The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1902-04-20

glimpse which I caught of them. appeared
to be foreigners: behind these came a very
long train Of splendid carriages. all of
which. without one exception, were empty.
Whose body is in that hearse?" said I TO
a dapper-looking individual, seemingly a
shopkeeper. who stood beside me on the
pavement. looking at the procession.
The mortal relics OF Lord Byron" said
the dapper-looking Individual. mounting his
words and smirking-"the Mustrious poet.
which have been just brought from Greece.
and are being conveyed to the family vault
in shire"
An ilIustrious poet. was hep. said 1.
Beyond all criticism said the dapper
man; "all we Of the rising generation are
under incaIculable obligation 10 Byron; l
myself, in particular. have reason to say
so; in all my correspondence my style is
formed on the ByrOnic model"
I looked at the Individual for a moment.
who smiled and smirked to himself APP
plause. and then I turned my eyes upon the
hearse proceeding slowly up the almost
endless street. This man. this Byron. had
for many years past been the demigod of
England, and his verses the daily food of
those who read. from the peer to the drap-
er's assistant; all were admirers, or rather
worshipers of Byron, and all dotted on
his verses; and then I thought of those
who, with genius as high as his, or higher.
had lived and died neglected. l thought Of
Milton abandoned to poverty and blindness;
of witty and ingenious Butler consigned to
the tender mercies of bailifs; and starving
Otway; they had lived neglected and de-
spised. and. when they died. a few poor
mourners only had followed them TO the
grave; but this Byron had been made a
half god of when living, and now that he
was dead he was followed by wOrshiping
crowds, and the very sun seemed to come
out on purpose TO grace his funeral. And,
indeed, the sun, which for many days past
had hidden it's face in clouds. shone out
that morn with wonderful brilliancy, fam
ing upon the black hearse and its tall os-
trich plumes. the mourning coaches, and
the long train of aristocratic carriages
which followed behind.
x x <
Great poet, sir" said the dapper-looking
man, great poet, but unhappy"
Unhappy? yes, 7 had heard that he had
roamed about a fevered. ~distempered man,
taking pleasure in nottingham I had
heard; but was it true? was he really I'M
happy? was not this unhappiness assumed.
with the view of increasing the interest
which the world took in him.? and yet who
could say? He might be unhappy, and with
reason. Was he a real poet. after all? might
he not doubt himself? might ne not have a
lurking consciousness that he was unde-
serving of the homage which he was re-
ceiving? that it could not last? that he
was rather at the top of fashion than of
fame? . . Fashion soon changes,
thought I, eagerly to myself-a time will
come, and that speedily, when he will be
no longer in the fashion: when this idiotic
sdmirer of his. who is still grinning at my
side, shall have ceased to mold his style
on Byron's; and this aristocracy, this
squirearchy, and what not. who now send
their empty carriages to pay respect to the
fashionable corpse. shall have transferred
their empty worship to some other ami
mate or inanimate thing. Well. perhaps
after all it was better to nave been mighty
Milton in his poverty and blindness-witty
and ingenious Butler consigned TO the ten
der mercieS of bailiffs and starving Otway;
they might enjoy more real pleasure than
this lordling; they must have been aware
that the world would one day do them
justice-fame after death is better than the
top of fashion in life. They have left a
fame behind them which shall never die,
whilst this lordling-a time will come when
he will be out of fashion and forgotten.
And yet / don't know; didn't he write
Childe Harold and that ode? Yes, he wrote
Childe Harold and that ode. Then a time
will scarcely come when he will be for
gotten. Lords. sQuires and cockneys may
pass away. but a time will scarcely come
when Childe Harold and that ode will be
forgotten. He was a poet. after all, and he
must have known it; a real poet. equal to-
to-what a destiny! Rank. beauty, fashion.
immortality-he could not be unhappy;
what a difference in the fate of men,
wish I could think he was unhappy
l turned away.
Great poet, sir" said the dapper man,
turning away too, but ~unhappy-fate of
genius, sir; 1, too, am frequently unhappy"
x x
Another fact, and one that more nearly
r~econciled me to the delay in acceding to
the request alluded to in the beginning,
was that there was soon to recur an i'm
portant anniversary i'm the eyes Of those
who are interested in Byron; for yesterday,
April 10. was the seventy-eighth a~nniver-
sary of the poets death. MANY months
spent chiefly in the IOnian islands. passed
before he could get into active work" says
the record; "at last he landed at Misso-
longhi on Jan. 3. 1924; labored against bad
weather. disunion among the Greeks, and
other checks. He caught rheumatic fever,
and on April 10 he died. His body was
brought 70 England, and buried in the
church of Northumberland near New
stead" He was thirty-six years old.
THE GOSSIP.