in which was seated a young and beautiful virgin, most
sumptuously arrayed, her hair flowing in ringlets over her neck and
shoulders, and a crown upon her head. When the day's diversions were
over, she was liberally rewarded and dismissed, claiming as her own the
rich attire she had worn.

From this place likewise was formerly a solemn procession by the Lord
Mayor, who, in the afternoon of the day he was sworn at the Exchequer,
met the Aldermen; whence they repaired together to St. Paul's, and there
prayed for the soul of their benefactor, William, Bishop of London, in
the time of William the Conqueror, at his tomb. They then went to the
churchyard to a place where lay the parents of Thomas a Becket, and
prayed for all souls departed. They then returned to the chapel, and
both Mayor and Aldermen offered each a penny.

Attached to the original foundation or hospital was a grammar-school,
which has been subsequently continued at the expense of the Mercers'
Company, though not on the same spot. It was for some time kept in the
Old Jewry, whence it has been removed to College Hill, Upper Thames
Street. Among the masters may be mentioned William Baxter, nephew to the
non-conformist, Richard Baxter, and author of two Dictionaries of
British and Roman Antiquities.

Nearly opposite the entrance to Mercers' Hall, is a handsome
stone-fronted house, built by Sir Christopher Wren. The houses adjoining
the Hall were of similar ornamental character; although the unenclosed
shop-fronts present a strange contrast with some of the improvements and
superfluities of modern times. The Hall front has lately been renovated,
and presents a rich display of architectural ornament.

* * * * *

THE LONE GRAVES.

(_For the Mirror._)

Why should their sleep thus silent be, from streams and flow'rs away,
While wanders thro' the sunny air the cuckoo's mellow lay;
Those forms, whose eyes reflected heaven in their mild depth of blue,
Whose hair was like the wave that shines o'er sands of golden hue?

Are these the altars of their rest, the pure and sacred shrines;
Where Memory, rapt o'er visions fled, her holy spell combines?
The sire, the child, oh, waft them back to their delightful dell,
When, like a voice from heavenly lands, awakes the curfew bell.

And have they no remembrance here, the cheeks that softly glow'd,
The amber hair, that, on the breeze, in gleaming tresses flow'd,
Th