Ir one were suddenly asked to point out that portion of the Metropolis which more than any other is crowded with the most deeply interesting associations, the Borough would hardly we think be the chosen place. The very name seems to repel all ideas of a romantic or poetical nature. Yet, if there be classic

ground in London, it is this. Standing upon the foot of that bridge which has replaced the venerable piece of antiquity so connected with the local history of Southwark, and looking forwards into the mass of human dwellings beyond, what a host of recollections of some of the mightiest intellects of our own

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or of any other country rush upon the mind, in connexion with localities every one of which might be comprised in a half-circle of a few hundred yards from the river! On the right, beneath a splendid canopied tomb, in the fine old church of St. Mary Overies, or, as it is now called, St. Saviour's, lies Gower, lodged as few poets are lodged in their last resting-place; and for a reason that few poets are so fortunate as to be able to give, namely, on account of his extensive benefactions to the sacred edifice. In the churchyard of the same building lie in one grave Fletcher and Massinger. The record of Massinger's death in the parochial register is a melancholy one: "Philip Massinger, A STRANGER!"' Still farther to the right, on the Bank Side was Beaumont and Fletcher's house; for that too, like their genius and reputation, they held in common; and, above all, in the same immediate neighbourhood was the theatre where an audience saw Shakspere nightly tread the stage; where, from time to time, all the aristocracy of London-whether of rank or intellect-thronged to witness some new production from that wonderful mind; and from which he retired in the prime of life to spend his last days in the peaceful and honourable enjoyment of his wellearned wealth. In the street now known as Clink Street was Shakspere's London residence as late as 1609. In 1607 his brother Edmund, sixteen years his junior, was buried in St. Saviour's Church. Thus more than commonly rich in its poetical associations is the apparently unpoetical Borough! But have we concluded the list? The Tabard of Chaucer yet lies unnoticed before us.

There are few more ancient streets than that in which the famous hostelry is situated-the High Street of Southwark. During the period of the Roman Londinium, two thousand years ago, it was undoubtedly what it still remains-the great road from the metropolis to the southern ports. Roman antiquities are still occasionally found in different parts of its line. Its convenient situation as a suburb for the entertainment of travellers passing between London and the counties of Surrey, Sussex, and Kent,-who were here as contiguous to the "silent highway" as they could desire, and at the same time more pleasantly lodged than they could be in the densely-populated metropolis,—made it early famous for its inns. After the murder and canonization of Becket, the number of persons continually setting out on pilgrimages to his shrine at Canterbury, and who appear to have been generally accustomed to meet here and form themselves into parties, contributed still further to the increase and prosperity of these houses of entertainment. Stow, several centuries later (in 1598), alludes to them in such a way as to show that they then formed a principal feature of the High Street: "In Southwark be many fair inns for receipt of travellers;" and he then proceeds, "amongst the which the most ancient is the Tabard, so called of the sign, which as we now term it is of a jacket or sleeveless coat, whole before, open on both sides, with a square collar, winged at the shoulders: a stately garment of old time, commonly worn of noblemen and others, both at home and abroad in the wars; but then (to wit in the wars) their arms embroidered, or otherwise depict upon them, that every man by his coat of arms might be known from others. But now these tabards are only worn by the heralds, and be called their coats of arms in service." This "most ancient" then of the inns of Southwark, even in 1598-this great rival of our Boar's Heads and Mermaids, which, older than either, has survived both-is situated immediately opposite what was

formerly called St. Margaret's Hill (though now perfectly level), then the site of St. Margaret's Church, now of the Town-hall of the Borough. The exterior of the inn is simply a narrow, square, dilapidated-looking gateway; its posts strapped with rusty iron bands-its gates half covered with sheets of the same metal. "The Talbot Inn" is painted above, and till within the last five or six years there was also the following inscription :-" This is the Inne where Sir Jeffry Chaucer and the nine and twenty Pilgrims lay in their journey to Canterbury, anno 1383." This inscription was formerly on the frieze of a beam laid crosswise upon two uprights, which stood in the road in the front of the Tabard, and from which hung the sign, creaking as it swung to and fro with every passing gust. The sign and its supports were removed in 1766, when all such characteristic features of the streets of London in the olden time disappeared, in obedience to a parliamentary edict for their destruction. The writing of this inscription was evidently not very ancient; but had, not improbably, been renewed from time to time from a very remote period. Tyrrwhitt, however, thinks it is not older than the seventeenth century, from the fact that Speght, who noticed the Tabard in his edition of Chaucer (1602), does not mention it; he therefore supposes it to have been put up after the great fire of Southwark in 1676, when some portion of the inn was burnt, and in consequence of the change of name which then took place. Aubrey, writing a little after the period of the fire, says, "The ignorant landlord, or tenant, instead of the ancient sign of the Tabard, put up the Talbot, or dog!" and "on the frieze of the beam" was then the inscription, which, however, he does not say was then also put up. Certainly Speght does not give any inscription, properly so called, but he has mentioned as a fact the circumstance recorded in the inscription, and in language so very similar, that we cannot but think the inscription was in his mind at the time of writing: "This was the hostelry where Chaucer and the other pilgrims met together, and with Henry Baily, their host, accorded about the manner of their journey to Canterbury, &c." The date also, 1383, is precisely that which best agrees with the details of the poem and the known period of its composition, the latest historical event mentioned in it being Jack Straw's insurrection in 1381, and the poem itself having been composed somewhere between that year and the close of the century. We are, therefore, fully at liberty to believe, if we please, that the inscription (and consequently the poem) records, or is founded on, a real fact; and we may strengthen that belief by remembering how much of the real, as well as of the ideal, pervades the entire structure of the Canterbury Tales,' making it impossible to say where the one ends and the other begins. Faith therefore is best. We cannot do better than believe Chaucer's statement implicitly:

Befel, that in that season, on a day

In Southwark at the Tabard as I lay,
Ready to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury with devout courage,
At night was come into that hostelry
Well nine and twenty in a company
Of sundry folk, by adventure yfall

In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all,

That toward Canterbury woulden ride.”

:

*Notes to his Dissertation on the Canterbury Tales,' prefixed to his excellent edition of the poem.

"April, with his showres sote." [sweet.]

The state of the gateway presents but a too faithful type of the general state of the inn. Its patchings and alterations, its blackened doors and bursting ceiling, and its immense cross-beams, tell us, in language not to be mistaken, of antiquity and departed greatness. From the gateway the yard is open to the sky, and gradually widens. On either side is a range of brick buildings, extending for some little distance; opposite the end of that on the right, the left-hand range is continued by the most interesting part of the Tabard, a stone-coloured wooden gallery on the first floor, which, in its course making a right angle, presents its principal portion directly opposite the entrance from the High Street. It is supported by plain thick round pillars, also of wood; and it supports on other pillars of a slenderer make, in front, the bottom of the very high and sloping tiled roof. Offices, with dwellings above, occupy the left range as far as the gallery, beneath which are stables; whilst under the front portion of the gallery is a waggonoffice, with its miscellaneous packages lying about; and suggesting thoughts of the time when as yet road-waggons, properly so called, were unknown, and the carriers, with their strings of pack-horses and jingling bells, filled the yard with their bustle and obstreperous notes of preparation for departure. Immediately over this office, in the centre of the gallery, is a picture, said to be by "Blake," and "well painted,"* of the Canterbury Pilgrimage, though now so dirty or decayed that the subject itself is hardly discernible. The buildings on the right are principally occupied by the bar, tap-room, parlour, &c., of the present inn: to these, therefore, we shall for convenience give that appellation, although the

gallery and stables also still belong to it. From the inn, then, originally stretched across to the gallery a bridge of communication, balustraded, we may be sure, like the gallery, and arched over like the similar bridge still existing Gentleman's Magazine, 1812.

in another part of the yard. The proofs of this connecting bridge are exhibited on the wall of the inn, in the blackened ends of the row of horizontal planks, set edge-wise, which supported it, and in the door, now walled up, to which it led, which opened into a large room, extending quite through the depth of the inn-buildings. On turning the corner of the right-hand range, we find in the same line, but standing considerably back, the lofty stables; and scarcely can we enter the doors, before-as our eye measures their extraordinary size-we acknowledge the truth of Chaucer's description: we are almost satisfied this must have been the place he saw. They are, indeed, "wide." On the same side is another range of buildings, continued into another open yard behind; on the opposite side projects the end of the gallery; and here we find the bridge we have mentioned connecting the two sides, and which is in a most ruinous-looking state. The great extent of the original inn may be conceived when we state that there is little doubt but that it occupied the whole yard, with all its numerous buildings; for, from one of the houses in the High Street, standing on the North side of the gateway, a communication is still traceable through all the intermediate tenements to the gallery; from thence across the bridge at its furthest extremity to the stables, and back again to the present inn; and, lastly, from thence right through to the High Street once more-to the house on the South side of the gateway.

Let us now walk into the interior. The master of the inn, of whom we may say, with a slight alteration of Chaucer's words—

"A seemly man our hosté is withal,”—

welcomes us at the door, and kindly and patiently inducts us into all its hidden mysteries. Passing with a hasty glance the bar in front-the parlour behind with its blackened roof and its polished tables-the tap-room on the leftthe low doorways, winding passages, broken ceilings, and projecting chimneyarches which everywhere meet the eye-we follow our conductor through a narrow door, and are startled to find ourselves upon what appears, from its very contrast to all around, a magnificently broad staircase, with a handsome fir balustrade in perfect condition, and with landings large enough to be converted into bedrooms. On the first floor is a door on each side; that on the left communicating with one room after another, till you reach the one overlooking the bustle of the High Street; and that on the right leading to the large room formerly opening out upon the bridge. In this room, which is of considerable size, there are the marks of a cornice yet visible on the ceiling. On the second story the contrast is almost ludicrous between the noble staircase and the narrow bedrooms, pushed out from within by an immense bulk of masonry, which (enclosing a stack of chimneys) occupies the central space; and forced in from without by the boldly sloping roof: in fact, they were evidently not intended for each other. The changes induced by decay, accidents, and, above all, by a gradually contracting business, which has caused the larger rooms and wide passages to be divided and subdivided, as convenience prompted or necessity required, may account for these discrepancies. The buildings of the opposite range have evidently been to a certain extent of a corresponding nature. These manifold changes have produced a "Tabard" very different from that of the memorable April night, when

"The chambers and the stables weren wide;"