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 guesthouses ceased to
exist, travellers, merchants, and pedlars required some place in which
to lodge when they moved about the country, and inns became plentiful
as time went on. Hence in almost every village in England there is an
inn, which is generally a landmark; and if 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 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
posthorn.

Sometimes a gentleman would ride to an 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. 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