Morning journal and courier., 1888-07-04
RYRON's GRAVE.
A Visit te the Church of HucknaIl- TOFkarG.

A TOrkard.
 William Winter in Harper's weeky.1
 This church has been restored and altered
 since Byron was buried in it in 1924, yet in the main it retains it's fundamental structure and it's ancient peculiarities. The tower, an uncommonly fine specimen of Norman arch itscture, strongly built and dark and grim, gives every indication of great age. It is of kind often met with in ancient English towns; you may see its own brothers at Can terbury, Worcester, Warwick, and in places sprinkled over the northern heights of Lon- don; but amid it's mean surroundings in this
 little colliery settlement it looms up with
 peculiar drowning majesty, certain bleak loneliness, both unique and impressive. Beneath the pavement of the chancel and back of the altar rail-at which it was my privilege te kneel while gazing upon this sa- cred spot-is the grave of Byron. Nothing is written on the stone that covers his sepul- chre except the simple name of Byron in brass letters surrounded by wreath of leaves in brass, the gift of the King of Greece; and never did name seem more stately or place more hallowed. The dust of the poet reposes between that of his mother on his right hand and that of his Ada-e'sole daughter of my house and heart"-on his left. The mother died on August 1st, 1911; the daughter, who had by marriage become the Countess of Lovelace, in 1852. ''I buried her with my own hands," said the sexton, John Brown, when, after little time, he rejoined me at the altar rail. "I | told them exactly where he was laid when ! they wanted to put that brass on the stone; remembered it we'll, for I lowered | the coffin Of the Countess of Lovelace into this vault and laid her by her fathers ! side" And when presently we went into ! little vestry or chapel at the left of the | chsncel he produced the register of bur ! ials, and displayed the record of that in- | torment in the following words: 1859. l Died at e9 Cumberland Place, London. Buried December Sd. Age thirty-six. Cur tis Jackson" The Bsrons were short-lived race The poet himself had just turned | thirty-six; his mother was only forty<six when she passed away. This name of Curtis | Jackson in the register was that of the rector ! or curate then incumbent, but now departed. X The register is long, narrow book made of parchment and full of various grabbed hand- writings-a record very similar to that which | is so carefully treasured at the Church of the | Holy Trinity at Stratford, but it is even more dilapidated, and when saw it was evil dently on the high road to destruction.
 I Another relic shown by John Brown was
 bit of embroidery, or silken work of some sort, presenting the heraldic arms of the By ron family. It had been used at Byron's funeral and thereafter was long kept in the church, though latterly with but little care. | When the Rev. Curtis Jackson came there he beheld this frail memorial with pious disap- | probation. "He told me,n said the sexton
 l to take it homo and burn it. I did take it home, but didn't burn it; and when the new rector came he heard of it and esked me E to bring it back, and a lady gave the frame ! to put 1t in. Framed it Is and likely now to be always preserved in this interesting church; and earnestly do wish that could
 remember, in order that I might speak it l with honor, the rame of the good clergyman ! who could thus rebuke idle and silly bigotry, and welcome and treasure in his church that ! shred of silk which once rested on the coffin 1 of Byron. Still another relic preserved by John Brown is large piece of cardboard
 giving the inscription (if rightly remember it) which is upon the coffin of the poets ! mother. and which bore some part in the
 obsequies of that singular woman-a crea-
 ture full of faults, but the parent of nigh
 ty genius, and capable of inspiring the deep,
 est love. On the night after Byron arrived
 home at Newstead, whither he repaired from
 London on receiving news of her illness
 only to ind her dead, he was found sitting
 in the dark and sobbing beside the corpse.
 q had but one friend in the world,n he said
 "and she is gone" He was soon to publish
 "Childe Harold, , and to gain hosts of friends
 and have the world at his feet, but he spoke
 | what he felt, and he spoke the truth in that
 dark room on that desolate night. Thoughts
 ! of these things, and of many other strange
 passages and incidents in his brief, check
 cred, glorious, lamentahle life thronged intc
 my mind as I stood thers in presence od \ those relics and 30 near his dust, while ths