The morning call., 1891-02-15

around the dark and drear old spot hoping
to find some way of entrance alone. This
was unavailing. Returning to the gate,
saw across the open space below the
square crowd of bedraggled women and
children watching my movements atten-
lively. One with babe at her breast and
three little ones pulling at her ragged
skirts held aloft some huge, jangliDg
KEYS. Then the crowd laughed at the sig
mailing and my shameful nod of acqui-
escence, and part of its hungry members,
advanced to the gate. They were scrawny
savage creatures all, with bare feet breasts,
heads and with troop of wolfish young
tagging after. thought them all OFF, save the
one with the keys, on condition that the gate
should be locked after us; and by the time
my guide and her brood had effected this
every one of her former companions had dis
appeared with shrill-voiced raillery into
various dram-shops of the square below.
THE SHRINE OF THE MIGHTY DEAD.
That one could make such pilgrimage in
England 10 the shrine of any one of her
mighty dead, and find it within such pitiably
mean and abject surroundings. is degrad-
ing reproach on the whole English-speaking
race. Only the gh0uls who have cPaseleSSly
besmirched Byron's name and fame could
come here and not cry out with pain and
outraged grief at the endless taunt and
shame of this incredible belittlem'nt.
Inc sodden woman, dawdling her keys
meager light above the chancel, WAS fitting
type of tie inSensate forgetfulness and
oblivion to which these poor relics OF one
possessing sublime genius have been
doomed. l asked her fnlteringly if great
many visitors didn't come to st. Mary's.
She '''ad not 'eerd it, if it were so. But
were there not in, say, years time 1000 or
5000? She laughed outright, and informed
ne that not enough came to provide any
decent family with "a pint q day." This
was new view of it. Byron's grave, En0t
worth, for income, pint Of beer day
Well, were there 1000? She shook her
head cOntemptuously. Did 500 come each
year? Were there 250?
'Niver fluffy (fifty), mon, on'y wen TIL
restoration do be-"
This restoration" occurred in 1888. 1t Is
sounding significant word. The little old
church was then ruin with the exception
OF the tower. Apparently not $1,000 was ex-
pended. The walls are up again. The roof
is whole. A commonplace east window is
standing above the altar. A tiny chancel
was added. and little boxes of transepts were
put in. At the right of the chancel, above
the choir, is this memorial tablet:
In the vault beneath
where many OF his ancestors and his mother are
buried
Lie the remansor
George Gordon Noel Byron,
Lord Byron OF Rochdale.
In the county OF Lancaster,
The Author OF Chide Harod's Pilgrimage.
He was born in London on the
22d Of January, 1888.
He died at Missoonghi. in Western Greece, the
10Th OF April. 1924.
Engaged in the glorious attempt TO restore that
country to her ancient freedom aud renown.
His sister the Honorable
Augusta Mary Leigh,
Placed this tablet to his memory.
A SMALL TABLET.
There are also small tablet in memory of
Byron'S daughter, Augusta Ada, who be-
came the Countess of Lovelace. ard died in
OF ha oTa nf inst ha,-f at D
death; mural monuments of the second Lord
Byron and his six sons, and the Indictments
OF the poets mother These are the only
adornments of the bare walls of st. Mary's.
But the most intense and solemn interest of
the dreary place is where you will kneel,
just within the chancel-rail, upon the raised
stone floor. Set in this chance-pave is q
square block of rare Russo antique marble
a gift of the King of Greece. 1t is about two
feet square. Upon this marble, within a
wreath Of laurel wrought in brass, is the
simple inscription:
BYRON
Jan 20. 1888.
Died
April 10, 1924.
Beneath this is the Byron vault, now her
metically sealed. Besides the scattered
bones of his wild and reckless ancestors the
vault contains the remains of the poet.
preserved in a lead coffin, which rests di-
rectly underneath the tablet and the bodies
of his unhappy tempered mother to the right
hand. and Of his daughter Ada-'sale daugh-
ter OF my house and heart'-on the left.
All this can be learned from the parish
register, quaint old parchment book, dating
from the time Of Henry III. Defender of
the Faith" The fact and date recall that
on the dissolution, in 1910, a certain Sir
John Byron, Lieutenant of Sherwood For
est was given the priory of News cad and
all Its titheS and possessions. The oil
abbey being ruined by the savage
brutality of the Roundheais this in
significant chapel of that time became
ownership of the seat of the Byrons twice
passed into the hands of strangers the
burial place of the fated line. Go back
through all its his history, and there will be
homicide and regicide. The wonder is
not that the poet Byron was no more
calm and steadfast soul. The marvel is
that from the heart and brain Of any one
tie against the accursed faint of heredity.
enabling the enmeshed blood, brain and
soul, In so brief a struggle, t1 add such
Surprising luster to the pages of genius.
STUDY OF POETRY.
That is the only just attitude in which
any one can approach the study of the
poetry, the literature, above all the charac-
ter of Byron, or in which the conscience
Should permit any rightminded person to
kpee at this almost unknown and wholly
unhonored grave.
When you recall that the remains of this
great poet were refused admission to the
stately portals of ST. Paul's and Westmin-
ster; when you learn as you may from the
aplysia-braine first families Of Noting
hamshire that mo more is made of Byron's
grave. because he was never quite approved
of in Notts"; and when you leave the
spot, standing in the desoate churchyard
of St Mary's, you shudderingly contem-
plate the mental and material stiffness
and CRIME of this shrine's environment. it
will all remain one of the saddest memories
of your life. And il is heart-aching thing
that, in the infinite compassion with which
humankind is wont to hold its dead, the
ashes Of Byron could not at least have been
placed near the murmurous waters and the
gray walls of the wrath peopled Newstead
he so loved and mourned. Englshmen are
not themselves IL this meager tribute to an
Englishman of immortal fame be not some
time bestowed. EDGAR L. wAKEMAN.
"a. fright, 1891