Stowe says, "On the east side of the churchyard of St. Mary Spittle, lyeth a large field, of old time called Lolesworth, now Spittle-Field, which about the year 1576, was broken up for clay to make bricke; in digging thereof many earthen pots called urnae, were found full of ashes and the bones of men, to wit of the Romans that inhabited here. For it was the custom of the Romans to burne their dead, to put their ashes in an urne, and then bury the same with certain ceremonies, in some field appointed for the purpose neere unto their city. Every one of these pots had in them (with the ashes of the dead) one piece of copper money, with an inscription of the emperor then reigning. Some of them were of Claudius, some of Vespasian, some of Nero, &c. There hath also been found (in the same field) divers coffins of stone, containing the bones of men; these I suppose to be the bones of some speciall persons, in the time of the Brittons, or Saxons, after that the Romans had left to govern here.

"The priory and hospital of St. Mary Spittle, was founded (says Pennant) in 1197, by Walter Brune, Sheriff of London, and his wife, Rosia, for canons regular of the order of St. Augustine. It was remarkable for its pulpit cross, at which a preacher used to preach a sermon consolidated out of four others, which had been preached at St. Paul's Cross, on Good Friday, and the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in Easter week; giving afterwards a sermon of his own. At these sermons the mayor and aldermen attended, dressed in different coloured robes on each occasion. This custom continued till the destruction of church government in the civil wars. They have since been transferred to St. Bride's Church. Queen Elizabeth, in April, 1559, visited St. Mary Spittal, in great state, probably to hear a sermon delivered from the cross. This princess was attended by a thousand men in harness with shirts of mail and corslets, and morice pikes, and ten great pieces carried through London unto the court, with drums and trumpets sounding, and two morice-dancers, and in a cart two white bears."

The priory of St. Mary, of St. Mary Spittle, contained at its dissolution, about the year 1536, no less than 180 beds for the reception of sick persons and travellers. Richard Tarleton, the famous comedian, at the Curtain Theatre, it is said, "kept an ordinary in Spittle-fields, pleasant fields for the citizens to walk in;" and the row called Paternoster Row, as the name implies, was formerly a few houses, where they sold rosaries, relics, &c. The once celebrated herbalist and astrologer, Nicholas Culpepper, was another inhabitant of this spot. He died in 1654, in a house he had some time occupied, very pleasantly situated in the fields; but now a public house at the corner of Red Lion Court, Red Lion Street, east of Spittlefields market. The house, though it has undergone several repairs, still exhibits the appearance of one of those that formed a part of old London. The weaving art, which has arrived at such an astonishing perfection, was patronized by the wise and liberal Edward III., who encouraged the art by the most advantageous offers of reward and encouragement to weavers who would come and settle in England. In 1331, two weavers came from Brabant and settled at York. The superior skill and dexterity of these men, who communicated their knowledge to others, soon manifested itself in the improvement and spread of the art of weaving in this island. Many Flemish weavers were driven from their native country by the cruel persecutions of the Duke d'Alva, in 1567. They settled in different parts of England, and introduced and promoted the manufacture of baizes, serges, crapes, &c. The arts of spinning, throwing, and weaving silk, were brought into England about the middle of the fifteenth century, and were practised by a company of women in London, called silk women. About 1480, men began to engage in the silk manufacture, and in the year 1686, nearly 50,000 manufacturers, of various descriptions, took refuge in England, in consequence of the revocation of the Edict of Nantz, by Louis le Grand, who sent thousands (says Pennant) of the most industrious of his subjects into this kingdom to present his bitterest enemies with the arts and manufactures of his kingdom; hence the origin of the silk trade in Spittlefields.

P. T. W

THE BIRD OF THE TOMB

BY LEIGH CLIFFE

(For the Mirror.)

In "Lyon's attempt to reach Repulse Bay," the following passage, which suggested these verses, may be met with. "Near the large grave was a third pile of stones, covering the body of a child. A Snow-Buntin (the Red-Breast of the Arctic Regions) had found its way through the loose stones which composed this little tomb, and its now forsaken, neatly built nest, was found placed on the neck of the child."

Beneath the chilly Arctic clime, Where Nature reigns severe, sublime, Enthron'd upon eternal snows, Or rides the waves on icy floes— Where fierce tremendous tempests sweep The bosom of the rolling deep, And beating rain, and drifting hail Swell the wild fury of the gale; There is a little, humble tomb, Not deckt with sculpture's pageant pride, Nor labour'd verse to tell by whom The habitant was lov'd who died! No trophied 'scutcheon marks the grave— No blazon'd banners round it wave— 'Tis but a simple pile of stones Rais'd o'er a hapless infant's bones; Perchance a mother's tears have dew'd This sepulchre, so frail and rude;— A father mourn'd in accents wild, His offspring lost—his only child— Who might, in after years, have spread A ray of honour round his head, Nor thought, as stone on stone he threw, His child would meet a stranger's view. But, lo! upon its clay-cold breast, The Arctic Robin rais'd its nest, And rear'd its little fluttering young, Where Death in awful quiet slept, And fearless chirp'd, and gaily sung Around the babe its parents wept. It was the guardian of the grave, And thus its chirping seem'd to say:— "Tho' naught from Death's chill grasp could save, Tho' naught could chase his power away— As round this humble spot I wing, My thrilling voice shall daily sing A requiem o'er the faded flower, That bloom'd and wither'd in an hour, And prov'd life is, in every view, Naught but a rose-bud twin'd with rue. A blossom born at day's first light, And fading with the earliest night; Nor stranger's step, nor shrieking loom, Shall scare the warbler from the tomb'"

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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 371, May 23, 1829

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(To be continued.)

SPITTLE-FIELDS, AND WEAVING IN FORMER DAYS

(For the Mirror.)

P. T. W

THE BIRD OF THE TOMB

BY LEIGH CLIFFE

(For the Mirror.)

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