At Nottingham, a year or two ago, Sophia Hyatt, in consequence of
extreme deafness, was accidentally run over by a carrier’s cart, at the
entrance of the Maypole inn-yard, and unfortunately killed. She had
arrived that morning in a gig from Newstead Papplewick, or somewhere in
that neighbourhood, and had been, for the three or four preceding years,
a lodger in one of the farm-houses belonging to colonel Wildman, at
Newstead Abbey. No one knew exactly from whence she came, nor what were
her connections. Her days were passed in rambling about the gardens and
grounds of the abbey, to which, from the kindness of colonel Wildman,
she had free access. Her dress was invariably the same; and she was
distinguished by the servants at Newstead, as the “white lady.” She had
ingratiated herself with the Newfoundland dog which came from Greece
with the body of lord Byron, by regularly feeding him; and on the
evening before the fatal accident, she was seen, on quitting the
gardens, to cut off a small lock of the dog’s hair, which she carefully
placed in her handkerchief. On that evening also, she delivered to Mrs.
Wildman a sealed packet, with a request that it might not be opened
till the following morning. The contents of the packet were no less
interesting than surprising; they consisted of various poems in
manuscript, written during her solitary walks, and all of them referring
to the bard to whom Newstead once belonged. A letter, addressed to Mrs.
Wildman, was enclosed with the poetry, written with much elegance of
language and native feeling; it described her friendless situation,
alluded to her pecuniary difficulties, thanked the family for their kind
attention towards her, and stated the necessity she was under of
removing for a short period from Newstead. It appeared from her
statement, that she had connections in America, that her brother had
died there, leaving a widow and family, and she requested colonel
Wildman’s assistance to arrange certain matters, in which she was
materially concerned. She concluded with declaring, that her only
happiness in this world consisted in the privilege of being allowed to
wander through the domain of Newstead, and to trace the various spots
which had been consecrated by the genius of lord Byron. A most kind and
compassionate note was conveyed to her immediately after the perusal of
this letter, urging her, either to give up her journey, or to return to
Newstead as quickly as possible. With the melancholy sequel the reader
is acquainted. Colonel Wildman took upon himself the care of her
interment, and she was buried in the church-yard of Hucknall, as near as
possible to the vault which contains the body of lord Byron. The last
poem she composed was the following: it seems to have been dictated by a
melancholy foreboding of her fate.