bosom, the disgust of ennui. The 
 pronoun I, is expressed by inclining the symbol to the right, and the 
 pronoun thou, by inclining it to the left. 
 
 " These are a few of the rudiments of our significant language. 
 We call upon Friendship and Love to unite their discoveries to 
 ours; for it is in the power only of these sweetest sentiments of our 
 nature to bring to perfection what they have so beautifully invented, 
 the mystical, yet pleasing, links of intelligence, that bind the soul 
 in the tender and quiet harmony of the one, or in the more impassion 
 ed felicity of the other." Preface to the Language of Flowers. 
 
 THE STRANGER IN AMERICA, 
 
 Comprising Sketches of the Manners, Society, and National 
 Peculiarities of the United States. By Francis Leiber. 
 1 vol. 8vo. (republished in London.') 
 
 " The author of these volumes is probably the person best fitted to 
 write on America. In truth, we have read no work, but one on the 
 1
 
 NEW AMERICAN NOVEL. 
 
 THE INSURGENTS, a new American and Historical 
 Novel, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " This story is founded upon the insurrection in Massachusetts, 
 during the year 1786, known more generally as ' Shay's War,' which 
 was similar, in some of its features at least, to the rising of the 
 'Whiskey Boys' in Pennsylvania. 
 
 " The Yankee author (for that he is a Yankee, no one can doubt, 
 who observes with what vraisemblance he uses the vernacular idiom 
 of that people) has given a very amusing detail of the facts connected 
 with that struggle, which cannot fail to prove entertaining." Sat. 
 Evening Post. 
 
 " The characters are extremely well drawn the Yankee talk and 
 manner well-preserved and the historical narrative faithfully fol 
 lowed. It is evidently the work of a full and well-disciplined mind." 
 N. Y. American. 
 
 IRVING'S NEW -WORK. 
 
 THE CRAYON MISCELLANY, Part 1, containing a 
 Tour on the Prairies, by the Author of the Sketch Book, 
 &c. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 " We are at a loss in what terms to express the delight with which 
 we have devoured the first fruits of Mr. Irving's return to his native 
 land; the infinite relish with which we have gazed upon his pictures 
 of the fresh, distant region, over whose vast plains, and among whose 
 noble streams and mighty forests he has wandered with the eye of a 
 painter, and the soul of a true poet; the keen interest with which we 
 nave followed him in his adventures among half-breeds, prairie 
 wolves, buffaloes, black bears, wild horses, and wilder Indians. In 
 hurrying through his pages for you cannot pause for a moment, 
 even to enjoy more perfectly you feel as though you were in bodily 
 presence, transported by the wand of some magician to the spot. 
 You smile at the indomitable vapourings of the magnanimous To- 
 nish, as if they were ringing in your ears; the red man stands before 
 you with his noble form and motionless features, schooled to exhibit 
 no trace of passion or of feeling, like an antique statue of imperish 
 able bronze; you partake in the excitement of the scurrying chase, 
 and feel your appetite sharpened to a ravenous pitch, as you dwell 
 upon the description of extemporaneous feasts the savoury bison 
 humps haunches of fat venison wild turkeys, without number 
 bear's paws, and kettles full of rich honey, just plundered from the 
 recesses .of a mighty bee-tree. Then the sudden alarm of wolves, 
 wandering hordes of predatory Osages, or yet more formidable Paw- 
 nee-loups the casual encounter with some adventurous Squatter 
 the halt after a long day's march the bivouac, under the shelter of 
 enormous trees that have never before screened the face of a white 
 man from the sun the gossip of hunters and rangers, full of moving 
 incidents, by field and flood. These, and such as these, are the novel 
 charms of the Crayon Miscellany." New York Mirror.
 
 CALAVAR. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 Calavar, or the Knight of the Conquest, a Romance of Mex 
 ico, by Dr. Bird, in 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " This is an American novel of excellent performance and high 
 claims; and we hope that all the novel reading public of our conti 
 nent will peruse it for themselves, and award to a native production 
 of more than ordinary merit, that meed of approbation which its own 
 merits may deserve, a feeling of patriotic pride towards a successful 
 effort of American genius, may suggest. 
 
 "As the admirable novel now under review is destined, in our 
 opinion, to be extensively read and highly appreciated, a few words 
 in relation to the character of Cortez as drawn by his own country 
 man, will no doubt be acceptable, as the description may enable those 
 who cannot have access to the histories of that day, to judge of the 
 fidelity with which the author has drawn his pictures. 
 
 " In selecting this portion of history as the ground work of his 
 novel, Dr. Bird has shown much sagacity and good taste, and it has 
 offered him the opportunity of conducting his reader through scenes 
 whicli are full of marvel, while they are entirely unhacknied by the 
 pen of fiction. Hall's Western Monthly Magazine." 
 
 THE INFIDEL, OR THE FALL OF MEXICO. By DR. 
 
 BIRD, author of CALAVAR. 2 vols. 12mo. 
 "This is a work which will even increase the reputation of the 
 author of GALA v AH. We confidently predict its full success at home 
 and abroad. Original strength and justness of conception and ex 
 pression distinguish the performances of Dr. Bird; they are imbued, 
 too, with an interest for all readers and times." JVai. Gaz. 
 
 Second Edition of 
 
 SKETCHES OF SOCIETY IN GREAT BRITAIN 
 AND IRELAND. By C. S. STEWART, M. A., Chaplain 
 of the United States' Navy, author of "A Visit to the 
 South Seas," " A Residence in the Sandwich Islands," &c. 
 in 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " Some of his sketches are beautiful descriptions; others are finish 
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 and towns, the aristocracy, the churches, in one word, the thousand 
 particulars, which, together, constitute what is called the state of so 
 ciety." Religious Telegraph. 
 
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 The contents are various and racy, epistolary transcripts of the au 
 thor's mind, published just as written, without revisions, and with all 
 the gloss and freshness of first and original impressions about them. 
 The work^s full of living pictures."
 
 ROOKWOOD, a Romance. By W. Harrison Ainsworth. 
 From the second London edition, in 2 vols. 12 mo. 
 
 " This is one of the most spirited and romantic of ' the seasons' 
 production. Full of life and fire, it excites the reader and carries 
 him onward much as the true heroine of the tale, the mare Black 
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 sensations of terror and delight. It is a wild story, told with exceed 
 ing skill, and wrought up to the highest pitch of which so singular a 
 subject is capable. The book is an excellent one, and the author 
 may take a high station among the romance writers of our time." 
 JV evi Monthly Magazine. 
 
 ' Will have a nuif, in the true Turpian style. " 'Fraser's Maga- 
 zi e. 
 
 ' This story never flags." Quar. Review. 
 
 ' Possesses great variety of talent. " Lit. Gazette. 
 
 ' Exhibits great power and strong interest." Morning Post. 
 
 ' Will be extensively read and admired." Courier. 
 
 ' Will interest and amuse readers of every class." JVevr Sport 
 ing' Magazine. 
 
 " The work is eminently " spirited and stirring" and, with some 
 of the extravagance, has more of the life, variety, force, and general 
 interest of the romance of the old English school, than any similar 
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 Nat. Gazette. 
 
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 Mrs. Shelly, author of " Frankenstein," &c. &c. 2 vols. 
 12mo. 
 
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 fair author has made of her material, which she has invested with the 
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 zette. 
 
 " The author o r Frankenstein has made a romance of great and 
 enduring interest. We recommend Perkin Warbeck to the public 
 attention. It cam ot fail to interest as a novel, while it may impart 
 useful instruction as a history." Com. Advertiser.
 
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 LUMBUS, 2 vols. 8vo. 
 
 DACRE, a Novel, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 CHANCES AND CHANGES, a DOMESTIC STORY. 
 THE TWO FRIENDS, by Lady Blessington. 
 WILL WATCH, by the Author of Cavendish, Port Ad 
 miral, &c. 
 
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 12mo. 
 
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 merous wood cuts. 
 ANNE GREY, a NOVEL, 2 vols. 
 MOORE'S HISTORY OF IRELAND, vol. I. 
 SISMONDI'S HISTORY OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. 
 SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE AND HABITS, made 
 during the expedition to the Pawnee village, in 1833, by 
 John T. Irving, jun., 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
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 ABBOTSFORD AND NEWSTEAD ABBEY, by Wash 
 ington Irving. 
 
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 ENCYCLOPEDIA OF GEOGRAPHY, edited by Hugh 
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 OGY, considered with reference to Natural Theology. With 
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 A MANUAL OF PHRENOLOGY; being an Analytical 
 Summary of the System of Dr. Gall. 1 vol. 12mo, with 
 plates.
 
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 rrn.nam. 
 
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 OR, 
 
 OUTLINES OF CHARACTER AND MANNERS. 
 BY MISS LESLIE. 
 
 " Look here upon this picture, and on this." Shakspeare. 
 FIRST SERIES. 
 
 CONTENTS. The Escorted Lady. A Pic-Nic at the Sea 
 Shore. The Miss Vanlears. Country Lodgings. Sociable 
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 tions. It should be in the possession of every intelligent man, as it is a library 
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 ject, and in the cheapest possible form." JV". Y. Mirror.
 
 ENCYCLOPAEDIA AMERICANA. 
 
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 Encyclopedia Americana v\ r as in a fair way to degrade the dignity of learning, 
 aad especially the learning of Encyclopedias, by making it too c/ieap that the 
 multitudes of all classes were infatuated with it in saying in so many words 
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 it.' " JV. Y. Courier and Inquirer. 
 
 "The articles in the present volume appear to us to evince the same ability 
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 mencement. The Appendix to the volume now before us, containing an account 
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 lology. The work altogether, we may again be permitted to observe, reflect 
 distinguished credit upon the literary and scientific character, as well as the 
 scholarship of our country." Charleston Courier. 
 
 "The copious information which this work affords on American subjects, 
 fully justifies its title of an American Dictionary; while at the same time the 
 extent, variety, and felicitous disposition of its topics, make it the most conve 
 nient and satisfactory Encyclopedia that we have ever seen." JVationaUournal. 
 
 " If the succeeding volumes shall equal in merit the one before us, we may 
 confidently anticipate for the work a reputation and usefulness which ought to 
 secure for it the most flattering encouragement and patronage." Federal Oaiette. 
 
 "The variety of topics is of course vast, and they are treated in a manner 
 which is at once so full of information and so interesting, that tho work, instead 
 of being merely referred to, might be regularly perused with as much pleasure as 
 profit." Baltimore American. 
 
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 not but believe the discrimination of our countrymen will sustain the publish 
 ers, and well reward them for this contribution to American Literature." Bal 
 timore Patriot. 
 
 " It reflects the greatest credit on those who have been concerned in its pro 
 duction, and promises, in a variety of respects, to be the best as well as the most 
 compendious dictionary of the arts, sciences, history, politics, biography, &c. 
 which has yet been compiled. The style of the portion we have read is terse 
 and perspicuous; and it is really curious how so much scientific and other in 
 formation could have been so satisfactorily communicated in such brief limits." 
 JV. Y. Evening Post. 
 
 " A compendious library, and invaluable book of reference." JV. Y. American. 
 
 "Those who can, by any honest modes of economy, reserve the sum of two 
 dollars and fifty cents quarterly, from their family expenses, may pay for this 
 work as fast as it is published ; anrt we confidently believe that they will find at 
 the end that they never purchased so much general, practical, useful information 
 at so cheap a rate." Journal of Education. \ 
 
 " If the encouragement to the publishers should correspond with the testimony 
 in favor of their enterprise, and the beautiful and faithful style of its execution, 
 the hazard of the undertaking, bold as it was, will be well compensated ; and 
 our libraries will be enriched by the most generally useful encyclopedic diction 
 ary that has been offered to the readers of the English language. Full enough 
 for the general scholar, and plain enough for every capacity, it is far more con 
 venient, in every view and form, than its more expensive and ponderous prede 
 cessors." American Farmer. 
 
 The high reputation of the contributors to this work, will not fail to insure 
 it a favorable reception, and its own merits will do the rest." Silliman's Journ. 
 
 "The work will be a valuable possession to every family or individual that 
 an afford to purchase it ; and we take pleasure, therefore, in extending the 
 cnowledge of its merits." National Intelligencer. 
 
 " The Encylopsedia Americana is a prodigious improvement npon all that has 
 one before it ; a thing for our country, as well as the country that have it birth, 
 ;o be proud of; an inexhaustible treasury of useful, pleasant, and familiar learn 
 ing on every possible subject, so arranged as to be speedily and safety referred to 
 on emergency, as well as on deliberate inquiry; and better still, adapted to the 
 understanding, and put within the reach of trie multitude. * * * The Ency 
 clopedia Americana is a work without which no library worthy of the name 
 can hereafter be made up." Yankee.
 
 CABINET CYCLOPAEDIA, 
 
 CONDUCTED BY THE 
 
 REV. DIONYSIUS LARDNER, LL.D. F.R.S. L.&.E. 
 
 M. R.I.A. F.L.S. F.Z.S. Hon.F. C.P. S. M. Ast. S. &c. &c. 
 
 ASSISTED BY 
 
 EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN. 
 
 Now Publishing by Carey, Lea, fy Blanchard, and for sale by all Booksellers 
 
 Tins work will form a popular compendium of whatever is useful, instructive, 
 and interesting, in the circle of human knowledge. A novel plan of publication 
 and arrangement has been adopted, which presents peculiar advantages. With 
 out fully detailing the method, a few of these advantages may be mentioned. 
 
 Each volume will contain one or more subjects uninterrupted and unbroken, 
 and will be accompanied by the corresponding plates or other appropriate illus 
 trations. Facility of reference will be obtained without fettering the work by 
 a continued alphabetical arrangement. A subscriber may omit particular vol 
 umes or sets of volumes, without disintegrating his series. Thus each purchaser 
 may form from the "CABINET" a Cyclopaedia, more or less comprehensive, as 
 may suit his means, taste, or profession. If a subscriber desire to discontinue 
 the work at any stage of its publication, the volumes which he may have re 
 ceived will not lose their value by separation from the rest of the work, since 
 they will always either be complete iiuhemselves, or may be made so at a trifling 
 expense. 
 
 The purchasers will never find their property in this work destroyed by the 
 publication of a second edition. The arrangement is such that particular vol 
 umes may be re-edited or re-written without disturbing the others. The "CABI 
 NET CYCLOPEDIA" will thus be in a state of continual renovation, keeping pace 
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 from year to year whatever is new, and casting off whatever is obsolete, so as to 
 form a constantly modernized Cyclopaedia. Such are a few of the advantages 
 which the proprietors have to offer to the public, and which they pledge them 
 selves to realize. 
 
 Treatises on subjects which are technical and professional will be adapted, 
 not so much to those who desire to attain a practical proficiency, as to those 
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 abstract by copious illustration?, and the sciences will be rendered attractive, by 
 treating them with reference to the most familiar objects and occurrences. 
 
 The iinwicldly bulk of Encyclopedias, not less than the abstruse discussions 
 which they contain, has hitherto consigned them to the library, as works of only 
 occasional reference. The present work, from its portable form and popular style, 
 will claim a place in the drawing-room and the boudoir. Forming in itseff a 
 Complete Library, affording an extensive and infinitely varied store of instruc 
 tion and amusement, presenting just so much on every subject as those not pro 
 fesMonally engaged in it require, convenient in size, attractive in form, elegant 
 in illustrations, and most moderate in expense, the "CABINET CYCLOPAEDIA" will, 
 il is hoped, be found an object of paramount interest in every family. 
 
 To the heads of schools and all places of public education the proprietors trust 
 that this work will particularly recommend itself. 
 
 It seems scarcely necessary to add, that nothing will be admitted into the 
 paL'es of the " CABINET CYCLOP.EDIA" which can have the most remote tendency 
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 work feels these considerations more especially pressed upon his attention. 
 Parents and guardians may, therefore, rest assured that they will never find it 
 necessary to place a volume of the "CABINET" beyond the reach of their children 
 or pupils.
 
 LARDNER S CABINET CYCLOPAEDIA. 
 
 " IT IS NOT EASY TO DEVISE A CORE FOR SDCH A STATE OF THINGS (THE DE- 
 CIININO TASTE FOR SCIENCE)) BUT THE MOST OBVIOUS REMEDY IS TO PROVIDE 
 THE EDUCATED CLASSES WITH A SERIES OF WORKS ON POPULAR AND PRACTI 
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 WRITTEN IN SIMPLE AND PERSPICUOUS LANGUAGE, AND ILLUSTRATED BY FACTS 
 AND EXPERIMENTS, WHICH ARE LEVEL TO THE CAPACITY OF ORDINARY MINDS." 
 
 Quarterly Review. 
 
 PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE ON THE OBJECTS, ADVAN 
 TAGES, AND PLEASURES OF THE STUDY OF NATU 
 RAL PHILOSOPHY. By J. T. W. Herschel, A. M. late Fel 
 low of St. John's College, Cambridge* 
 
 " Without disparaging any other of the many interesting and instructive vol 
 umes issued in the form of cabinet and family libraries, it is, perhaps, not too 
 much to place at the head of the list, for extent and variety of condensed infor 
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 tosh's England. 
 
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 literary rivals of great talent and enterprise has given rise." Monthly Review. 
 
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 into action, so as sometimes to remind us of the splendid pictures which crowd 
 upon us in the style of Bacon." Quarterly Review. 
 
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 Magazine. 
 
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 A TREATISE ON MECHANICS. By Capt. Kater, and the 
 Rev. Dionysius Lardiier. "With numerous engravings. 
 
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 hibited in a plain and very intelligible form." Olmsted's Nat. Philosophy. 
 
 " This volume has been lately published in England, as a part of Dr. Lardner's 
 Cabinet Cyclopedia, and has received the unsolicited approbation of the most 
 eminent men of science, and the most discriminating journals and reviews, in 
 the British metropolis. It is written in a popular and intelligible style, entirely 
 free from mathematical symbols, and disencumbered as far as possible of tech 
 nical phrases." Boston Traveller. 
 
 " Admirable in development and clear in principles, and especially felicitous in 
 illustration from familiar subjects." Monthly Mag. 
 
 OUTLINES OF HISTORY, from the earliest period to the 
 present time. 
 
 A TREATISE ON HYDROSTATICS AND PNEUMATICS. 
 By the Rev. D. Lardner. \Vith numerous engravings.
 
 LARDNER'S CABINET CYCLOPAEDIA. 
 
 HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By Sir James Mackintosh. In 
 8 Vols. Vols. I, H and 3 published. 
 
 "In the first volume of Sir 'James Mackintosh's History of England, wo 
 find enough to warrant the anticipations of the public, that a calm and lumin 
 ous philosophy will diffuse itself over the long narrative of our British His 
 tory." Edinburgh Review. 
 
 " In this volume Sir James Mackintosh fully developes those great powers, 
 for the possession of which the public have long given him credit. The result 
 is the ablest commentary that has yet appeared in our language upon some 
 of the most important circumstances of English History." Atlas. 
 
 "Worthy in the method, style, and reflections, of the author's high reputa 
 tion. We were particularly pleased with his high vein of philosophical sen 
 timent, and his occasional survey of contemporary annals." JVaf. Gazette. 
 
 " If talents of the highest order, long experience in politics, and years of 
 application to the study of history and the collection of information, can com 
 mand superiority in a historian, Sir James Machintosh may, without reading 
 this work, be said to have produced the best history of this country. A peru 
 sal of the work will prove that those who anticipated a superior production, 
 have not reckoned in vain on the high qualifications of the author." Courier. 
 
 THE 
 
 HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, to the Battle of 
 Waterloo. By T. C. Grattan. 
 
 La Belle jlssemblee. 
 
 " Never did work appear at a more fortunate period. The volume before us 
 is a compressed but clear and impartial narrative." Lit. Qaz, 
 
 HISTORY OF FRANCE. By Eyre Evans Crowe. In 3 vols. 
 
 " His history of France is worthy to figure with the works of his associates, 
 the best of their day, Scott and Mackintosh." Monthly Mag. 
 
 " For such a task Mr. Crowe is eminently qualified. At a glance, as it were, 
 iis eye takes in the theatre of centuries. His style is neat, clear, and pithy; 
 
 and his power of condensation enables him to say much, and effectively, in a 
 few words, to present a distinct and perfect picture in a narrowly circum 
 scribed space." La Belle Jlssemblee. 
 
 HISTORY OF SCOTLAND. By Sir "Walter Scott. In 2 Vols. 
 
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 clare, will be, if possible, rnnre extensively read, than the most popular work 
 of fiction, by the same prolific author, and for this obvious reason : it com 
 bines much of the brilliant coloring of the Ivanhoe pictures of by-gone man 
 ners, and all the graceful facility of style and picturesqueness of description 
 of his other charming romances, with a minute fidelity to the facts of history, 
 and a searching scrutiny into their authenticity and relative value, which 
 might put to the blush Mr. Hume and other professed historians. Such is the 
 magic charm of Sir Walter Scott's pen, it has only to touch the simplest inci 
 dent of every-day life, and it starts up invested with all the interest of a scene 
 of romance ; and yet such is his fidelity to the text of nature, that the knights 
 and serfs, and collared fools with whom his inventive genius has peopled so 
 many volumes, are regarded by us as not mere creations of fancy, but as real 
 flesh and blood existences, with all the virtues, feelings and errors of com 
 mon-place humanity." Lit. Gazette.
 
 LARDNER S CABINET CYCLOPEDIA. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE RISE, PROGRESS, AND PRESENT 
 STATE OF THE SILK MANUFACTURE ; with numerous 
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 branch of human industry in the history, culture, and manufacture of silk." 
 Monthly Magazine. 
 
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 HISTORY OF THE ITALIAN REPUBLICS; being a View of 
 the Rise, Progress, and Fall of Italian Freedom. By J. C. L. 
 DE SISMONDI. 
 
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 commonwealths, form a body ef the most valuable materials for political phi 
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 for his large work, what Irving accomplished so weJl for his Life of Columbus." 
 National Gazette. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE RISE, PROGRESS, AND PRESENT 
 STATE OF THE MANUFACTURES OF PORCELAIN AND 
 GLASS. With numerous Wood Cuts. 
 
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 der the book attractive and instructive to the general class of readers." Sat. 
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 These are completely illustrated by Dr. Lardner, and the various processes of 
 forming differently fashioned utensils, are fully described." 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF BRITISH STATESMEN; containing the 
 Lives of Sir Thomas More, by SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH; 
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 auspices. We have seldom met with a narrative which fixes attention more 
 steadily, and bears the reader's mind along more pleasantly." 
 
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 the task, and research in the execution." U. S. Journal. 
 
 " Of course this work can be but an abridgment ; but we know not where so 
 much ability has been shown in condensation. It is unequalled, and likely 
 long to remain so. ** We were convinced, on the publication of the first vol 
 ume, that it was no common compilation, manufactured to order; we were pre 
 pared to announce it as a very valuable addition ta our literature. * * * Our 
 last words must be, heartily to recommend it to our readers." Jlthente-um. 
 
 HISTORY OF SWITZERLAND. 
 
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 abounds with interesting details, illustrative of the habits, character, and polit 
 ical complexion of the people and country it describes ; and affords, in the small 
 space of one volume, a digest of all the important facts which, in more elaborate 
 histories, occupy five times the space." Evening Post.
 
 CABINET LIBRARY. 
 
 No. 1. NARRATIVE OF THE LATE WAR IN GER 
 MANY AND FRANCE. By the MARQUESS OF LONDON 
 DERRY. With a Map. 
 
 No. 2. JOURNAL OF A NATURALIST, with plates. 
 
 No. 3. AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, 
 With a portrait. 
 
 No. 4. MEMOIRS OF SIR WALTER RALEGH. By Mrs. 
 A. T. THOMSON. 
 
 No. 5. LIFE OF BELISARIUS. By Lord MAHON. 
 
 MILITARY MEMOIRS OF THK DUKE OF WELLINGTON. 
 By CAPT. MOYLE SHERER, Author of Recollections of the 
 Peninsula. In 2 vols. 18mo. 
 
 GLEANINGS IN NATURAL HISTORY, being a Companion 
 to the Journal of a Naturalist. 
 
 "The Cabinet Library bids fair to be a series of great value, and is recom 
 mended to public and private libraries, to professional men, and miscellaneous 
 readers generally. It is beautifully printed, and furnished at a price which will 
 place it within the reach of all classes of society." American Traveller. 
 
 "The series of instructive, and, in their original form, expensive works, 
 which these enterprising publishers are now issuing under the title of the 
 " Cabinet Library," is a fountain of useful, and almost universal knowledge ; 
 the advantages of which, in forming the opinions, tastes and manners of that 
 portion of society, to which this varied information is yet new, cannot be too 
 highly estimated." National Journal. 
 
 " Messrs. Carey and Lea have commenced a series of publications under the 
 above title, which are to appear monthly, and which seem likely, from the spe 
 cimen before us, to acquire (i high degree of popularity, and to afford a mass of 
 various information and rich entertainment, at once eminently useful and 
 strongly attractive. The mechanical execution is fine, the paper and typography 
 excel len t." Nashville Banner. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEGH, 
 with, some Account of the Period in which he lived. By 
 MRS. A. T. THOMSON. With, a Portrait. 
 
 "Such is the outline of a life, which, in Mrs. Thomson's hands, is a mine of 
 interest: from the first page to the last the attention is roused and sustained, 
 and while we approve the manner, we still more applaud the spirit in which it 
 is executed." Literary Gazette.
 
 CABINET LIBRARY. 
 
 JOURNAL OF A NATURALIST. With Plates. 
 
 Plants, trees, and stones we note ; 
 
 Birds, insects, beasts, and rural things. 
 
 "We again most strongly recommend this little unpretending volume to the 
 attention of every lover of nature, and more particularly of our country read 
 ers. It will induce them, we are sure, to examine more closely than they have 
 been accustomed to do, into the objects of animated nature, and such examina 
 tion will prove one of the most innocent, and the most satisfactory sources of 
 gratification and amusement. It is a book that ought to find its way into every 
 rural drawing-room in the kingdom, and one that may safely be placed in every 
 lady's boudoir, be her rank and station in life what they may." Quarterly Re 
 view, No. LXXVIIL 
 
 "We think that there are few readers who will not be delighted (we are cer 
 tain all will be instructed) by the 'Journal of a Naturalist.' " Monthly Review 
 
 " This is a most delightful book on trie moat delightful of all studies. We are 
 acquainted with no previous work which bears any resemblance to this, except 
 ' White's History of Selborne,' the most fascinating piece of rural writing and 
 sound English philosophy that ever issued from the press." Athenaeum. 
 
 "The author of the volume now before us, has produced one of the most 
 charming volumes we remember to have seen for a long time." Neic Month 
 ly Magazine, June, 1829. 
 
 " A delightful volume perhaps the most so nor loss instructive and amusing 
 given to Natural History since White's Selborne." Blackwoocfs Magazine. 
 
 " The Journal of a Naturalist, being the second number of Carey and Lea's 
 beautiful edition of the Cabinet Library, is the best treatise on subjects con 
 nected with this train of thought, that we have for a long time perused, and we 
 are not at all surprised that it should have received so high and flattering enco 
 miums from the English press generally." Boston Traveller. 
 
 "Furnishing an interesting and familiar account of the various objects of 
 animated nature, but calculated to afford both instruction and entertainment." 
 Nashville Banner. 
 
 "One of the most agreeable works of its kind in the language." Courier de 
 la Louisicine. 
 
 " It abounds with numerous and curious facts, pleasing illustrations of the 
 secret operations and economy of nature, and satisfactory displays of the powi.-r, 
 wisdom and goodness, of the great Creator." Philad. Album. 
 
 THE MARQ,ITESS OP LONDONDERRY'S NARRATIVE OF 
 THE LATE WAR IN GERMANY AND FRANCE. With a 
 Map. 
 
 " No history of the events to which it relates can be correct without reference 
 to its statements." Literary Gazette. 
 
 " The events detailed in this volume cannot fail to excite an intense interest." 
 Dublin Literary Gazette. 
 
 "The only connected and well authenticated account we have of the spirit- 
 stirring scenes which preceded the fall of Napoleon. It introduces us into the 
 cabinets and presence of the allied monarclis. We observe the secret policy of 
 each individual : we sec the course pursued by the wily Bernadotte, the tempo 
 rizing Metternich, and the ambitious Alexander. The work deserves a place in 
 every historical library." Olobe. 
 
 "We hail with pleasure the appearance of the first volume of the Cabinet 
 Library." " The author had singular facilities for obtaining the materials of 
 his work, and he has introduced us to the movements and measures of cabinets 
 which have hitherto been hidden from the world." American Traveller. 
 
 " It may be regarded as tho most authentic of all the publications which pro 
 fess to detail the events of the important campaigns, terminating with tha! 
 which secured the capture of the French metropolis." Nat. Journal. 
 
 " It is in fact the only authentic account of the memorable events to which 
 it refers." Nashville Banner. 
 
 " The work deserves a place in every library." Philadelphia Album.
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 VOYAGES AND ADVENTURES OF THE COMPANIONS OF 
 COLUMBUS. By WASHINGTON IRVING, Author of the Life 
 of Columbus, &c. 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 " Of the main work we may repeat that it possesses the value of important 
 history and the magnetism of romantic adventure. It sustains in every respect 
 the reputation of Irving." " We may hope that the gifted author will treat in like 
 manner the enterprises and exploits of Pizarro and Cortes ; and thus complete a 
 series of elegant recitals, which will contribute to the especial gratification of 
 Americans, and form an imperishable fund of delightful instruction for all ages 
 and countries." JVaJ. Gazette. 
 
 " As he leads us from one savage tribe to another, as he paints successive 
 scenes of heroism, perseverance and self-denial, as he wanders among the mag 
 nificent scenes of nature, as he relates with scrupulous fidelity the errors, and 
 the crimes, even of those whose lives are for the most part marked with traits 
 to command admiration.'and perhaps esteem everywhere we find him the same 
 umleviating, but beautiful moralist, gathering from every incident some lesson 
 to present in striking language to the reason and the heart." Am.. Quarterly 
 Review. 
 
 " This is a delightful volume; for the preface truly says that the expeditions 
 narrated and springing out of the voyages of Columbus may be compared with 
 attempts of adventurous knights-errant to achieve the enterprise left unfinished 
 by some illustrious predecessors. Washington Irving's name is a pledge how 
 well their stories will be told : and we only regret that we must of necessity de- 
 fur our extracts for a week." London Lit. Gazette. 
 
 A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRENADA. By 
 WASHINGTON IRVING, Esq. In 2 vols. 
 
 " On the whole, this work will sustain the high fame of Washington Irving. 
 It fills a blank in the historical library which ought not to have remained so 
 long a blank. The language throughout is at once chaste and animated ; and 
 the narrative may be said, like Spenser's Fairy Queen, to present one long gal- 
 lory of splendid pictures." Land. Lit. Gazette. 
 
 THE ALHAMBRA; a Series of Tales and Sketches of the 
 Moors arid Spaniards. By the author of the Sketch-Book. In 
 2 vols. 
 
 " We have read a part of Washington Irving's new Sketch-Book, the scene 
 of which is in Spain, the most romantic of European countries, and the best 
 known by the gifted author. His style has lost nothing of its peculiar charm 
 his descriptions are as graphic as usual, and enlivened with racy anecdotes 
 ami happy reflection. We shall probably soon furnish a specimen of this 
 work, from the whole of which we expect gratification." JVat. Gazette. 
 
 New Editions of the following Works by the same Author. 
 THE SKETCH BOOK, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 KNICKERBOCKER'S HISTORY OF NEW YORK, revised 
 and corrected. 2 vols. 
 
 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, OR THE HUMORISTS, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 2 vols. 12mo.
 
 BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS, a Tale of the Lower Empire. 
 By the Author of Waverley. In 3 vols. 
 
 "The reader will at once perceive that the subject, the chnracters and the 
 scenes of action, could not have been better selected for the display of the vari 
 ous and unequalled powers of the author. All that is glorious in arts and splen 
 did in arms the glitter of armor, the pomp of war, and the splendor of chivalry 
 the gorgeous scenery of tire liospliorus the ruins of Byzantium the magnifi 
 cence of the Grecian capital, and the richness and voluptuousness of the imi* 1 - 
 rial court, will rise before the reader in a succession of beautiful and dazzling 
 images." Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. With a 
 
 Portrait. 
 HISTORY OF SCOTLAND, In 2 vols. 
 
 " The History of Scotland, by Sir Walter Scott, we do not hesitate to declare, 
 will be, if possible, more extensively read, than the most popular work of fiction, 
 by the same prolific author, and for this obvious reason: it combines much of the 
 brilliant coloring of the Ivanhoe pictures of by-gone manners, and all the grace 
 ful facility of style and picturesqueness of description of his other charniiii!.' ro 
 mances, with a minute fidelity to the facts of history, and a searching scrutiny 
 into their authenticity and relative value, which might put to the blush Mr. 
 Hume and other professed historians. Such is the magic charm of Sir Walter 
 Scott's pen, it has only to touch the simplest incident of every-day life, and it starts 
 up invested with all the interest of a scene of romance ; and yet such is his fideli 
 ty to the text of nature, that the knights, and serfs, and collared fools with whom 
 his inventive genius has peopled so many volumes, are regarded by us as not 
 mere creations of fancy, but as real flesh and blood existences, with all the vir 
 tues, feelings and errors of common-place humanity." Lit. Gazette. 
 
 TALES OF A GRANDFATHER, being a series from French 
 History. By the Author of WAVERLEY. 
 
 BY MR. COOPER. 
 
 THE BRAVO. By the Author of the SPY, PILOT, &c. In 2 vols. 
 
 THE WATER- WITCH, OR THE SKIMMER OF THE SEAS. 
 
 THE HEADSMAN, OR THE ABBAYE DES VIGNERONS. 
 In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 THE HEIDENMAUER; OR THE BENEDICTINES. In 2 vols. 
 New Editions of the following Works by the same Author 
 
 NOTIONS OF THE AMERICANS, by a Travelling Bachelor, 
 
 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 THE WEPT OF WISH-TON-WISH, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 THE RED ROVER, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 THE SPY, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 THE PIONEERS, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 THE PILOT, a Tale of the Sea, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 LIONEL LINCOLN, OR THE LEAGUER OF BOSTON, 2 voTs 
 THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS, 2 vols. 12mo. 
 THE PRAIRIE, 2 vols. 12rno.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 THE ALHAMBRA; a Series of Tales ard Sketches of the Moors 
 and Spaniards. By the author of the Sketch-Book. In 2 vols. 
 
 " We have read a part of Washington Irving's new Sketch Book, the scone of 
 which is Spain, the most romantic of European countries, and the best known 
 by the gifted author. His style has lost nothing of its peculiar charm, his de 
 scriptions are as graphic as usual, and enlivened with racy anecdotes and happy 
 reflection. We shall probably soon furnish a specimen of this work, from the 
 whole of which we expect gratification." Nat. Gazette. 
 
 THE BRAVO. By the author of the "Spy," "Pilot," "Red 
 
 Rover," &c. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " Let us honestly avow in conclusion, that in addition to the charm of an 
 interesting fiction to be found in these pages, there is more mental power 
 in them, more matter that sets people thinking, more of that quality that 
 is accelerating the onward movement of the world, than in all the Scotch 
 novels that have so deservedly won our admiration." New Monthly Mag. 
 
 "This new novel from the pen of our countryman, Cooper, will win new 
 laurels for him. It is full of dramatic interest "hair-breadth escapes" 
 animated and bustling scenes on the canals, in the prisons, on the Rialto, 
 in the Adriatic, and in the streets of Venice." N. Y. Courier $ Enquirer. 
 
 " Of the whole work, we may confidently say that it is very able a per 
 formance of genius and power." Nat. Gazette. 
 
 " The Bravo will, we think, tend much to exalt and extend the fame of 
 its author. We have hurried through its pages with an avidity which must 
 find its apology in the interesting character of the incidents and the very 
 vivid and graphic style in which they are described." 
 
 By the same author. 
 
 THE HEIDENMAUER, or PAGAN CAMP. In 2 vols. 
 SALMONIA ; or, Days of Fly Fishing ; by SIR H. DAVY. 
 
 " We are surprised, in meeting with an American reprint of this delightful 
 volume, that a work so universally popular has not been before rcpublished in 
 this country." JV. Y. American. 
 
 " One of the most delightful labors of leisure ever seen ; not a few of the 
 most beautiful phenomena of nature are here lucidly explained." Gent. Mag 
 
 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE. By the late 
 Rev. GILBERT WHITE, A. M., Fellow of the Oriel College, 
 Oxford, with additions, by Sir William Jardine, Bart. F. R. S. 
 E. F. L. S. M. W. S., author of " Illustrations of Ornithology." 
 
 " ' White's History of Selborne,' the most fascinating piece of rural writing 
 and sound English philosophy that has ever issued from the press." jlthentcum. 
 
 THE MECHANISM OF THE HEAVENS, by Mrs. SOMERVILLE. 
 
 In 18mo. 
 
 " We possess already innumerable discourses on Astronomy, in which the 
 wonders of the heavens and their laws are treated of; but we can say most 
 conscientiously that we are acquainted with none not even La Place's own 
 beautiful expose in his System du Monde, in which all that is essentially inter 
 esting in the motions and laws of the celestial bodies, or which is capable of 
 popular enunciation, is so admirably, so graphically, or we may add, so un 
 affectedly and simply placed before us. * * * Is it asking top much of Mrs. 
 Somerville to express a hope that she will allow this beautiful preliminary 
 Dissertation to be printed separately, for the delight and instruction of thou 
 sands of readers, young and old, who cannot understand, or are too indolent 
 to apply themselves to the more elaborate parts of the work? If she will do 
 this, we hereby promise to exert our best endeavors to make its merits known." 
 Literary Qazette.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 TOUR OF A GERMAN PRINCE, (PUCKLER MUSKATT,) through 
 the Southern and Western parts of England, Wales, Ireland, 
 and France. In 8vo. Second American edition. 
 1 It contains the least prejudiced and most acute notices we have read of the 
 
 labits and modes of thinking of Englishmen, and the merits and defects of the 
 
 country and society." Globe. 
 
 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON ON THE SUBJECT 
 OF RELIGION. By J. KENNEDY, M. D. 12mo. 
 
 3LEANINGS IN NATURAL HISTORY, with Local Recol 
 lections. By EDWARD JESSE, Esq. To which are added, Maxims 
 and Hints for Anglers. From the second London edition. 
 " A work that will be fondly treasured by every true lover of nature." New 
 
 Monthly Mag. 
 " We hazard but little in predicting that this volume will be a favorite with 
 
 a large class of readers. It is written by a true lover of nature, and one who 
 
 most pleasantly records his actual observations." Lit. Gaz. 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF BERRI, IN LA VENDEE, comprising a 
 Narrative of her Adventures, with her private papers and 
 secret correspondence, by General Dermoncourt, who ar 
 rested her royal highness at Nantes. In 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 [This edition exclusively contains the important documents and papers which would have led to the 
 seizure of the work in France, had they been published there.) 
 
 " Upon its high interest we need not enlarge : the personal adventures of the princess, her journeyings 
 en foot and on horseback, in disguise and in her own character, her mental and bodily sufferings, her hopts 
 and her despair, are a romance, and seem to belong to another age. They recall the wanderings and the 
 perils of our iwn Charles Edward, with all the additional interest which must attach to the daring aud 
 the suffering of & woman." vjl/ienzum. 
 
 THE ECONOMY OF MACHINERY AND MANUFACTURES. 
 Bv CHAINS BABBAGE. 18mo. 
 
 > Of the many publications which have recently issued from the press, calcu 
 lated to give a popular and attractive form to the results of science, we look upon 
 this volume as by far the most valuable. Mr. Babfoagc's name is well known 
 in connexion with the general subject of which ho has here undertaken to treat 
 But it will be difficult for the reader who does not possess the volume itself, to 
 understand the happy style, the judgment and tact, by means of which the an 
 thor has contrived to lend almost the charm of romance to the apparently drj 
 and technical theme which he has chosen." Monthly Rev. 
 
 OUSELEY'S REMARKS ON THE STATISTICS AND POLITI 
 CAL INSTITUTIONS OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 "The author is a man of solid sense, friendly to this country, and his remarks 
 have the value and interest of which his character and inquiries authorizet 
 the expectation." National Gazette. 
 
 TWO YEARS AND A HALF IN THE NAVY, or, JOURNAL 
 OF A CRUISE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN AND LEVANT, ON BOARD 
 THE U. S. FRIGATE CONSTELLATION, IN THE YEARS 1829, 1830 
 and 1831. By E. C. WINES. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " The author is a gentleman of classical education, a shrewd observer, a lively 
 writer, whose natural manner is always agreeable; whose various matter is 
 generally entertaining and instructive; and whose descriptions are remarkably 
 graphic. The greater portion of his pages have yielded us both profit and 
 pleasure." Nat. Oat,
 
 New Works, published by Carey, Lea, & Blanchard. 
 
 THREE YEARS IN THE PACIFIC, including notices of 
 Brazil, Chili, Bolivia, and Peru. In one vol. By an Offi 
 cer of the United States' Navy. 
 
 "The work embraces copious descriptions of the countries visited ; graphic 
 accounts of the state of society ; brief notices of the history, state of the 
 arts, climate, and the future prospects of those interesting parts of our conti 
 nent ; respecting which the citizens of the United States are supposed to 
 care much, but know so little." 
 
 "Full of novelty and valuable details. The American reader will greatly 
 add to his fund of ideas concerning South America by its.perusal." Chronicle. 
 
 " The author's graphic abilities the pure acquaintance he displays with 
 the Spanish language, renders his book at once pleasing and useful." Gas. 
 
 " Such contributions to our stock of ideas and literature, deserve a warmer 
 welcome and wider patronage than the common-place or extravagant fictions 
 of the day." National Gazette. 
 
 "Much new and valuable information, imbodied in excellent language; 
 there cannot be a moment's doubt of its popularity." Jour, of Belles Lettres. 
 
 LETTERS ON THE UNITED STATES. Letters to a Gen 
 tleman in Germany, written after a trip from Philadelphia 
 to Niagara, edited by Dr. Francis Lieber, in one vol. 8vo. 
 
 " The mingling of anecdote, the abrupt breaks, personal narration, illustrative 
 comparisons, and general style of the work, give it an interest that will ensure 
 to the book general perusal while the philosophical tone which occasionally 
 pervades its pages cannot fail of commending them to the approval of the 
 reflecting.''!/. S. Gazette. 
 
 " We have read this work with great satisfaction and interest. It abounds 
 with characteristic anecdotes, graphic descriptions, and principles which do 
 honour to the head and heart of the author." Nat. Intelligencer. 
 
 The style of these Letters is, in general, very good; sometimes poetical and 
 eloquent. 
 
 "Here is a well written series of Letters, by a learned German, who has 
 lived long enough among us, it appears, to examine the peculiarities of our 
 government and habits, with the impartial eye of a philosopher." Baltimore 
 paper. 
 
 " This is a very agreeable book rambling, sprightly, anecdotical, and withal, 
 interspersed with much useful and practical information, and keen and accurate 
 observation." JVezo York American. 
 
 SKETCHES OF SOCKETY IN GREAT BRITAIN AND 
 IRELAND. By C. S. Stewart, M. A., Chaplain of the 
 United States' Navy, author of" A Visit to the South Seas," 
 " A Residence in the Sandwich Islands," &c. In two vols. 
 12mo. 
 
 " Some of his sketches are beautiful descriptions ; others are finished pictures. 
 The charm of these volumes consists in the distinct view which the author 
 gives us of the scenery, the country, the cities and towns, the aristocracy, the 
 churches, in one word, the thousand particulars, which, together, constitute 
 what is called the state of society." Religious Telegraph. 
 
 " We have seldom perused a work with so pleasant an interest. The contents 
 are various and racy, epistolary transcripts of the author's mind, published just 
 as written, without revisions, and with all the gloss and freshness of first and 
 original impressions about them. The work is full of living pictures." 
 
 " His observations on men and manners, in his description of the different 
 scenes to which his pilgrimage was extended, are given in a style of the most 
 flowing and attractive kind." JV. Y. Courier. 
 
 THIRTY YEARS' CORRESPONDENCE, between John 
 Jehb, D. D. F. R. S., Bishop of Limerick, Ardfert, and 
 Aghadoe ; and Alexander Knox, Esq., M. R. I. A. Edited 
 by the Rev. Charles Forster, B. D., perpetual curate of Ash 
 next SandAvich ; formerly, domestic Chaplain to Bishop 
 Jebb. In two vols. 8vo.
 
 New Works, published fcy Carey, Lea, &, Blancliard. 
 
 BRIDGEWATER TREATISES. 
 
 This series of Treatises is published under the following circum 
 stances: 
 
 The Right Honorable and Rev. FRANCIS HENRY, Earl of Bridge- 
 water, died in the month of February, 1825 ; he directed certain trus 
 tees therein named, to invest in the public funds, the sum of eight 
 thousand pounds sterling; this sum, with the accruing dividends 
 thereon, to be held at the disposal of the President, for the time being, 
 of the Royal Society of London, to be paid to the person or persons 
 nominated by him. The Testator farther directed, that the person or 
 persons selected by the said President, should be appointed to write, 
 print and publish one thousand copies of a work, on the Power, Wis 
 dom, and Goodness of God, as manifested in the Creation ; illustra 
 ting such work, by all reasonable arguments, as, for instance, the va 
 riety and formation of God's creatures in the Animal, Vegetable, and 
 Mineral Kingdoms ; the effect of digestion, and, thereby, of conver 
 sion ; the construction of the hand of man, and an infinite variety of 
 other arguments ; as also by discoveries, ancient and modern, in arts, 
 sciences, and the whole extent of literature. 
 
 He desired, moreover, that the profits arising from the sale of the 
 works so published, should be paid to the authors of the works. 
 
 The late President of the Royal Society, DA VIES GILBERT, Esq. re 
 quested the assistance of his Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 and of the Bishop of London, in determining upon the best mode of 
 carrying into effect, the intentions of the Testator. Acting with their 
 advice, and with the concurrence of a nobleman immediately connect 
 ed with the deceased, Mr. Davies Gilbert appointed the following eight 
 gentlemen to write separate Treatises in the different branches of the 
 subjects here stated: 
 
 I. The Adaptation of External Nature to the Moral and Intellec 
 tual Constitution of Man, by the Rev. THOMAS CHALMERS, D. D., Pro 
 fessor of Divinity in the University of Edinburgh. 
 
 II. The adaptation of External Nature to the Physical Condition 
 of Man, by JOHN KIDD, M. D., F. R. S., Regius Professor of Medicine 
 in the University of Oxford. 
 
 III. Astronomy and General Physics, considered with reference to 
 Natural Theology, by the Rev. Wm. Whewell, M. A., F. R. S., Fel 
 low of Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
 IV. The hand : its mechanism and vital endowments as evincing 
 design, by Sir Charles Befl, K. H., F. R. S. 
 
 V. Animal and Vegetable Physiology, by Peter Mark Roget, M. D., 
 Fellow of and Secretary to the Royal Society. 
 
 VI. Geology and Mineralogy, by the Rev. Wm. Buckland, D. D., 
 F. R. S., Canon of Christ Church, and Professor of Geology in the 
 University of Oxford. 
 
 VII. The History, Habits, and Instincts of Animals, by the Rev. 
 Wm. Kirby, M. A., F. R. S.
 
 New WorUsj published l>y Carey, Iiea, &, Blancliarcl. 
 
 BRIDGEWATER TREATISES. 
 
 VIII. Chemistry, Meteorology, and the Function of Digestion, by 
 Wm. Prout, M.D..F.R.S. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING ARE PUBLISHED. 
 
 ASTRONOMY AND GENERAL PHYSICS, considered with 
 reference to Natural Theology. By the Rev. WILLIAM WHE- 
 WELL, M. A., Fellow and Tutor of Trinity College, Cam 
 bridge ; being Part III. of the Bridgewater Treatises on the 
 Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as manifested in the 
 Creation. In one vol. 12mo. 
 
 " It is a work of profound investigation, deep research, distinguished aliks 
 for the calm Christian spirit which breathes throughout, and the sound, irre 
 sistible argumentation which is stamped on every page." Daily Intelli 
 gencer. 
 
 " Let works like that before us be widely disseminated, and the bold, active, 
 and ingenious enemies of religion be met by those, equally sagacious, alert and 
 resolute and the most timid of the many who depend upon the few, need not 
 fear the host that comes with subtle steps to 'steal their faith away.' " JV. Y. 
 American. 
 
 " That the devoted spirit of the work is most exemplary, that we have here 
 and there found, or fancied, room for cavil, only peradventure because we have 
 been unable to follow the author through the prodigious range of his philo 
 sophical survey and in a word, that the work before us would have made the 
 reputation of any other man, and may well maintain even that of Professor 
 Whewell." Metropolitan. 
 
 " He has succeeded admirably in laying a broad foundation, in the light of 
 nature, for the reception of the more glorious truths of revelation ; and has 
 produced a work well calculated to dissipate the delusions of scepticism and 
 infidelity, and to confirm the believer in his faith." Charleston Courier. 
 
 " The known talents, and high reputation of the author, gave an earnest of 
 excellence, and nobly has Mr. Whewell redeemed the pledge. In conclusion, 
 vehave no hesitation in saying, that the present is one of the best works of 
 its kind, and admirably adapted to the end proposed; as such, we cordially 
 recommend it to our readers." London Lit. Gazette. 
 
 " It is a work of high character." Boston Recorder. 
 
 A TREATISE ON THE ADAPTATION OF EXTERNAL 
 NATURE TO THE PHYSICAL CONDITION OF MAN, 
 
 principally with reference to the supply of his wants, and the 
 exercise of his intellectual faculties. By JOHN KIDD, M. D., 
 F. R. S., Regius Professor of Medicine in the University of 
 Oxford ; being Part II. of the Bridgewater Treatises on the 
 Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as manifested in the 
 Creation. In one vol. 12mo. 
 
 " It is ably written, and replete both with interest and instruction. The 
 diffusion of such works cannot fail to be attended with the happiest effects in 
 justifying 'the ways of God to man,' and illustrating the wisdom and good 
 ness of the Creator by arguments which appeal irresistably both to the reason 
 and the feelings. Few can understand abstract reasoning, and still fewer rel 
 ish it, or will listen to it : but in this work the purest morality and the kindli 
 est feelings are inculcated through the medium of agreeable and useful infor 
 mation." Bait. Gaz. 
 
 " It should be in the hands of every individual who feels disposed to ' vindi 
 cate the Ways of God to man.' " JV. . Com. Jldv.
 
 New Works, published by Carey, Lea, & Blanchard. 
 
 BEIDGEWATER TREATISES. 
 
 CHEMISTRY, MINERALOGY, AND THE FUNCTIONS 
 OF DIGESTION, considered with reference to Natural The 
 ology, by William Prout, M. D. F. R. S., Fellow of the Royal 
 College of Physicians, being part eight of -the Bridgewater 
 Treatises on the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as 
 manifested in the Creation. In 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 " For depth of investigation, extent of research and cogency of reasoning, 
 this work will not suffer in comparison with any other of this admirable 
 series. The deductions from the premises are strong and conclusive, and 
 bear the impress of a calm, philosophic, and truly Christian spirit. The 
 valuable scientific knowledge that may be derived from the Bridgewater 
 Treatises, independent of their grand design the illustration of the power, 
 wisdom, and goodness of God, as manifested in the creation should secure 
 them a wide circulation." Bait. Gazelle. 
 
 ON THE ADAPTATION OF EXTERNAL NATURE TO 
 THE MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL CONSTITUTION 
 OF MAN. By the Rev. THOMAS CHALMERS, D. D. ; being 
 Part I. of the Bridgewater Treatises on the Power, Wisdom, 
 and Goodness of God, as manifested in Creation. In 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 " The volumes before us are every way worthy of their subject. It 
 would seem almost supererogatory to pass any judgment on the style of a 
 writer so celebrated as Dr. Chalmers. He is well known as a logician not 
 to be baffled by any difficulties ; as one who boldly grapples with his theme, 
 and brings every energy of his clear and nervous intellect into the field. 
 No sophistry escapes his eagle vision no argument that could either 
 enforce or illustrate his subject is left untouched. Our literature owes a 
 deep debt of gratitude to the author of these admirable volumes." Lit. Gaz. 
 
 THE HAND: ITS MECHANISM AND VITAL ENDOW 
 MENTS, AS EVINCING DESIGN. By Sir CHARLES 
 BELL, K. G. II. ; being Part IV. of the Bridgewater Treatises 
 on the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as manifested 
 in the Creation. In one vol. 12mo. 
 
 " In the present treatise it is a matter of the warmest satisfaction to find 
 an anatomist of Sir Charles Roll's great eminence, professing his contempt 
 for the late fashionable doctrines of materialism held by so many anato 
 mists, and now coming forward to present the fruits of his wide researches 
 and great ability in a treatise so full of curious and interesting matter, 
 expressly intended to prove, by the examination of one particular point, 
 that design which is imprest on all parts of various animals which in some 
 degree answer the purpose of the Hand ; and has shown that the hand is 
 not the source of contrivance, nor consequently of man's superiority, as 
 some materialists have maintained. 
 
 " To this he has added some very valuable remarks, showing the uses of 
 Pain, and he has illustrated the w : ork with a variety of the most admirable 
 and interesting wood cuts." British Magazine. 
 
 ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, considered with 
 reference to Natural Theology. By Peter Mark Roget, M. D. Being 
 Treatise five of the Bridgewater Series : illustrated with numerous 
 cuts.
 
 New Works, published by Carey, Lea, & Blanchard. 
 
 TRAITS AND TRADITIONS OF PORTUGAL, collected 
 during a residence in that country. By Miss Pardoe. In 
 two vols. 12mo. 
 
 " A very singular and effective union of the very best properties which we 
 seek for in books of travels on the one hand, and in works of the imagination 
 on the other." Monthly Review. 
 
 " The manners of Portugal were never before delineated with so much truth 
 and vivacity." Standard. 
 
 THE POSTHUMOUS POEMS OF THE REV. GEORGE 
 CRABBE, with his Letters and Journals, and a Memoir 
 of his Life. By his Son and Executor. In two handsome 
 vols. 
 
 " There are in my recess at home another Seria of Stories, in numler and quantity sufficient for a 
 volume; and at tftty are much like the former in execution, and sufficiently different in evtnti and clia- 
 ractert, they may hereafter, in pencealle timu, te worth, something to you ; and the more, Lecawe I shall, 
 whatever is mortal of me, be at rest in the chancel of TrowMdge church." Crabbe to his Son. 
 
 " The Life of Crabbe will be found far more abundant in striking incidents 
 and extraordinary contrasts and reverses, tban that of almost any other poet 
 with whose personal story we are acquainted. It will be seen from his own 
 Diaries, how calmly he had tasted, both of the very bitterest adversity a des 
 titute and forlorn wanderer about the streets of London, and of what, con 
 sidering his early position and distresses, may be called splendid prosperity the 
 honoured and admired friend of Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, Thurlow, Pox and 
 more recently of Scott, Rogers, Moore, &c. &c. the courted guest of the noblest 
 mansions placed at length, by the universal consent of all capable of appre 
 ciating literary merit, on an elevation second to no one among his contem 
 poraries." 
 
 THE BOOK OF SCIENCE ; a familiar introduction to the 
 Principles of Natural Philosophy, adapted to the compre 
 hension of Young People ; comprising Treatises on all the 
 Sciences. Illustrated by many curious and interesting 
 Experiments and Observations, and including Notices of 
 the most recent Discoveries. Embellished with upwards 
 of two hundred Engravings on wood. 
 
 " This work is beautifully got up, nnd elegantly embellished with exceedingly 
 clever wood cuts: it is published with the design of affording to youthful mindg 
 a brie/, but yet perspicuous, exhibition of the first principles of the physical 
 sciences, including accounts of the most important discoveries recently made in 
 the several departments of natural "knowledge. All this the book professes to 
 do, and does it well. We tliink by the easy and familiar tone that it adopts in 
 the descriptions.it will become a great favourite with youth." Metrop.Mag. 
 
 " Here is a familiar introduction to the principles of natural philosophy. We 
 have carefully perused every page, and every page has afforded us proofs of 
 accuracy and observation which we hardly expected. There cannot be a more 
 delightful present to the young, or anything better calculated to refresh the 
 memories of the old. It is the book, of all others, to teach young people how 
 to think." New Monthly Magazine. 
 
 " The present little volume is so written, that, with moderate attention, a 
 youth may obtain a very clear knowledge of each branch of natural philosophy. 
 The volume is printed uniformly with the ' Boy's Own Book,'' and may be said to 
 be a suitable successor to that -little work. The compiler deserves great credit 
 for the arrangement, and also for the simple, at the same time, correct and 
 familiar style of conveying information. We cannot do better than recommend 
 parents to .present to their children this elegant little production." Repertory 
 of Arts. 
 
 "Our readers will, doubtless, remember the 'Soy's Own Bonk;' the present 
 volume is a sequel to that amusing little work. It is got up with extreme care, 
 and illustrated with an immense number of figures, of extraordinary neatness 
 of execution." Atlas. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF IRELAND. By Thomas Moore. Vol. I. 
 is nearly ready, and the remainder in progress. 
 
 HISTORY OF ENGLAND. Vol. IV. Being a continuation 
 of Mackintosh.
 
 New Worksj published l>y Carey, Lea, &> Blancliard. 
 
 THE PRINCIPLES OF CHRISTIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Containing the Doctrines, Duties, Admonitions, and Consola 
 tions, of the Christian Religion. By JOHN BURNS, M. D., F. R. S. 
 From the 4th London edition. In 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 " The author has unfolded the principles of Christianity with much candor 
 and correctness; he has explained our personal and relative duties in a just 
 and philosophical manner; and, by the ease and unaffected simplicity of his 
 style, has rendered his treatise pleasing as well as instructive. His remarks 
 on brotherly love, in that part of his work embracing the relative duties, pos 
 sess much to interest." fl Traveller. 
 
 " The book has a high reputation in Great Britain, and there is no being 
 capable of reflection, who has not need, and upon whom it is not incumbent, 
 to obtain light, and bestow concern on the topics which are here discussed. 
 
 "Every page that directs the mind to what should be deemed the main inter 
 est of life, and causes operative thought in ulterior destinies, is of inestima 
 ble value." Nat. Gazette. 
 
 PICTURES OF PRIVATE LIFE. 
 
 BY SARAH STICKNEY. 
 
 In 1 neat 18mo. vol. 
 
 " The publishers deserve the thanks of the lovers of pure, chastened and 
 profitable fiction for their reprint of this charming little work. It cannot fail 
 to become as popular here as it already is in England. It is a collection of tales 
 and sketches, designed to impress upon the mind useful lessons of piety, virtue 
 and wisdom. It is written in a style of unusual excellence masculine in its 
 vigor, yet light and playful in its delicacy, and embodies several scenes of 
 pathos and feeling of which Sterne or M'Kenzie might be proud. To those 
 whose taste has not been perverted by the flashy wit and nauseous sentiment 
 ality of modern fiction, we commend the immediate purchase of this delight 
 ful little work." Daily Intelligencer. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. 
 
 THOUGHTS IN VERSE FOR SUNDAYS AND HOLY DAYS THROUOHOUT THE YEAR. 
 " In quietness and in confidence thall be your strength." Isaiah xxr. 15. 
 
 First American from the 25lh London edition, with an introduction and 
 notes by Bishop Doane, of New Jersey. In a handsome vol. 
 
 " It may be read for purposes of devotion by Christians of whatever deno 
 mination, with pleasure and profit." Christian Watchman, 
 
 " These verses were singularly beautiful iu conception and composition, and 
 breathe the purest poetic taste and the most sincere and fervent spirit of 
 piety." Gazette. 
 
 " The work should be in the hands of all who value taste, genius and 
 piety." Com. Intelligencer. 
 
 " We have rarely, perhaps iiRvnr, met a poetical volume, more appropriate 
 to family devotion." U. S. Gazette. 
 
 " As a book for family reading whether as an exercise of taste or devotion 
 we know of few that can surpass it." Gazette. 
 
 A few copies have been bound in beautiful embossed leather, with gilt 
 edges, making a very desirable volume for a present. 
 
 A GUIDE TO AN IRISH GENTLEMAN IN HIS SEARCH 
 
 FOR A RELIGION. 
 By the Rev. MORTIMER O' SULLIVAN, A. M. 
 
 1 vol. 12mo. Being an answer to Moore's work.
 
 FAMILY CABINET ATLAS. 
 
 THE FAMILY CABINET ATLAS, CONSTRUCTED UPON AN ORI 
 GINAL PLAN: Being a Companion to the Encyclopaedia Ameri 
 cana, Cabinet Cyclopedia, Family Library, Cabinet Library, &c. 
 This Atlas comprises, in a volume of the Family Library size, nearly J 00 Maps 
 and Tables, which present equal to Fifty Thousand Names of Places; a body 
 of information three times as extensive as that supplied by the generality of 
 Quarto Atlases. 
 
 Opinions rf the Public Journals. 
 
 "This beautiful and most useful little volume," says the Literary Gazette, 
 " is a perfect picture of elegance, containing a vast sum of geographical infor 
 mation. A more instructive little present, or a eift better calculated to be long 
 preserved a<l ofien referred to, could not be offered to favored youth of either 
 sex. Its cheapness, we must add, is another recommendation ; for, although 
 tins elegant publication contains 100 beautiful engravings, it is issued at a price 
 that can be no obstacle to its being procured by every parent and friend to youth." 
 This Atlas far surpasses any thin-; of the kind which we have seen, and is 
 made to suit the popular libraries which Dr. Lardner and Mr. Murray are now 
 sending into every family in the empire." Monthly Rcricw. 
 
 " Its very ingenious method of arrangement secures to the geographical stu 
 dent the information for which hitherto he has been obliged to resort to works 
 of the largest dimensions." JUhenafum. 
 
 " This miniature and beautiful Atlas is likely to supersede, for general pur 
 poses, maps of a more expensive and elaborate character. It appears to us to 
 answer the double purpose of exercising the attention, while it imprints all that 
 is important in Geography on the memory." Atlas. 
 
 " The workmanship is among the best of the kind we have ever witnessed." 
 Examiner. 
 
 " It contains all the information to be derived from the most expensive and 
 unwieldy Atlas." York Courant. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE REVOLUTION IN ENGLAND, IN 
 
 1688: comprising a View of the Reign of James II., from his 
 accession, to the Enterprise of the Prince of Orange. By the 
 late Right Hon. Sir JAMES MACKINTOSH. And completed to 
 the Settlement of the Crown, by the Editor. To which is pre 
 fixed, a Notice of the LIFE, WRITINGS, and SPEECHES of Sir 
 JAMES MACKINTOSH. In 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 "We are at length gratified by the appearance of this long-looked for work 
 from the pen of'Sir James Mackintosh. Highly gifted by nature, deeply read, 
 and singularly accomplished, the view of one of the most memorable epochs in 
 English history could not have been undertaken by any man of a capacity to do 
 it justice in every respect, superior to this eminent individual." Lit. Oazette. 
 
 " In every page we perceive the anxiety of the hislorian to hold the ba 
 lance of justice with unfaltering hand, and to watch its slightest vibrations." 
 Athenaeum. 
 
 "The Sequel is highly honourable to the industry and talents of its author; 
 and the Prefatory Memoir is very well written. Altogether, the volume 
 possesses a sterling character, too rare at this period of evanescent publica 
 tions." Lit. Gazelle. 
 
 LIFE OF THE REV. QEORGE CRABBE, LL.R, with his 
 Letters and Journals, together with his Posthumous Poems. 
 Edited by his Son, In 2 neat volumes.
 
 New Works, published by Carey, L.eo, & lllnncharcl. 
 
 Moore's New Work. 
 
 TRAVELS OF AN IRISH GENTLEMAN, 
 IN SEARCH OF A RELIGION. 
 
 With Notes and Illustrations. By the Editor of Captain Rock's 
 Memoirs'. In 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 " Considering the circumstances under which these volumes are given to the 
 public, we consider their contents as amongst (he most interesting records of 
 which the assertion of the human mind ever formed the theme." Monthly Re 
 view. 
 
 "The masterly manner in which Mr. Moore has brought together his argu 
 ments, the great extent and minuteness of his researches into ancient author 
 ities, his intimacy with the customs and traditions of other times, and nis 
 close and critical knowledge of the ancient languages, will surprise tne rea 
 der of his Travels, who may have measured his talents by his songs." Amer 
 ican Sentinel. 
 
 THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 
 
 With coloured plates : elegantly bound, with gilt edges : a beau 
 tiful volume for a present. 
 
 SISMONDI'S HISTORY OF THE FALL OF THE 
 ROMAN EMPIRE: 
 
 COMPRISING A VIEW OF THE INVASION OF THE BARBARIANS. 
 
 THE INFIRMITIES OF GENIUS, 
 
 Illustrated by referring the anomalies in the literary character, 
 to the habits and constitutional peculiarities of Men of Genius. 
 By R. R. MADDEN, Esq. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 " This is a very valuable and interesting work, full of new views and curi 
 ous deductions ; beginning with general remarks on the influence of literary 
 habits, on the constitution, and thence proceeding to make tho theory more 
 actual by its application to particular instances. 
 
 " His physical biographies, if we may so term them, of Burns, Cowper, By 
 ron, and Scott, are of a very curious and novol kind ; written with equal feel 
 ing and observation. He traces Cowper's malady to its true source, monoma^ 
 nia on religious subjects; and the tone of the remarks is at once so just and 
 so candid, that we cannot do better than give a brief portion." Lit. Gazette. 
 
 THE LIFE OF PRINCE TALLEYRAND. 
 Accompanied by a Portrait In 1 volume, 8vo. 
 
 " How conld the work be otherwise than interesting, when it traces the career of a statesman, who, 
 though now in his eighty-first year, has commanding influence in every European cabinet, who acquired 
 power under the French monarchy, and retained it under the Republic, the Directory, the Consulate, the 
 Empire, and the Dynasty of Artois and Orleans r'~JUhmxum.
 
 New Works, published by Carey, Lea, fc BlaucJiard. 
 
 THE PREMIUM, 
 
 A PRESENT FOR ALL SEASONS : 
 
 insisting of elegant selections from British and American 
 writers of the 19th century. In one small neat volume, ele 
 gantly bound in morocco ; with engravings, by Ellis, from de 
 signs by Westall and Richter. 
 
 This work particularly commends itself to school teachers, pa 
 rents, and others, who may be in search of a volume to pre 
 sent to either sex. 
 
 lie vmn aiuy, ana consuiuies a cneap, eiegam, aim ap 
 
 [iropriate present." Daily Intelligencer. 
 
 " A very neat and instructive present for youth at all seasons." JVaJ. Gaz 
 
 A TREATISE ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 BY SIR JOHN F. W. HEKSCHEL, P. K. S. &C. 
 
 In 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 "The present treatise is in no wise inferior to its predecessor: it is charac 
 terized by the same agreeable and elegant style, the same facility of illustra 
 tion added to which it possesses unrivalled precision and accuracy of de 
 monstration. A voiding, therefore, the abstruse niceties and the transcendenta 
 mathematics of the subject, the author has nevrtheless produced a volume 
 calculated, we are fully pursiiaded, to impress upon his readers the magnitude 
 and importance of the science, and to initiate them in no mean degree into 
 its mysteries." Lit. Gazette. 
 
 of the Court 
 OF KING CHARLES THE FIRST. 
 
 By LUCY AIKIN. In Two Volumes, 8vo.
 
 New Works, published by Carey, Lea, & Klancliarcl. 
 
 TALES AND CONVERSATIONS, 
 
 OR, THE NEW CHILDREN'S FRIEND. 
 
 By Mrs. MARKHAM, Author of the Histories of England and 
 France. In 2 small volumes. 
 
 " We conscientiously recommend Mrs. Markham to our readers." Lit. 
 Gazette. 
 
 " These volumes contain excellent instruction in a very agreeable form."- 
 Spectator. 
 
 " We have two neat volumes, containing a series of Dialogues, by Mrs. 
 Markham, designed for the improvement of young people. We have examin 
 ed them carefully, and can say that we think them well adapted to the purpose 
 of the author. They are sufficiently simple to be understood by boys and girls 
 who have just begun to take to their books ; they convey lessons well worth 
 the study of all who are yet classed among young people ; and they are inter 
 esting enough to secure the attention of those whom they are designed to in 
 struct." Chronicle. 
 
 MRS. TROLLOPE'S BELGIUM AND WESTERN GERMANY. 
 
 INCLUDING VISITS TO BADEN-EADEN, WEISBADEN, CASSEL, 
 HANOVER, &C. &C. IN 1 VOL. 
 
 " We have pleasure in saying, that we think her style considerably strength 
 ened and improved since her 'Tour in America." Quarterly Review. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF CELEBRATED WOMEN OF ALL 
 COUNTRIES. 
 
 BY THE DUCHESS D'ABRANTES. 
 
 ON THE PENITENTIARY SYSTEM 
 
 IN THE UNITED STATES, 
 AND ITS APPLICATION IN FRANCE: 
 
 With an Appendix on Penal Codes, and Statistical Notes. By 
 G. DE BEAUMONT and A. DE TOQUEVILLE, Counsellors in the 
 Royal Court of Paris, and Members of the Historical Society 
 of Pennsylvania. Translated from the French : with an in 
 troduction, notes, and additions. By FRANCIS LEIBER. In 1 
 vol. 8vo. 
 
 " The commissioners appear to have pursued thrir researches with much 
 industry and intelligence, and to have rendered themselves thoroughly ac 
 quainted with the subject." 
 
 "The translation of the work could not have been committed to better 
 hands than Mr. Leiber's, and with his notes and additions, it forms one of 
 the best practical treatises extant on the causes and prevention of crime. 
 We shall probably have occasion to recur again to this valuable work." Bait. 
 American. 
 
 HISTORY OF SPAIN AND PORTUGAL. 
 
 Complete, in 5 vols. 12mo. 
 
 ' A work unequalled in modern English historical literature." Micnvum.
 
 . 
 
 NOTES ON ITALY, during the years 1829-30. By REMBRANDT 
 PEALE. In 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 "This artist will gratify all reasonable expectation ; he is neither ostenta 
 tious, nor dogmatical, nor too minute ; he is not a partisan nor a carper : hr ail 
 mires without servility, he criticises without malevolence; his frankness anil 
 good humor give an agreeable color and effect to all his decisions, and the object 
 of them ; his book leaves a useful general idea of the names, works, and deserts, 
 of the great masters: it is an instructive and entertaining index." JVat. Oaz. 
 
 " We have made a copious extract in preceding columns from this interesting 
 work of our countryman, Rembrandt 1'eale, recently published. It lias received 
 :iigh commendation from respectable sources, which is justified by the portions 
 we have seen extracted." Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 " Mr. Pcale must be allowed the credit of candor and entire freedom from affec 
 tation in the judgments he has passed. At the same time, we should not omit to 
 notice the variety, extent, and minuteness of his examinations. No church, 
 gallery, or collection, was passed by, and most of the individual pictures are 
 separately and carefully noticed." Jim. Quarterly Review. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE OP SIR WALTER RALEGH, with 
 some account of the Period in which he lived. By Mrs. A. T. 
 THOMSON. With a portrait. 
 
 "Such is the outline of a life, which, in Mrs. Thomson's hands, is a mine of in 
 terest ; from the first page to the last the attention is roused and sustained, and 
 while we approve the manner, we still more applaud the spirit in which it is 
 executed." Literary Gazette. 
 
 " In all respects a most appropriate volume for the Cabinet Library. We 
 shall take an opportunity in another notice, to give some of the many interest 
 ing passages in the volume that offer themselves for quotation." JV. Y. Jlmcr. 
 
 " The book is unquestionably the best Life of Ralegh that has ever been 
 written." Jllbum. 
 
 "This is a piece of biography which combines the fascinations of romance 
 with the deeper interest that attaches to historical narrative." Sout/i. Patriot 
 
 ELEGANT LIBRARY EDITIONS 
 
 OF THE FOLLOWING WORKS. 
 
 WORKS OF JOANNA BA1LLIE. Complete in 1 volume 8vo. 
 
 WORKS OF HENRY FIELDING. In 2 vols. 8m, with a por 
 trait. 
 
 WORKS OF TOBIAS SMOLLETT. In 2 volumes 8vo., with 
 a portrait. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE RISE AND PROGRESS OP THE 
 UNITED STATES OF NORTH AMERICA. By JAMES 
 GRAHAM. In 2 vols. 8vo.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 MILITARY MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. 
 
 By CAPT. MOYLE SHER.ER, Author of Recollections of the 
 
 Peninsula. In 2 vols. 18mo. 
 
 "The tone of feeling and reflection which pervades the work is in the charac- 
 . eristic mood of the writer, considerate, ardent, and chivalrous; his principles, 
 as might be expected, are sound and independent, and his language is frequently 
 rich in those beauties which distinguish his previous writings. To us it appears 
 a work which will not discredit its illustrious subject." United Service Journal. 
 
 THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF JOANNA 
 BAILLIE. 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 This edition corresponds with the Library Editions of Byron, Scott, Moore, &.c. 
 
 "Miss Baillie's Plays on the Passions have been long known as among the 
 jest in the language. No one who reads them can entertain a doubt of the char 
 acter of the writer's affections. Such works could never have been dictated by 
 a cold heart." Christian Examiner. 
 
 " We are among the most earnest admirers of her genius, her literary attain 
 ments and skill, her diction, her success, her moral designs, and her personal 
 worth. Some of her tragedies have deservedly passed into the stock of the prin 
 cipal British and American theatres. They are express developments and de 
 lineations of the passions, marked by a deep insight into human nature, great 
 dramatic power of treatment, a fertile spirit of poetry, and the loftiest and 
 purest moral sentiment." National Oazcltc. 
 
 TREATISE ON CLOCK AND WATCHMAKING, Theoretical 
 and Practical. By THOMAS REID, Edinburgh Honorary Mem 
 ber of the Worshipful Company of Clock-Makers, London. 
 Royal 8vo. Illustrated by numerous Plates. 
 
 GEOLOGICAL MANUAL. By H. T. DE LA BECHE. la 8vo. 
 
 with numerous wood-cuts. 
 
 " A work of first-rate importance in the science to which it relates, and which 
 must henceforth take its place in the library of every student in Geology." 
 Phil. Magazine. 
 
 " Mr. De la Beche's Geological Manual is the first and best work of the kind 
 and he has performed his task with a perfect knowledge of all that has been 
 ascertained in Geology, and with considerable judgment and taste in the man 
 ner of doing it. So much geological science was never before compressed in so 
 small a space." Spectator. 
 
 HISTORY OF ENGLAND, by SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH. Octavo 
 edition. 
 
 *** The first volume of this edition will contain the same matter as the first 
 three volumes of the 18mo. edition. 
 
 A COLLECTION OF COLLOQUIAL PHRASES, on every 
 subject necessary to maintain Conversation, the whole so dis 
 posed as considerably to facilitate the acquisition of the Italian 
 language. By an Italian Gentleman. 1 vol. 18mo. 
 
 NOVELLE ITALIANE. Stories from Italian Writers, with a 
 literal, interlinear translation on Locke's plan of Classical 
 Instruction, illustrated with Notes. First American from the 
 last London edition, with additional translations and notes.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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