He will prefer them to more spacious and modern inns, and
would cheerfully put up with bad cheer and bad accommodations in the
gratification of his humour. They give him, he says, the feelings of
old times, insomuch that he almost expects in the dusk of the evening
to see some party of weary travellers ride up to the door with plumes
and mantles, trunk-hose, wide boots, and long rapiers.
The good Squire's remarks brought to mind a visit that I once paid to
the Tabbard Inn, famous for being the place of assemblage from whence
Chaucer's pilgrims set forth for Canterbury. It is in the borough of
Southwark, not far from London Bridge, and bears, at present, the name
of "the Talbot." It has sadly declined in dignity since the days of
Chaucer, being a mere rendezvous and packing-place of the great wagons
that travel into Kent. The court-yard, which was anciently the
mustering-place of the pilgrims previous to their departure, was now
lumbered with huge wagons. Crates, boxes, hampers, and baskets,
containing the good things of town and country, were piled about them;
while, among the straw and litter, the motherly hens scratched and
clucked, with their hungry broods at their heels. Instead of Chaucer's
motley and splendid throng, I only saw a group of wagoners and
stable-boys enjoying a circulating pot of ale; while a long-bodied dog
sat by, with head on one side, ear cocked up, and wistful gaze, as if
waiting for his turn at the tankard.
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