CHAPTER XI.

N almost every village in England there is an inn. Before the Reformation there were very few of these hostelries, as travellers were always accommodated at the monasteries, each of which had a hospitium, or guests' house, where their wants were attended to by special officers appointed for the purpose, and where they could remain for several days. But the destruction of the monasteries produced many changes in the condition of the country; it introduced the necessity of a poor-law, for the poor were always relieved by the monasteries; it required the erection of schools and places for education, as all the education of the country had been carried on in these monastic buildings; and when the old guest-houses ceased to exist, travellers, merchants, and pedlars required some place to lodge when they moved about the country, and inns became plentiful, in many cases

Hence in almost every inn, which is generally

too plentiful as time went on. village in England there is an a landmark; and whenever you wish to direct a stranger to some place where he desires to go, you doubtless tell him to turn to the right by "The Bull," or to keep straight on until he comes to "The Magpie." Indeed, a friend of mine, who is a strong teetotaler, asserts that the only good use inns have is to help people to find their road. But old inns have a great history. In former days they used to be the meeting-places of plotters and conspirators. All the distinguished people in the country used to pass through the villages and towns on the great roads through the country, and when the horses were being changed they used to partake of the good fare which the landlord provided. Those were busy times for the old inns, when there was stabling for fifty or sixty horses, and the coaches used to rattle through the village to the inn door, long before the iron horses began to drag their freight of passengers along the iron roads, and the scream of the engines took the place of the cheerful notes of the post-horn.

Sometimes a gentleman would ride to the inn door on a beautiful, fleet-looking steed, and receive a hearty welcome from the landlord; but the pistols in his belt looked ominous, and presently some soldiers would steal noiselessly into the inn where the gentleman was refreshing himself, and there would be heard. the sounds of vigorous fighting; and often, in some

wonderful way, "Claude Duval" or the noted "Dick" would fight his way out, whistle to his steed, jump into the saddle and ride away, before his less nimble pursuers had recovered from their astonishment. Very many exciting scenes have taken place in our old inns, but in these days railways have changed all things; and in many streets where the coaches used to rattle along, and the place was alive with merry sounds, the moss now grows, and all is silence and desolation. I do not wish you to suppose that it would be preferable to live in those days rather than in our own. We should certainly think it inconvenient to take three days to travel from London to Bath, and it would not be pleasant to have a visit from "Dick Turpin" on the way, and to have all one's valuables appropriated by that notorious highwayman; but in these days of worry and busy bustling, it would be refreshing to catch a glimpse of those quiet times when people were not so much in a hurry, and to hear the sound of the post-horn once more instead of the whistle of the steam-engine.

But the quaint-looking pictures and curious names which attract our notice as we pass an inn door have some queer stories to tell. We notice a very curious collection of animals sometimes, and a strange assortment of things; and the reason why our ancestors put some of these curious things together it is somewhat difficult for us to find out. In olden days, other

houses of tradesmen besides inns had signs. Grocers, tailors, candlestick-makers all had signs; but most of these have disappeared, except one belonging to a certain sweep of my acquaintance, whose house is adorned with the figure of a man coming out of a globe, with the motto, "Help me through the world." Over their doors barbers still have their poles, which represented once the fact that the barber was prepared to bandage up wounded arms and legs; the stripes on the pole were intended to represent the bandages, and the barber was the surgeon of the town. I think you would rather go to a doctor than to a barber to have your limbs mended; nor do we seem to have so much blood to spare as our forefathers, for the barber always bled his customers once or twice a-year, as it was supposed to be good for the health, especially in the spring-time.

One reason for the curious mixture of animals and other things which we see on signboards is that an apprentice, when he had finished his time and began to set up for himself, adopted some sign, and then joined with it the sign of his old master. This will account for some of the curiosities to which I refer -such as "The Lamb and Dolphin," "The Goose and Gridiron," "The Fox and Seven Stars,”—combinations of things for which it would otherwise be difficult to account. Another reason is that signs were taken from the armorial bearings, or crests, of some popular character, or of some great family