his own

Ceas'd to beat, with the trumpet of victory! Her spirit seem'd fled on the wings of a Dream!

She stood like a phantom embodied in air; An echoless shadow of time's hollow stream:

From its musical fountain, once sweeter to hear

Was the voice of her song, than the soft dulcimer.

She broke from her trance with a heartpiercing cry

"Sure spirits of darkness are hovering near! Holy monk,' she exclaim'd, in a wild agony, 'Seven innocent infants lie slumbering here, The offspring-oh, horror! of infamy.

Go dig me the chambers of darkness with speed,

In the old ruin'd abbey that stands on the moor;

Tis madness must nerve my weak arm for the deed,

(In its bud must be blasted this infamous

seed)

As the cliff where the moon keeps her vigils upon;

When the grave yawn'd convuls'd at the impious deed!

The sweet mourner stood like some petrified form

Entranc'd in the waves of a crystalline

stream!

All frantic she shriek'd with the anguish of She kiss'd her sweet babe; the dead forms seem'd to start,

its heart!

And Henry of Clanmour call'd wild on her

name.

with a fixed round collar, without stiching, guarding lace, or silk.

9th. To wear no pumps, slippers, nor shoes, but of English leather, without being pinked, edged, or stiched; nor girdles nor garters, other than of crewel woollen thread or leather, without being garnished. 10th. To wear no sword, dagger, or other weapon but a knife; nor a ring jewel of gold nor silver, nor silk in any part of his apparel.

Then followed the penalties for offending against any of the above mentioned items; for the first offence, to be punished at the discretion of his master; for the second, to be publicly whipped at the Hall of his Company; and for the third, to serve six months longer that specified in his indentures. And every master, conniving at the crimes of his apprentice committed against the tenor of the premises, was to forfeit to the poor of the parish wherein he dwelt, six shillings and eight-pence.

It was also further ordained, that no apprentice should frequent, or go to any dancing, fencing, or musical school; nor keep any chest or press for the keeping apparel or goods, but in his master's house, under the penalties before mentioned.

By this wholesome sumptuary law many masters and servants were saved from destruction.

Maitland, who wrote about 1760, says, ""Tis now to be wished, that some such good law, (referring to the sumptuary law made in 1582), were thought of, to restrain the destructive practices of our modern apprentices: viz. those of w-e and horse keeping, frequenting of taverns, clubs, and playhouses, and their great excesses in clothes, linen, perriwigs, gold and silver watches, &c."

What a different race are the prentices of the present day; improved in their morals, and enlight

ened in their understandings; but inferior to their ancestors in boldness of spirit and freedom of manner; they certainly make better, if not braver, men, and thus become valuable members of society, and upright honest London citizens. To distinguish and describe each class, would require more space than can well be spared in a miscellany like the present.

Miscellanea.

BOW BELLS.

" -Silence that dreadful bell!
It frights the isle from her propriety.'
Othello.

Something in the way of amusement for the lighter wits of the city was got up very recently at a Vestry-meeting held at Bow-church, to inquire into the danger menaced by the ringing of Bow Bells.

And here we cannot but remark the amiable prejudice evident in many of the worthy citizens towards these celebrated bells; famed in many a civic legend, and more especially as having inspired the runaway Whittington with the glorious resolution of becoming Lord Mayor.

All communities have some point upon which they hang a tender feeling, which they regard with touching superstition, and defend with more than ordinary zeal. Many a worthy stock-broker who has journeyed every morning up Cheapside for the last twenty years, with the various gaits of skipping, sober walking, and now, at length, a downright waddle, has some indefinable yearnings towards the thundering bell-metal, which foolish custom has made' venerable. Let Wordsworth or Coleridge, or any other metaphysician ask the redfaced gentleman his most exquisite reason for such partiality, and he is stricken dumb, or at the most can give no other answer than a plea of long acquaintanceship.

Our stock-broker contemplates

with the same pain and aversion the silencing of Bow Bells, as would a poet or any other lover of nature, the cutting out of the tongue of a neighbouring nightingale. To take away Bow Bells will be, with many, to deprive Cheapside, not only of its tongues, but its soul, and leave nothing but the dull carcass of brick and mortar.

There are some preferences against which Philosophy is a bad arguer. These preferences, aided by habit, spin a web over our feelings, and keep them, as it were, from the rough handling of philosophy, and thus the web which was, perhaps, first begun when we bore a satchel, will go on still increasing, and remain there, even when we lean upon a crutch, despite of the brooms which philosophers and levellers, and men of improvements, flourish about us. Even matters at first obnoxious, become, after a time, social with us; and we even regret their loss.

We do not doubt that Mr. Aughtie, the next-door neighbour to the church, and who, on the occasion in question, opposed the ringing of the bells, will, for a long time, feel awkward and uncomfortable at the silence of the steeple.

At the Meeting it was further intimated that one of the urns placed at the four angles of the tower of the Church was in a delapidated state; when it was moved, that the whole four urns should be taken away. Upon this, a benevolent parishioner advised that the sound should not suffer for the infirm, and that only the decayed urn should be removed, leaving the others in their pristine stations. This amiable proposal, this love of antique and long-remembered objects, was violated and shattered by Mr. HICK, who with

more humour than softness of feeling, compared the church thus left with three urns to "a pig with one ear." It was, however, finally settled that the decayed urn should be repaired; and it was moreover settled a decree that should be written in "Juice of damn'd hebanon”that Bow Bells should no longer

ring out a merry peal." If any of our city friends grieve at the cir cumstance, let them mingle in their regret for the passing away of Bow Bells, a recollection that Thebes and Palmyra are now no more. We learn that such was once the regard for these bells, that one jovial-spirited citizen left two houses in Bow-lane (which return to the parish 100l. per annum) for maintaining two of the bells. A lady also bequeathed a large sum to wards furnishing the church with bells.

How will this money be spent? We trust that some poor part of the community will gain by its disposal.

If the ears of the higher part of the neighbourhood refuse the melody of bell-metal, let the funds that were bequeathed for such parpose yield music to the stomachs of the poorer denizens. We hope that the only work attending the doing away Bow Bells, will not be an additional" finger on the ribs" of her Vestry-men and Parish-officers.

The intended wit of many of our contemporaries, on the solitude shewn by some worthy citizens for Bow Bells, has induced us to hazard these remarks in defence of those innocent prejudices which are inherent in our natures, and which, although they may be ridiculed by the superficial and the weak, must excite respect in the wisest of mankind. SQUIRREL.

OF

IN

Harpy, the baneful foe of rest,
Society's unceasing pest,
Long exercised his hellish trade,
And, juggler-like, estates convey'd :
His clients dup'd, cajol'd his friends,
And sold them for his private ends;
To right and justice bade defiance-
Twixt law, and them, who finds alliance?
His front embronz'd, his conscience sear'd
He neither God nor devil fear'd;
He joys to hear the widow's woe,
The orphan's helpless state to know;
Gainst love and friendship double proof,
Each kindred virtue shuns his roof;
While Avarice, regent of his breast,
Locks up from use the good possess'd.
No. 20. N. S.

But Heaven, in justice, has decreed, To every vice its proper meed; That either fame, or fortune, flies That worthless wretch call'd worldly'wise; Aud, though no human laws can bind, Conscience sits empire in the mind.

Detected in his arts, and scouted, Struck off the rolls, and fairly routed; Denied the means of future gain, Afraid to murmur, or complain; Harpy thought fit to yield to fate, And wisely meditates retreat: Converts his ill-got lands to gold," His houses, goods, and chattles sold; And, eager to conceal his crimes, Resolves to visit foreign climes;