The statues, like everything else about
the old Lord, fell under the suspicion and obloquy that overshadowed
him in the latter part of his life. The country people, who knew
nothing of heathen mythology and its sylvan deities, looked with horror
at idols invested with the diabolical attributes of horns and cloven
feet. They probably supposed them some object of secret worship of the
gloomy and secluded misanthrope and reputed murderer, and gave them the
name of "The old Lord's Devils."
I penetrated the recesses of the mystic grove. There stood the ancient
and much slandered statues, overshadowed by tall larches, and stained
by dank green mold. It is not a matter of surprise that strange
figures, thus behoofed and be-horned, and set up in a gloomy grove,
should perplex the minds of the simple and superstitious yeomanry.
There are many of the tastes and caprices of the rich, that in the eyes
of the uneducated must savor of insanity.
I was attracted to this grove, however, by memorials of a more touching
character. It had been one of the favorite haunts of the late Lord
Byron. In his farewell visit to the Abbey, after he had parted with the
possession of it, he passed some time in this grove, in company with
his sister; and as a last memento, engraved their names on the bark of
a tree.
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