THE CURFEW BELL.
(To the Editor.)
In addition to the remarks made by Reginald, in No. 543, and by M.D., and G.C., in No. 545 of The Mirror, let me add that the Curfew is rung every night at eight, in my native town, (Winchester,) and the bell, a large one, weighing 12 cwt., is appropriated for the purpose, (not belonging to a church) but affixed in the tower of the Guildhall, and used only for this occasion, or on an alarm of fire.
In that city the Curfew was first established under the command of the Conqueror, and the practice has continued to the present day. I have been assured by many old residents, that it formerly was the custom to ring the bell every morning at four o'clock, but the practice being found annoying to persons living near, the Corporation ordered it to be discontinued.
To such of your readers who, like myself, are fond of a solitary ramble along the sea shore by moonlight, I would say, go to Southampton or the Isle of Wight; take an evening walk from Itchen through the fields to Netley, thence to the Abbey and Fort ruins, under woods that for a considerable distance skirt the coast; or on the opposite side, through the Forest of Oaks, from Eling to Dibden, and onwards over the meadows to Hythe: there they may, in either, find ample food for reflection, connected with the Curfew Bell.
Seated on a fragment of the towers of Netley Abbey, whose pinnacles were so often hailed by seamen as well known landmarks, but whose Curfew has for centuries been quiet, the spectator may see before him the crumbling remains of a fort, erected hundreds of years ago. On the left is an expanse of water as far as the eye can reach, and in his front the celebrated New Forest,—
Majestic woods of ever vigorous green,
Stage above stage, high waving o'er the bills;
Or to the far horizon wide diffus'd,
A boundless deep immensity of shade—
the scene of William's tyranny and atrocity, the spot where his children met their untimely end, and where may be seen the tumuli erected over the remains of the Britons who fell in defence of their country.
In the deep recesses of a wood in the south-east prospect, the eye may faintly distinguish the mouldering remains of the Abbey of Beaulieu, famed in days of yore for its Sanctuary, the name of which is now only recorded in history. Even the site of the tower is unknown, whose Curfew has long ceased to warn the seamen, or draw the deep curse from the forester.
There they may
"On a plat of rising ground,
Hear the far off Curfew sound,
Over the wide watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar."
The Curfew is rung at Southampton, Downton, Ringwood, and many other towns in the west, every night at eight.
P.Q.