I had
remarked it before, in my perambulations about the place. It has a
deep, old-fashioned porch, leading into a large hall, which serves for
tap-room and travellers'-room; having a wide fire-place, with
high-backed settles on each side, where the wise men of the village
gossip over their ale, and hold their sessions during the long winter
evenings. The landlord is an easy, indolent fellow, shaped a little
like one of his own beer-barrels, and is apt to stand gossiping at his
door, with his wig on one side, and his hands in his pockets, whilst
his wife and daughter attend to customers. His wife, however, is fully
competent to manage the establishment; and, indeed, from long
habitude, rules over all the frequenters of the tap-room as completely
as if they were her dependants instead of her patrons. Not a veteran
ale-bibber but pays homage to her, having, no doubt, been often in her
arrears. I have already hinted that she is on very good terms with
Ready-Money Jack. He was a sweetheart of hers in early life, and has
always countenanced the tavern on her account. Indeed, he is quite the
"cock of the walk" at the tap-room.
As we approached the inn, we heard some one talking with great
volubility, and distinguished the ominous words, "taxes," "poor's
rates," and "agricultural distress.
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