The gardener said, however,
that Byron intended this, not merely as the burial-place of his dog, but
for himself too, and his sister. I know not how this may have been, but
this inconvenience would have attended his being buried there, that, on
transfer of the estate, his mortal remains would have become the property
of some other man.
We had now come to the empty space,--a smooth green lawn, where had once
been the Abbey church. The length had been sixty-four yards, the
gardener said, and within his remembrance there had been many remains of
it, but now they are quite removed, with the exception of the one
ivy-grown western wall, which, as I mentioned, forms a picturesque part
of the present front of the Abbey. Through a door in this wall the
gardener now let us out. . . . .
In the evening our landlady, who seems to be a very intelligent woman, of
a superior class to most landladies, came into our parlor, while I was
out, and talked about the present race of Byrons and Lovelaces, who have
often been at this house. There seems to be a taint in the Byron blood
which makes those who inherit it wicked, mad, and miserable. Even
Colonel Wildman comes in for a share of this ill luck, for he has almost
ruined himself by his expenditure on the estate, and by his lavish
hospitality, especially to the Duke of Sussex, who liked the Colonel, and
used often to visit him during his lifetime, and his Royal Highness's
gentlemen ate and drank Colonel Wildman almost up.
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