Colonel Wildman gave an instance
of the kind from his own experience. Not long after he had taken up his
residence at the Abbey, he heard one moonlight night a noise as if a
carriage was passing at a distance. He opened the window and leaned
out. It then seemed as if the great iron roller was dragged along the
gravel walks and terrace, but there was nothing to be seen. When he saw
the gardener on the following morning, he questioned him about working
so late at night. The gardener declared that no one had been at work,
and the roller was chained up. He was sent to examine it, and came back
with a countenance full of surprise. The roller had been moved in the
night, but he declared no mortal hand could have moved it. "Well,"
replied the Colonel, good-humoredly, "I am glad to find I have a
brownie to work for me."
Lord Byron did much to foster and give currency to the superstitious
tales connected with the Abbey, by believing, or pretending to believe
in them. Many have supposed that his mind was really tinged with
superstition, and that this innate infirmity was increased by passing
much of his time in a lonely way, about the empty halls and cloisters
of the Abbey, then in a ruinous melancholy state, and brooding over the
skulls and effigies of its former inmates.
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