(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.