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.

* * * * *

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

* * * * *

SPANISH SCENERY.

The following is from the delightful pencil of Washington Irving:  it will be seen to bear all the polish of his best style:—­

“Many are apt to picture Spain to their imaginations as a soft southern region, decked out with all the luxuriant charms of voluptuous Italy.  On the contrary, though there are exceptions in some of the maritime provinces, yet, for the greater part, it is a stern, melancholy country, with rugged mountains, and long sweeping plains, destitute of trees, and indescribably silent and lonesome, partaking of the savage and solitary character of Africa.  What adds to this silence and loneliness, is the absence of singing-birds, a natural consequence of the want of groves and hedges.  The vulture and the eagle are seen wheeling about the mountain-cliffs, and soaring over the plains, and groups of shy bustards stalk about the heaths; but the myriads of smaller birds, which animate the whole face of other countries are met with in but few provinces in Spain, and in those chiefly among the orchards and gardens which surround the habitations of man.