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."
ARRIVAL AT THE ABBEY.
I had been passing a merry Christmas in the good old style at Barlhoro'
Hall, a venerable family mansion in Derbyshire, and set off to finish
the holidays 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 imposing, the fine old trees that
once adorned it having 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.
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