THE CURFEW BELL.
(For the Mirror.)
Hark! the curfews solemn sound;
Silence, darkness, spreads around.
There are now but few places in which this ancient custom—the memento of the iron sway of William the Conqueror—is retained.
Its impression when I heard it for the first time, will never be effaced from my memory. Let not the reader suppose that it was merely the sound of the bell to which I allude; to use the language of Thomas Moore, I may justly say, "Oh! no, it was something more exquisite still."
It was during the autumn of last year, that I had occasion to visit the eastern coast of Kent. Accustomed to an inland county, the prospect of wandering by the sea shore, and inhaling the sea breezes, afforded me no trifling degree of pleasure. The most frequented road to the sea, was through a succession of meadows and pastures; the ground becoming more irregular and broken as it advanced, till at last it was little better than an accumulation of sand-hills. I have since been informed by a veteran tar, that these sand-hills bear a striking resemblance to those on that part of the coast of Egypt, where the British troops under the gallant Abercrombie were landed.
The evening was beautifully calm, not a sound disturbed its tranquillity; and the sun was just sinking to repose in all his dying glory. At this part of the coast, the sands are hard and firm to walk upon; and on arriving at their extremity, where the waves were gently breaking at my feet, "forming sweet music to the thoughtful ear," I looked around, and gazed on the various objects that presented themselves to my view, with feelings of deep interest and pleasure. The evening was too far advanced to discern clearly the coast of France, but its dim outline might just be traced, bounding the view. Every now and then a vessel might be seen making her silent way round the foreland, her form gradually lessening, till at last it was entirely lost in the distance. As it grew darker, the strong, red glare of the light-house shedding its lurid gleams on the waves, added a novel effect to the scene.
At the very moment I was turning from the shore, to retrace my steps, the deep tone of a distant bell fell on my ear. It was the Curfew Bell—which had been tolled regularly at eight o'clock in the evening, since the days of the despotic William.
The vast changes that had taken place in society, in fact, in every thing, since the institution of this custom, occupied my thoughts during my walk; and I felt no little gratification in the assurance that what was originally the edict of a barbarous and despotic age, was now merely retained as a relic of ancient times.
It may be thought romantic, but the first hearing of the Curfew Bell often occurs to my memory; and there are times when I fancy myself walking on that lone shore, and the objects that I then thought so beautiful, are as distinctly and vividly seen as if I were actually there.
REGINALD.
The only drawback from the interest of this brief paper is that the writer does not state the name of the Village whence he heard the Curfew Bell.