Chapter XXII of The Pickwick Papers before he starts to make himself

acquainted with the intricacies of the interior.

That chapter, telling of the extraordinary adventure Mr. Pickwick

experienced with the middle-aged lady in the double-bedded room,

is one of the most amusing in the book, and one which has made the

"Great White Horse" as familiar a name as any in fiction or reality.

There are few inns in the novelist's books described so fully. He

must have known it well; indeed, he is supposed to have stayed there

when, in his early days, he visited Ipswich to report an election

for The Morning Chronicle; and probably a similar mistake happened

to him to that which Mr. Pickwick experienced. So when he says,

"The 'Great Horse' is famous in the neighbourhood, in the same

degree as a prize ox, or county paper-chronicled turnip, or unwieldy

pig--for its enormous size," he evidently was recalling an impression

of those days.

[illustration: The White Horse Hotel, Ipswich. Drawn by L. Walker]

It is an imposing structure viewed from without, with stuccoed

walls, and a pillared entrance, over which stands the sign which so

attracted the novelist's attention. The inside is spacious, with

still the air of the old days about it, and contains fifty bedrooms

and handsome suites of rooms; but Dickens was a little misleading

regarding its size and a little unkind in his reproaches. At any

rate, if the seemingly unkind things he said of it were deserved in

those days of which he writes, they are no longer.

"Never were such labyrinths of uncarpeted passages," he says;

"such clusters of mouldy, ill-lighted rooms, such huge numbers

of small dens for eating or sleeping in, beneath any one roof,

as are collected together between the four walls of the Great

White Horse Inn."

Here on a certain very eventful day appeared Mr. Pickwick, who was

to have met his friends there, but as they had not arrived when he

and Mr. Peter Magnus reached it by coach, he accepted the latter's

invitation to dine with him.

Dickens's disparaging descriptions of the inn's accommodation lead

one to believe that his experiences of the "over-grown tavern," as

he calls it, were not of the pleasantest. He refers to the waiter

as a corpulent man with "a fortnight's napkin" under his arm, and

"coeval stockings," and tells how this worthy ushered Mr. Pickwick

and Mr. Magnus into "a large badly furnished apartment, with a dirty

grate, in which a small fire was making a wretched attempt to be

cheerful, but was fast sinking beneath the dispiriting influence

of the place." Here they made their repast from a "bit of fish and

a steak," and "having ordered a bottle of the most horrible port

wine, at the highest possible price, for the good of the house,

drank brandy and water for their own." After finishing their scanty

meal they were conducted to their respective bedrooms, each with a

japanned candlestick, through "a multitude of torturous windings."

Mr. Pickwick's "was a tolerably large double-bedded room, with a

fire; upon the whole, a more comfortable looking apartment than Mr.

Pickwick's short experience of the accommodation of the 'Great White

Horse' had led him to expect."

Whether all this was ever true does not seem to have mattered much

to the various proprietors, for they were not only proud of the

association of the inn with Pickwick, but made no attempt to hide

what the novelist said of its shortcomings. On the contrary, one of

them printed in a little booklet the whole of the particular chapter

wherein these disrespectful remarks appear. Indeed, that is the

chief means of advertisement to lure the traveller in, and when he

gets there he finds Pickwick pictures everywhere on the walls to

dispel any doubt he might have of the associations.

It is not necessary to re-tell the story of Mr. Pickwick's

misadventure here. It will be recalled that having forgotten his

watch he, in a weak moment, walked quietly downstairs, with the

japanned candlestick in his hand, to secure it again. "The more

stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs there seemed to be

to descend, and again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into some

narrow passage, and began to congratulate himself on having gained

the ground floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his

astonished eyes. . . .Passage after passage did he explore; room

after room did he peep into"; until at length he discovered the

room he wanted and also his watch.

The same difficulty confronted him on his journey backward; indeed,

it was even more perplexing. "Rows of doors, garnished with boots

of every shape, make, and size, branched off in every possible

direction." He tried a dozen doors before he found what he thought

was his room and proceeded to divest himself of his clothes

preparatory to entering on his night's rest. But, alas! he had got

into the wrong bedroom and the story of the dilemma he shortly found

himself in with the lady in the yellow curl-papers, and how he

extricated himself in so modest and gentlemanly a manner, is a story

which "every schoolboy knows."

Having disentangled himself from the dilemma, he found the intricacies

of the "White Horse's" landings .and stairs again too much for him,

until he was discovered, crouching in a recess in the wall, by his

faithful servant Sam, who conducted him to his right room. Here Mr.

Pickwick made a wise resolve that if he were to stop in the "Great

White Horse" for six months, he. would never trust himself about in

it alone again.

We do not suppose that the visitor would encounter the same

difficulty to-day in getting about the house as did Mr. Pickwick;

but torturous passages are there all the same; and by virtue of

Mr. Pickwick's experiences they are perhaps more noticeable than

would otherwise appear had not his adventures been given to the

world. And so the fact remains that Mr. Pickwick's spirit seems to

haunt the building, and no attempt is made to disabuse the mind that

his escapade was anything but an amusing if unfortunate reality.

The double-bedded room is a double-bedded room still, with its old

four-posters, and is shown with great pride to visitors from all

over the world as "Mr. Pickwick's room." The beds are still hung

with old-fashioned curtains, and a rush-bottomed chair has its place

there, as it did during Mr. Pickwick's visit. Even the wall-paper

is not of a modern pattern, and may have survived from that historic

night. At least these things were the same when we last visited it.

Indeed, all the rooms have still the atmosphere of. the Victorian

era about them. The coffee-room, the bar-parlour, the dining-room,

the courtyard and the assembly room reflect the Pickwickian period,

which in other words speak of "home-life ease and comfort," and "are

not subordinate to newfangled ideas." Whether the small room in the

vicinity of the stable-yard, where Mr. Weller, senior, was engaged

in preparing for his journey to London, taking sustenance, and

incidentally discussing "Widders" with his son Sam, exists to-day we

are unable to state with any certainty; but no doubt there is one

which would fill the bill. Which, too, was the particular room

where Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman were arrested, the former on the

charge of intending to fight a duel, and the latter as aider and

abettor, history does not relate, or modern research reveal.

The inn is some four hundred years old, and at one time was known as

the White Horse Tavern. George II is said to have stayed there some

three hundred years ago, and so, report has it, did Nelson and Lady

Hamilton; but these are small matters compared to the larger ones

connected with Mr. Pickwick, and merit but passing record. Whilst

those details concerning the fictitious character can be adjusted by

any enthusiast who stays at the "Great White Horse" on a Pickwickian

pilgrimage, no tangible trace that the three other historical

personages used the inn remains to substantiate the fact, although

the tradition is acceptable.

CHAPTER XI

THE "GEORGE AND VULTURE"

Tucked away in the heart of the busiest part of the roaring city,

overshadowed by tall, hard-looking, modern banking and insurance

buildings and all but a thin strip of it hidden from view, is a

veritable piece of old London.

This is the "George and Vulture," known throughout the world as

the tavern that Mr. Pickwick and his friends made their favourite

city headquarters. The address in the directory of this inn is St.

Michael's Alley, Cornhill; The Pickwick Papers, however, describe it

as being in George Yard, Lombard Street. Both are correct. If the

latter address is followed, the inn is not easy to find, for the

sign "Old Pickwickian Hostel" is so high up over the upper window in

the far left-hand corner that it is almost the last thing one sees.

One fares little better from the other approach, for the narrow

alley with its tall buildings facing each other so closely as to be

almost touched with outstretched arms, makes it necessary to search

for the entrance doorway.

These, however, are not drawbacks to the lover of old London, for

he rather prefers to probe about for things he likes, particularly

when, as in this case, the discovery is worth the trouble; for once

inside the "George and Vulture" the pilgrim will be thoroughly

recompensed for the trouble he has taken in finding it. Here he

will be struck by the atmosphere of old time which still prevails,

even though there are signs that the modern has somewhat supplanted

the old. Not long since the dining-room on the ground floor was

well sawdusted, and partitioned off in the old coffee-room style,

and some of these high-backed box-like compartments still remain in

corners of the room. With the knowledge that this ancient hostelry

was called "Thomas's Chop House"--and it still bears that name ground

on the glass doors--one expects to discover a grill loaded up with

fizzing chops and steaks, and there it will be found, presided over

by the white-garbed chef turning over the red-hot morsels.

Opposite the door is the old-fashioned bar, with a broad staircase

winding up by its side to another dining-room above completely

partitioned off into compartments with still another grill and a

spotlessly robed chef in evidence. Up another flight of stairs we

come to yet one more dining-room recently decorated in the old

style, with oak-beamed ceiling and surroundings to match; with

lantern lights suspended from the oak beams, grandfather clock,

warming pan, pewter plates and odd pieces of furniture in keeping

with the period it all seeks to recall. It is called the "Pickwick

Room," and this metamorphosis was carried out by a city business

firm for the accommodation of its staff at lunch, and its good

friendship toward them admirably reflects the Dickens spirit. Here

the members of the general staff, both ladies and gentlemen,

numbering about 170, daily gather for their mid-day meal; whilst

a small cosy room adjoining is et apart for the managerial heads.

On occasions, representatives of associated houses in the city and

from abroad, calling on business, are cordially invited to join the

luncheon party.

There is an interesting Visitors' Book in the Pickwick Room, wherein

guests are asked to inscribe their names and designations; also a

private or business motto. Custom has it that a man only signs the

book once, however many times he may visit the Pickwick Room, unless

his official position has altered through business promotion.

This being the floor tradition has decided was Mr. Pickwick's

bedroom, it is suitably decorated with Pickwickian and Dickensian

pictures and ornaments, all tending to remind the visitor of the

homely period of the past. There are no bedrooms to-day in the inn,

nor are there any comfortable so-called sitting- or coffee-rooms,

for all the available space is required for satisfying the hungry

city man.

The history of the "George and Vulture" goes back some centuries.

Originally it was the London lodging of Earl Ferrers, and in 1175

a brother of his was slain there in the night. It was then called

simply the "George," and described by Stow, the great historian of

London, as "a common hostelry for travellers."

[illustration: The "George and Vulture." Drawn by L. Walker]

Ultimately the "Vulture," for reasons undiscovered by the present

writer, was added to the sign, and the appellation the "George and

Vulture" has come through the history of London unaltered, gathering

with the flight of time many famous associations to keep its memory

green in each succeeding period, until Mr. Pickwick put the

coping-stone to its fame as one of London's imperishable heritages.

Poets and literary men of all degrees frequented it from the

earliest times, and although there is no record available to

substantiate a claim that the great Chaucer used the house,

it seems possible that his father, who was himself a licensed

victualler in the district, knew it well. But John Skelton, the

satirical poet of the fifteenth century, undoubtedly enjoyed

its hospitality, for he has left record in the following lines

that he was acquainted with it:

Intent on. signs, the prying eye,

The George & Vulture will descry.

Let none the outward Vulture fear,

No Vulture host inhabits here.

If too well used you deem ye then

Take your revenge and come agen.

Taverns in those days were the resort of most of the prominent men

of the day, and were used in the same manner by them as the clubs

of the present time, as a friendly meeting place for business men,

authors, artists, lawyers, doctors, actors and the fashionable

persons of leisured ease with no particular calling, all of whom

treated "mine host" as an equal and not as a servant.

And so we find that men like Addison and Steele were much in

evidence at these friendly gatherings of their day; that Jonathan

Swift and his coteric foregathered in some cosy corner to discuss

the pros and cons of that great fraud, the South Sea Bubble; that

Daniel Defoe was a constant guest of the host of his time; that

John Wilkes and his fellow-members of "The Hell Fire Club" used the

house for their meetings, and many others the recital of whose names

would resolve into a mere catalogue.

In 1666 the inn succumbed to the Great Fire; but after the

rebuilding its fame was re-established and has never since waned.

John Strype, the ecclesiastical historian, in his addenda to Stow's

Survey of London, records that "Near Ball Alley was the George Inn,

since the fire rebuilt, with very good houses and warehouses, being

a large open yard, and called George Yard, at the farther end of

which is the 'George and Vulture' Tavern, which is a large house and

having great trade, and having a passage into St. Michael's Alley."

The yard referred to is now filled with large buildings, but when

it existed as part of the inn was used, like other inn yards, by

the travelling companies of players for the enactment of their

mystery and morality plays. It was in the "George and Vulture,"

so it is recorded, that the first Beefsteak Club was formed by

Richard Estcourt, the Drury Lane comedian, a fashion which spread

in all directions. And so the history of the "George and Vulture"

could be traced, and anecdotes relating to it set down to fill many

pages. But whilst admitting that these antiquarian notes have their

interest for their own sake, we must leave them in order that we

may glance at the Pickwickian traditions, through which the tavern

is known to-day.

In our last chapter we left Mr. Pickwick at the "Great White Horse,"

Ipswich. On his return to London he had, perforce, to abandon his

lodgings in Goswell Street and so transferred his abode to very good

old-fashioned and comfortable quarters, to wit, the George and Vulture

Tavern and Hotel, George Yard, Lombard Street, and forthwith sent Sam

to settle the little matters of rent and such-like trifles and to

bring back his little odds and ends from Goswell Street. This done

they shortly left the tavern for Dingley Dell, where they had a royal

Christmas time. That the tavern appealed to Mr. Pickwick as ideal for

the entertainment of friends is incidentally revealed in the record

that after one of the merry evenings at Mr. Wardle's he, on waking

late next morning, had "a confused recollection of having severally

and confidentially invited somewhere about five and forty people to

dine with him at the 'George and Vulture' the very first time they

came to London."

Just before they left Dingley Dell, Bob Sawyer, "thrusting his

forefinger between two of Mr. Pickwick's ribs and thereby displaying

his native drollery and his knowledge of the anatomy of the human

frame at one and the same time, enquired--'I say, old boy, where do

you hang out?' Mr. Pickwick replied that he was at present suspended

at the 'George and Vulture'!"

Whether Mr. Pickwick had some idea of finding other quarters when he

said he was "at present suspended" we do not know; at all events he

made the tavern his London residence until, at the end of his

adventures, he retired to Dulwich. Before, however, he settled down

there, many incidents connected with his career took place within the

walls of his favourite tavern. It was in his sitting-room here that

the subpoenas re Bardell v. Pickwick were served on his three friends

and Sam Weller on behalf of the plaintiff. The Pickwickians were

seated round the fire after a comfortable dinner when Mr. Jackson, the

plaintiff's man, by his unexpected appearance, disturbed their happy

gathering. It was from the "George and Vulture" they all drove to the

Guildhall on the day of the trial, and it was in Mr. Pickwick's room

in the tavern that he vowed to Mr. Perker he would never pay even a

halfpenny of the damages.

The next morning the Pickwickians again continued their travels,

Bath being their choice of place. Returning after a week's absence,

we are told that Mr. Pickwick with Sam "straightway returned to his

old quarters at the 'George and Vulture.'" Before another week

elapsed the fateful and inevitable day came when Mr. Pickwick was

arrested and eventually conveyed to the Fleet Prison. He was in bed

at the time, and so annoyed was Sam that he threatened to pitch the

officer of the law out of the window into the yard below. Mr.

Pickwick's deliverance from prison took him once again to the

"George and Vulture," and to him came Arabella Allan and Winkle to

announce to him that they were man and wife and made it their place

of residence whilst Mr. Pickwick went off to Birmingham to make

peace with Nathaniel's father. Mr. Winkle, senior, eventually

visited the old hostel and formally approved of his daughter-in-law.

It was whilst in the inn also that Sam Weller received the news

of the death of his "mother-in-law," conveyed in the extraordinary

letter from his father, which he read to Mary in one of the

window seats.

Here, also, came Tony Weller to make his offer of the L530 "reduced

counsels" which he had inherited, to Mr. Pickwick, adding--"P'raps

it'll go a little way towards the expenses o' that 'ere conwiction.

All I say is, just you keep it till I ask you for it again," and

bolted out of the room.

The last specific reference to the "George and Vulture" is on the

occasion when the party left it to join Mr. Wardle and other friends

at dinner at Osborne's Adelphi Hotel. So, it will be seen, from the

first mention of the tavern about midway through the book, until

its closing pages, the "George and Vulture" may be said to have been

Mr. Pickwick's headquarters in London.

Is it, therefore, to be wondered at, considering all the incidents

and events these few references recall, that the whole atmosphere of

the "George and Vulture" positively reeks with Pickwick?

Is it surprising that the various proprietors of the inn have from

time to time cherished these associations, and none more so than

the present genial proprietor and his efficient manager, Mr. Woods,

and have reminded their customers each time they dine there of Mr.

Pickwick's connection with it by placing before them plates with

that immortal man's portrait in the act of addressing his club,

printed thereon?

Is it to be wondered at that the City Pickwick Club should hold its

meetings and dinners there, or that the Dickens Fellowship should

choose it as the most appropriate spot for the entertainment of

their American and colonial visitors, and occasionally to have

convivial gatherings of its members there?

And will it surprise anyone if a universal agitation is set on foot

to preserve it from the axe and pick of the builder which threatens

it in the near future?

There is one extraordinarily interesting piece of history relative

to the "George and Vulture" and Pickwick with which fittingly to

close this account of London's famous inn.

In 1837, the year that The Pickwick Papers appeared in monthly-parts,

a Circulating Book Society had its headquarters at the "George and

Vulture." On the occasion of the meeting held on March 30, 1837, it

was proposed that The Pickwick Papers, "now in course of publication,

be taken in for circulation."

This motion was opposed by two members "who considered the work

vulgar." The motion, however, was carried with the amendment "that

the work, when complete, be obtained and circulated as one volume."

In 1838 this famous copy of the immortal work was sold by auction

amongst the members, in what was probably the very room Dickens

had in mind when describing the meetings of Mr. Pickwick and his

friends. It was bought by J. Buckham for 13s. 6d. This copy was

annotated by the owner with notes, historical and explanatory, and

is now a cherished possession of the nation in the safe custody of

the Library of the British Museum, where it is known as the "George

and Vulture" copy.

CHAPTER XII

THE "BLUE BOAR, "LEADENHALL MARKET," GARRAWAY'S,"

AND THE "WHITE HORSE CELLAR"

The "Blue Boar," Leadenhall Market, was an inn of considerable

Pickwickian importance. It was the elder Weller's favourite house

of call, and it will be remembered that Sam was sent for by his

father on one occasion to meet him there at six o'clock. Having

obtained Mr. Pickwick's permission to absent himself from the

"George and Vulture," Sam sauntered down as far as the Mansion

House, and then by easy stages wended his way towards Leadenhall

Market, through a variety of by-streets and courts, purchasing

a Valentine on his way.

Looking round him he beheld a signboard on which the painter's art

had delineated something remotely resembling a cerulean elephant

with an aquiline nose in lieu of a trunk. Rightly conjecturing

that this was the "Blue Boar" himself, he stepped into the house

and enquired concerning his parent. Finding that his father would

not be there for three-quarters of an hour or more, he ordered

from the barmaid "nine penn'orth o' brandy and water hike, and

the ink-stand," and having settled himself in the little parlour,

composed himself to write that wonderful "walentine" to Mary.

Just as Sam had finished his missive his father appeared on the

scene, and he was invited by the dutiful son to listen to what he

had written. Tony heard it through, punctuating it during the

process with a running commentary and much advice on marriage in

general and "widders" in particular.

It was here, too, that Tony, with the laudable intention of

helping Mr. Pickwick, offered the invaluable, and now historic,

advice concerning an "alleybi," there being, as he asserted,

"nothing like a' alleybi, Sammy, nothing."

It was in the same parlour on the same occasion that Mr. Weller,

senior, informed his son that he had two tickets "as wos sent"

to Mrs. Weller by the Shepherd "for the monthly meetin' o' the

Brick Lane Branch o' the United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance

Association." He communicated the secret "with great glee and

winked so indefatigably after doing so," "over a double glass

o' the inwariable," that he and Sam determined to make use of the

tickets with the projected plan of exposing the "real propensities

and qualities of the red-nosed man," the success of which is so

well remembered.

These facts in mind the "Blue Boar" ought not to be passed over

lightly, even though it cannot be identified by name, or its

existence traced in historic records. In those days the description

of the locality given by Dickens was accurate enough; but although

there were many inns and taverns in its district, topographers have

never discovered a "Blue Boar," or learned that one ever bore such

a sign. There was a "Bull" in Leadenhall Street at one time, and

possibly this may have been the inn the novelist made the scene of

the above incidents, simply giving it a name of his own to afford

scope for his whimsical vein in describing it.

However, the locality has changed completely from what it was when

Tony Weller "used the parlour" of the "Blue Boar," and such coaching

inns that flourished then have all been swept away with the "shabby

courts and alleys."

We find, however, a picture purporting to be the "Blue Boar" with

its galleries, horses and stable boys all complete drawn by Herbert

Railton, in the Jubilee edition of The Pickwick Papers. Probably

this is purely an imaginary picture.

On the other hand, there was nothing visionary about Garraway's.

"Garraway's, twelve o'clock. 'Dear Mrs. B., Chops and Tomato Sauce,

Yours, Pickwick,'" not only implicated Mr. Pickwick, but conjured

up an old and historic coffee house of city fame. It stood in

Exchange Alley, and was a noted meeting-place for city men, and

for its sales and auctions. It was demolished some fifty years ago

after an existence of over two hundred years. It claimed to be the

first to sell tea "according to the directions of the most knowing

merchants and travellers into the eastern countries," but ultimately

became more famous for its sandwiches and sherry. No doubt it was

the latter, or something even more substantial, that Mr. Pickwick

had been indulging during the day he wrote that momentous message.

Garraway's was known to Defoe, Dean Swift, Steele and others, each

of whom have references to it in their books, and during its

affluent days it was never excelled by other taverns in the city

for good fare and comfort. It was there that the "South Sea

Bubblers" frequently met.

[illustration: Garraway's Coffee House. From a sketch taken

shortly before demolition]

Garraway's is mentioned in other books of Dickens. In Martin

Chuzzlewit, for instance, Nadgett, who undertook the task of

making secret enquiries for the Anglo-Bengalee business, used to

sit in Garraway's, and was occasionally seen drying a damp pocket

handkerchief before the fire, looking over his shoulder for the

man who never appeared.

It is also referred to in Little Dorrit as one of the coffee houses

frequented by Mr. Flintwich.

In The Uncommercial Traveller, in writing about the "City of the

Absent," Dickens makes this further allusion to the tavern:

"There is an old monastery-cript under Garraway's (I have been in

it among the port wine), and perhaps Garraway's, taking pity on the

mouldy men who wait in its public room, all their lives, gives them

cool house-room down there on Sundays."

Again in Christmas Stories the narrator of the "Poor Relation's Story"

who lived in a lodging in the Clapham Road, tells how, amongst other

things, he used to sit in Garraway's Coffee House in the city to pass

away the time until it was time to dine, afterwards returning to his

lodgings in the evening.

But of all these references, Mr. Pickwick's mention of Garraway's in

his note to Mrs. Bardell is the one which will prevent its name and

fame from being forgotten more than any other incident connected

with it that we know of.

The "White Horse Cellar" from which the Pickwickians set out on the

coach journey to Bath stood, at the time, at the corner of Arlington

Street, Piccadilly, on the site occupied by the "Ritz" to-day. It

was as famous and notorious as any coaching office in London;

perhaps being in close proximity to the park and being in the west

end, more famous than any.

In those flourishing days of its existence it was the starting-point

of all the mails for the west of England, and was a bustling centre

of activity. It was, apparently, one of the "sights" of London,

for on fine evenings those with leisure on their hands would gather

to watch the departure of these coaches. The scene became more like

a miniature fair, with itinerants selling oranges, pencils, sponges

and such-like commodities, to the passengers and the spectators.

Mr. Pickwick chose to take an early morning coach, perhaps to avoid

the sightseers. In his anxiety he arrived much too soon and had to

take shelter in the travellers' room--the last resort, as Dickens

assures us, of human dejection.

"The travellers' room at the 'White Horse Cellar' is, of course,

uncomfortable," he writes; "it would be no travellers' room if it

were not. It is the right-hand parlour, into which an aspiring

kitchen fire-place appears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious

poker, tongs and shovel. It is divided into boxes for the solitary

confinement of travellers, and is furnished with a clock, a

looking-glass, and a live waiter, which latter article is kept

in a small kennel for washing glasses in a corner of the apartment."

Whilst taking his breakfast therein, Mr. Pickwick made the

acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Dowler, also bound for Bath, who

were to play such an unexpected part in his sojourn in the

famous watering-place.

It was outside the "White Horse Cellar" that Sam Weller made that

discovery about the use of Mr. Pickwick's name which so annoyed

him. Whilst the party were mounting the coach he observed that the

proprietor's name, written in bold letters on the coach, was no

other than "Pickwick." He drew his master's attention to it, but Mr.

Pickwick merely thought it a very extraordinary thing. Sam, on the

other hand, was of the opinion that the "properiator" was playing

some "imperence" with them. "Not content," he said, "vith writin'

up Pickwick, they puts 'Moses' afore it, vich I call addin' insult

to injury, as the parrot said ven they not only took him from his

native land, but made him talk the English langvidge arterwards."

The "White Horse Cellar" ultimately was moved to the opposite side

of Piccadilly, and in 1884, the new "White Horse" in turn was pulled

down, upon whose site was erected the "Albemarle."

The "White Horse Cellar" is also mentioned in Bleak House in the

communication from Kenge and Carboys to Esther Summerson as her

halting-place in London. Here she was met by their clerk, Mr.

Guppy, who later, in his declaration of love to her, reminded her

of his services on that occasion--"I think you must have seen that

I was struck with those charms on the day when I waited at the

whytorseller. I think you must have remarked that I could not

forbear a tribute to those charms when I put up the steps of

the 'ackney coach."

CHAPTER XIII

FOUR BATH INNS AND THE "BUSH," BRISTOL

On their arrival at Bath, Mr. Pickwick and his friends and

Mr. Dowler and his wife "respectively retired to their private

sitting-rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the great Pump

Room . . . where waiters, from their costume, might be mistaken

for Westminster boys, only they destroyed the illusion by behaving

themselves so much better."

Mr. Pickwick had scarcely finished his breakfast next morning when

Mr. Dowler brought in no less a person than his friend, Angelo Cyrus

Bantam, Esquire, to introduce to him, and to administer his stock

greeting, "Welcome to Ba-ath, sir. This is, indeed, an acquisition.

Most welcome to Ba-ath, sir."

For the story of the various adventures which overtook the

Pickwickians in the famous city, what they saw, and what they did,

the reader must be referred to the official chronicle, except where

they are connected with some inn or tavern.

So far as the "White Hart" is concerned, there is little to be said

in this direction. After the reception at the Assembly Rooms on the

evening after their arrival, Mr. Pickwick accompanied his friends

back to the "White Hart," and "having soothed his feelings with

something hot, went to bed, and to sleep, almost simultaneously."

As Mr. Pickwick contemplated staying in Bath for at least two

months, he deemed it advisable to take lodgings for himself and his

friends for that period. This he did, and the "White Hart" has no

further association with his person during his stay in the gay city.

The "White Hart," nevertheless, has a very strong claim to Pickwickian

fame, apart from the brief fact that the founder of the club stayed

there a night or two. At the time, the "White Hart" belonged to the

very Moses Pickwick whose name on the coach so worried poor Sam Weller

at the start of their journey down from London.

[illustration: The "White Hart," Bath. From an engraving]

This Moses Pickwick was a grandson of Eleazer Pickwick, who, it is

recorded, was a foundling. The story told concerning him is that

when an infant he was picked up by a lady in the village of Wick near

Bath, carried to her home, adopted and educated. Hence, according to

some, the name Pick-Wick. There is, however, a village near to hand

actually called "Pickwick," which may also have inspired the name

for the foundling.

For some reasons unknown, or, at any rate, unrevealed, this foundling

developed a craze for the coaching business, and, ultimately, taking

service in one of the coaching inns, devoted his time and interests

whole-heartedly to the profession, or calling. Eventually he became

the owner of the business.

His grandson, Moses, became even more famous during the coaching era

than his foundling antecedent, and at the time Pickwick was written

he was the actual proprietor of the White Hart Hotel, as well as of

the coaches which ran to and from it. He became, also, the most

popular owner in the trade, and retired to the village of Upper

Swanswick a rich man. We believe the name is still perpetuated in

the neighbourhood.

Now it is known as a fact that Dickens took the name Pickwick from

the said Moses Pickwick the proprietor of the "White Hart," whose

coaches he had seen and ridden in a year or two previously. So that

apart from the brief references to the inn in The Pickwick Papers

its history is very much associated with the book.

Unfortunately, Dickens does not give us any minute description of

it, as he does of other inns. Although it was the most important

coaching house in the city, it could not be spoken of as particularly

attractive in appearance. It looked more like a barracks than an

hotel, indeed, we believe it was used for such a purpose in its

degenerate days before it was finally demolished in 1867.

During its prosperous era, it was the resort of all the distinguished

visitors who flocked to Bath during those gay and festive times.

There is still a relic of it in existence. The gracefully carved

effigy of a white hart, which decorated the front of the building,

now serves a similar purpose on an inn with the same name in the

suburb of Widcombe, near by. On the site of the old house now

stands the Grand Pump Room Hotel.

The Royal Hotel to which Mr. Winkle resorted, after his adventure

with the valorous Dowler, for the purpose of escape to Bristol by

the branch coach, probably never existed--at any rate, by that name.

Dickens may have had the "York House" in his mind, for he stayed

there himself on one occasion, and it was one of those ornate

hotels, accustomed to receiving royal and distinguished visitors,

suggesting such a title as Dickens gave it.

There is, however, a tavern in Bath which claimed--or was made to

claim--a Pickwickian association, and that is the Beaufort Arms.

The story in connection with it is that before it was a tavern it

was originally "the small greengrocer's shop" over which the Bath

footmen held their social evenings, and was, therefore, the scene of

the memorable "leg o' mutton swarry," given in honour of Sam Weller.

This may be so; we prefer to think that it was more likely to have

been the public-house from which, as we are told, drinks were

fetched for that dignified function.

The "Saracen's Head" in the same city has a Dickensian, if not a

Pickwickian, interest, for Dickens stayed there when, in his

journalistic days, he was following Lord John Russell through the

country in 1835, reporting his speeches. We can be sure that it was

during this brief visit that he gained an insight into the social

doings and customs of the city, and also gathered the extensive

knowledge of its topography his book exhibits. The "Saracen's Head"

is proud of its Dickens associations; the actual chair he sat in,

the actual jug he drank from, and the actual room he slept in are

each shown with much ado to visitors; whilst several anecdotes

associated with the novelist's visit on the occasion are re-told

with perfect assurance of their truth.

Arriving at Bristol after his flight from Mr. Dowler at Bath, Mr.

Winkle took up his quarters at the "Bush," there only to encounter

later in the day "the figure of the vindictive and sanguinary

Dowler" himself. Explanations soon smoothed over their little

differences, and they parted for the night "with many protestations

of eternal friendship."

[illustration: The "Bush," Bristol. From an engraving]

In the meantime, Sam Weller had been sent posthaste on Mr. Winkle's

heels with instructions from Mr. Pickwick to lock him in his bedroom

as soon as he found him. Sam was nothing loath, and when he had run

Winkle to earth at the "Bush", promptly carried out his master's

orders and awaited his further instructions as to what to do next.

These were brought next morning by Mr. Pickwick, in person, when he

walked into the coffee-loom. Satisfaction being arrived at, the

three stayed on at the "Bush" for a day or two, experiencing some

curious adventures in the neighbourhood during the time.

On another occasion Mr. Pickwick and Sam stayed at the "Bush," and

after dinner the former adjourned to the travellers' room, where,

Sam informed him, "there was only a gentleman with one eye, and the

landlord, who were drinking a bowl of bishop together."

"He's a queer customer, the vun-eyed vun, sir," observed Mr. Weller,

as he led the way. "He's a-gammonin' that 'ere landlord, he is, sir,

till he don't rightly know vether he's standing on the soles of his

boots or on the crown of his hat."

This was no other than the man who told the story of Tom Smart at

the "Peacock," Eatanswill, and he was ready and willing to tell

another; with little persuasion he settled down and related the

story of the Bagman's Uncle.

The "Bush" was, in its time, the chief coaching inn of the city, and

one of the headquarters of Moses Pickwick's coaching business. It

stood until 1864, near the Guildhall, and its site is now occupied

by Lloyd's Bank. This was another inn that Dickens stayed at in

1835 whilst reporting for The Morning Chronicle. Writing from that

address he says he expects to forward the conclusion of Russell's

dinner "by Cooper's company coach, leaving the 'Bush' at half-past

six next morning; and by the first Bell's coach on Thursday he will

forward the report of the Bath dinner, endorsing the parcel for

immediate delivery with extra rewards for the porter."

CHAPTER XIV

THE "FOX UNDER THE HILL," OTHER LONDON TAVERNS,

AND THE "SPANIARDS," HAMPSTEAD

On his return from Bath, Mr. Pickwick was immediately arrested

and conveyed to the Fleet Prison. In the course of the chapters

following this event there are several inns or taverns either

mentioned incidentally, or figure more or less prominently, such

as the new public-house opposite the Fleet, the "Fox Under the

Hill," Sarjeants' Inn Coffee House, the public-house, opposite

the Insolvent Debtors' Court, the Horn Coffee House in the Doctors'

Commons and the "Spaniards," Hampstead Heath. Of these the "Fox

Under the Hill," casually referred to by Mr. Roker as the spot

where Tom Martin "whopped the coach-heaver," was situated on

the Thames water-side in the Adelphi, at the bottom of Ivy Lane.

The incident he related was no doubt a recollection of Dickens's

early days in the blacking factory at Hungerford Stairs, for

the public-house was known to him, as the following sentence in

his biography shows--"One of his favourite realities was a little

public-house by the water-side called the 'Fox Under the Hill,'

approached by an underground passage which we once missed on looking

for it together"; and he had a vision which he has mentioned in

Copperfield of sitting eating something on a bench outside, one fine

evening, and looking at some coal-heavers dancing before the house.

The public-house, nevertheless, was there when Dickens and his

biographer were seeking it, for it was not demolished until the

Victoria Embankment was built many years later.

Robert Allbut states that the "Fox Under the Hill" was the tavern

where Martin Chuzzlewit, junior, was accommodated when he arrived

in London, and where he was visited by Mark Tapley.

[illustration: The "Fox Under the Hill"]

The public-house opposite the Insolvent Debtors' Court, where Mr.

Weller consulted Mr. Solomon Pell on an urgent family matter, was

no doubt the "Horse and Groom" that once stood in Portugal Street,

covered now by the solid buildings of Messrs. W. H. Smith and Sons,

of railway bookstall fame. It was here Sam obliged the company with

his song on "Bold Turpin," whilst his father and Solomon Pell went to

swear the affidavit for Sam's arrest. It was also at this identical

public-house that Mr. Solomon Pell, later on in the book, was engaged

to undertake the details of proving the Will of the late Mrs. Weller,

and where, "to celebrate Mr. Weller coming into possession of his

property," a little lunch was given to his friends, comprising

porter, cold beef and oysters, to which ample justice was done.

Reverting to the former incident, the elder Weller and Solomon Pell

duly returned with the document all complete, and the party sallied

forth to the Fleet Prison. On their way they stopped at Sarjeants'

Inn Coffee House off Fleet Street to refresh themselves once more.

When Sarjeants' Inn was rebuilt in 1838 the coffee house referred to

ended its existence.

The Horn Coffee House in Doctors' Commons, to which a messenger was

despatched from the Fleet Prison for "a bottle or two of very good

wine" to celebrate Mr. Winkle's visit to his old friend, was a

well-known and frequented place of call at the time. It was situated

actually in Carter Lane, and although the present house is more in

keeping with modern methods, there still remains a portion of the

old building.

The "Spaniards," Hampstead Heath, figures more prominently in the

book than any of the foregoing, and has a story of its own to tell.

In recalling the scene in its history which associates it with The

Pickwick Papers, we remember that Mrs. Bardell and her friends, Mrs.

Sanders, Mrs. Cluppins, Mr. and Mrs. Raddle, Mrs. Rogers and Master

Tommy Bardell, bent on having a day out, had taken the Hampstead

Stage to the "Spaniards" Tea Gardens, "where the luckless Mr.

Raddle's very first act nearly occasioned his good lady a relapse,

it being neither more or less than to order tea for seven; whereas

(as the ladies one and all remarked) what could have been easier

than for Tommy to have drank out of any lady's cup, or everybody's,

if that was all, when the waiter wasn't looking, which would have

saved one head of tea, and the tea just as good!"

But the brilliant suggestion was made too late, for "the tea-tray

came with seven cups and saucers, and bread and butter on the same

scale. Mrs. Bardell was unanimously voted into the chair, and Mrs.

Rogers being stationed on her right hand and Mrs. Raddle on her

left, the meal proceeded with great merriment and success," until

Mr. Raddle again put his foot into it by making an unfortunate

remark which upset Mrs. Bardell and caused him to be summarily

sent to a table by himself to finish his tea alone.

Mrs. Bardell had just recovered from her fainting fit when the

ladies observed a hackney coach stop at the garden gate. Out

of it stepped Mr. Jackson of Dodson and Fogg, who, coming up to

the party, informed Mrs. Bardell that his "people" required her

presence in the city directly on very important and pressing

business. "How very strange," said Mrs. Bardell, with an air of

being someone of distinction, as she allowed herself to be taken

along, accompanied by Mrs. Sanders, Mrs. Cluppins and Tommy.

Entering the coach in waiting, to be driven, as they thought, to

Dodson and Fogg's, they were alas! sadly deceived, for shortly

afterwards Mrs. Bardell was safely deposited in the Fleet Prison

for not having paid those rascals their costs, and promptly fainted

in "real downright earnest."

What happened to the rest of the party at the "Spaniards" history

does not relate. But the event which had promised to be such a

happy one at the famous old inn was spoiled by those rapscallions of

lawyers, and we can only hope that Mr. Raddle made himself amiable

with the two ladies left in his charge, and helped them to enjoy the

remainder of the day in the pleasant rural and rustic spot.

The "Spaniards" is still a favourite resort of the pleasure-seeking

pedestrian, and a halting-place for refreshment for pilgrims across

the Heath. The arbours and rustic corners of its pleasant tea

gardens still attract holiday-makers, as they attracted Mrs. Bardell

and her friends on that day long since gone by.

[illustration: The "Spaniards," Hampstead Heath. Drawn by L. Walker]

The inn itself is spacious and offers the comforts expected of

an ancient hostelry. Dating back to about 1630 it occupies what

was once the lodge entrance to the Bishop of London's great rural

park, whose old toll gate is still remaining. It is said by some

to have derived its name through having been once inhabited by a

family connected with the Spanish Embassy; and by others from its

having been taken by a Spaniard who converted it into a house of

refreshment and entertainment. Ultimately its gardens were improved

and beautifully ornamented by one William Staples, similar to the

gardens which flourished during this period in other parts of the

metropolis. It has carried on its business of catering for all and

sundry to the present day, but the ornate decorations and statuary

have long disappeared.

The "Spaniards" is a Dick Turpin house, for, according to tradition,

in its precincts the famous highwayman often hid from his pursuers.

We are assured that in the out-house he found his favourite

resting-place, which many a time on the late return of the marauder

had served as his bedroom. The under-ground passages that led to

the inn itself have been filled up, years ago. There were two doors

attacked by unpleasant visitors, and a secret trap-door through

which Turpin dived into the underground apartment, there to await

the departure of the raging officers, or to betake himself to the inn,

if that were clear of attack.

To such a fine Londoner as Dickens, who must have known it and his

history thoroughly, it is a little surprising that it does not figure

more prominently in his writings than it does. There is, indeed, one

occasion when, it seems to us, he missed the opportunity of making it

a picturesque and typical setting for a scene which his pen was more

peculiarly suited than any other we know.

In Barndby Rudge he gives us vivid pen pictures of the Gordon Rioters

setting fire to houses in London, prominent amongst them being that

of Lord Mansfield, and goes on to describe how they proceeded to the

country seat of the great Chief Justice at Caen Wood, Hampstead, to

treat it in a similar fashion. On arriving there the rioters were

met by the military, stopped in their nefarious deed, turned tail

and returned to London--all in accordance with the historical facts

which it is well known the novelist gathered from an authoritative

document. But he does not tell us how the rioters were thwarted in

their contemplated act, due, so runs the story, to the foresight of

the landlord of the "Spaniards."

On their way to Lord Mansfield's house the rioters had to pass the

Spaniards Inn, and the landlord, having been made aware of their

approach and mission, stood at his door to meet them and enticed

them in to drink whilst he sent a messenger to the barracks for a

detachment of Horse Guards. In the interim his cellars were thrown

open to the excited rebels, hot with irresponsibility from the

devastation they had already made in London. Here he left them

to themselves surrounded by all they might require to slake their

thirsty appetites. By the time they had appeased this thirst and

were ready to continue their journey to Lord Mansfield's house a

few yards off, they discovered to their chagrin that their way was

blocked by the arrival of a contingent of soldiers. And so in

their wisdom they retraced their steps, as Dickens tells us,

faster than they went.

Now the reason for this quick decision on the part of the rebels

is passed over by Dickens, and the "Spaniards" is, in consequence,

robbed of additional reflected glory, whilst the landlord is

deprived of his place of immortality in the pages of Dickens's book:

the one book on the "No Popery" riots that counts to-day. He does

not even mention the Spaniards Inn in Barnaby Rudge, although the

rioters are, in its pages, brought to the inn door, from which point

they are turned back, and the famous seat of Lord Mansfield remains,

if tradition be reliable, thanks to the landlord of the inn.

CHAPTER XV

THE "BELL," BERKELEY HEATH, THE "HOP POLE," TEWKESBURY,

AND THE "OLD ROYAL," BIRMINGHAM

The chapter describing the Pickwickians' journey from the "Bush"

Bristol to Birmingham, supplies incidents at four inns mentioned by

name, and one that is not. The party comprising Mr. Pickwick and

Mr. Benjamin Allen, Bob Sawyer and Sam Weller, sallied forth in a

post-chaise. The two former seated themselves comfortably inside,

whilst Bob Sawyer occupied a seat on the trunk on the top, and Sam

settled himself in the dickey.

The two last-named were bent on making a merry day of it, and as soon

as they were beyond the boundaries of Bristol they began their tricks

by changing hats, taking liquid and substantial refreshments to the

amusement of the passers-by, and the astonishment of Mr. Pickwick.

But the journey need not be described here. Suffice it to say that

the hilarious pair outside, come what may, meant to make a day of it.

Their first stop, ostensibly to change horses, was at the "Bell,"

Berkeley Heath, on the high road between Bristol and Gloucester.

"I say, we're going to dine here, aren't we?" said Bob, looking in

at the window.

"Dine!" said Mr. Pickwick. "Why, we have only come nineteen miles,

and have got eighty-seven and a half to go."

"Just the reason why we should take something to enable us to bear

up against the fatigue," remonstrated Mr. Bob Sawyer.

"Oh, it's quite impossible to dine at half-past eleven o'clock in

the day," replied Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch.

"So it is," rejoined Bob, "lunch is the very thing. Hallo, you sir!

Lunch for three, directly, and keep the horses back for a quarter of

an hour. Tell them to put everything they have cold, on the table,

and some bottled ale, and let us taste your very best Madeira."

Issuing these orders with monstrous importance and bustle, Mr. Bob

Sawyer at once hurried into the house to superintend the

arrangements; in less than five minutes he returned and declared

them to be excellent.

[illustration: The Bell Inn, Berkeley Heath. Drawn by C. G. Harper]

The quality of the lunch fully justified the eulogium which Bob had

pronounced, and very great justice was done to it, not only by that

gentleman, but by Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Pickwick also. In the hands

of the thirsty three, the bottled ale and the Madeira were promptly

disposed of; and when (the horses being once more put to) they

resumed their seats, with the case-bottle full of the best

substitute for milk-punch that could be procured on so short a

notice, the key-bugle sounded, and the red flag waved, without the

sightest opposition on Mr. Pickwick's part.

The unpretentious roadside inn still exists to-day, unaltered since

the above-mentioned memorable occasion. It cherishes its Dickensian

association by curiously and oddly announcing on its signboard that:

"Charles Dickens and Party lunched here 1827. B. C. Hooper."

It is within a mile of Berkeley Road Station on the Bristol Road,

and about the same distance from the town of Berkeley. It lies

back from the main road, and is a rambling old house and of good

age. Although it has no more mention in the book than that given

above, it is well known far and wide, nevertheless. As the

Pickwickians did not stay there the inn is deprived of the privilege

of showing a room in which the illustrious men slept, as is done in

the case of other inns; but it has been recorded by one proprietor

that travellers have called there for no other purpose than that of

drinking Dickens's health in the snug parlour.

Continuing their journey the animated party reached in course

of time the "Hop Pole" at Tewkesbury, where they stopped to dine;

upon which occasion, we are assured, there was more bottled

ale, with some more Madeira, and some port besides; and here

the case-bottle was replenished for the fourth time. Under the

influence of these combined stimulants, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben

Allen fell fast asleep for thirty miles, while Bob Sawyer and Sam

Weller sang duets in the dickey.

The "Hop Pole" is still a flourishing country inn with the old-world

flavour and atmosphere still clinging to it, where one is treated

with the courtesy and welcome reminiscent of the old-time coaching

days. Some modern "improvements" have been made in it, but its

general appearance has not been tampered with, and it remains a

veritable Dickens landmark of the town which the Tewkesbury

Dickensians are proud of possessing. It is practically as it was

in Pickwickian days, and the fact that Mr. Pickwick dined there is

boldly announced at the side of the entrance, the porch of which did

not however exist in those days.

From the "Hop Pole," Tewkesbury, the lively quartette continued

their journey to Birmingham in a high-spirited mood and reached

that city after dark.

"The postboy was driving briskly through the open streets and past

the handsome and well-lighted shops which intervene between the

outskirts of the town and the Royal Hotel, before Mr. Pickwick had

begun to consider the very difficult and delicate nature of the

commission which had carried him thither."

The difficulty and delicacy mentioned referred to the presence of

Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen, whom Mr. Pickwick for certain reasons

wished miles away, but he hoped to surmount them by making his

interview with Mr. Winkle, senior, as brief as possible.

[illustration: The "Hop Pole," Tewkeabury, as it was in

Pickwickian days. Drawn by Arch. Webb]

As he comforted himself with these reflections the chaise stopped

at the door of the "Old Royal," and the visitors were shown to

comfortable apartments. Mr. Pickwick immediately made enquiries

of the waiter concerning the whereabouts of Mr. Winkle's residence,

who was one not easily to be got the better of, as the following

dialogue will show:

"'Close by, sir,' said the waiter, 'not above five hundred yards,

sir. Mr. Winkle is a wharfinger, sir, at the canal, sir. Private

residence is not--oh dear no, sir, not five hundred yards, sir.'

Here the waiter blew a candle out and made a feint of lighting it

again, in order to afford Mr. Pickwick an opportunity of asking any

further questions, if he felt so disposed.

"'Take anything now, sir?' said the waiter, lighting the candle

in desperation at Mr. Pickwick's silence. 'Tea or coffee, sir?

Dinner, sir?'

"'Nothing now.'

"'Very good, sir. Like to order supper, sir?'

"'Not just now.'

"' Very good, sir.' Here he walked softly to the door, and then

stopping short, turned round and said with great suavity:

"'Shall I send the chambermaid, gentlemen?'

"'You may if you please,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

"'If you please, sir.'

"'Bring some soda water,' said Bob Sawyer.

"'Soda water, sir? Yes, sir.' And with his mind apparently

relieved from an overwhelming weight by having at last got an order

for something, the waiter imperceptibly melted away. Waiters never

walk or run. They have a peculiar and mysterious power of skimming

out of rooms, which other mortals possess not."

Eventually Mr. Pickwick and his friends arrived safely at the house

of Mr. Winkle, and, having concluded the interview, all three

returned to the hotel and went "silent and supperless to bed."

The next day was a dreary and wet one, and, in contemplating the

aspect from his bedroom window, Mr. Pickwick was attracted by a

game cock in the stable yard, who, "deprived of every spark of

his accustomed animation, balanced himself dismally on one leg

in a corner." Then Mr. Pickwick discovered "a donkey, moping with

drooping head under the narrow roof of an outhouse, who appeared

from his meditative and miserable countenance to be contemplating

suicide." In the breakfast-room there was very little conversation;

even Mr. Bob Sawyer "felt the influence of the weather and the

previous day's excitement, and in his own expressive language, he

was 'floored.' So was Mr. Ben Allen. So was Mr. Pickwick."

[illustration: The Old Royal Hotel, Birmingham. Drawn by L. Walker]

The Pickwickians' visit, therefore, to the Royal Hotel was not a very

bright and lively one, but they endeavoured to make the best of it.

"In protracted expectation of the weather clearing up, the last

evening paper from London was read and re-read with an intensity of

interest only known in cases of extreme destitution; every inch of

the carpet was walked over with similar perseverance, the windows

were looked out of often enough to justify the imposition of an

additional duty upon them, all kinds of topics of conversation were

started, and failed; and at length Mr. Pickwick, when noon had

arrived without a change for the better, rang the bell resolutely

and ordered out the chaise."

And so they started on their journey back in spite of the miserable

'outlook, feeling it was "infinitely superior to being pent in a

dull room, looking at dull rain dripping into a dull street."

But Mr. Pickwick's lack of enthusiasm over the hotel was not due to

the hotel itself, but more on account of the weather. As a fact, it

was a very important hotel in those days. Attached to it were large

assembly and concert rooms, erected in 1772 by Tontine. It was

known as THE Hotel, the distinctive appellation of "Royal" being

prefixed in consequence of a visit of a member of the royal family

who took up his residence there for a time.

This is the only occasion the hotel has mention in the works of

Dickens, and although Mr. Pickwick and his friends had no reason for

being pleased with their visit to Birmingham's old inn, the reverse

can be said of Dickens himself, for on more than one occasion he had

pleasant associations of his stay there. The hotel has been

rebuilt, but the picture shows it as it was in Mr. Pickwick's day.

Dickens visited Birmingham some dozen times from 1840 to 1870, and on

most of the early occasions it is believed he stayed at the Old Royal

Hotel. On January 6, 1853, Dickens was presented with a silver "Iliad"

salver and a diamond ring by the people of Birmingham in grateful

acknowledgment of his "varied and well-applied talents." After the

presentation the company adjourned to the Old Royal Hotel (then Dee's

Hotel), where a banquet took place with the Mayor, Henry Hawkes, in

the chair, and Peter Hollins, the sculptor, in the vice-chair.

The company numbered 218, and the event is notable as the occasion

on which Dickens made a promise to give, in aid of the Birmingham

and Midland Institute, his first public reading from his books.

"It would take about two hours," he said, "with a pause of ten

minutes about half-way through. There would be some novelty in the

thing, as I have never done it in public, though I have in private,

and (if I may say so) with great effect on the hearers."

That was a notable event in Dickens's life, for it is well known

what followed from that initial public recital; and the place where

the step was taken naturally becomes a landmark in his life; and so

the Old Royal Hotel, Birmingham, if for no other reason, claims to

be remembered as a notable and important one in Dickens annals.

CHAPTER XVI

COVENTRY, DUNCHUBCH, AND DAVENTRY INNS,

AND THE "SARACEN'S HEAD," TOWCESTER

Continuing their journey, the Pickwickians duly reached Coventry.

The inn, however, where the post-chaise stopped to change horses is

not mentioned by name, but may have been the Castle Hotel there; at

any rate, the "Castle" has a Dickensian interest, for it was here

that a public dinner was given to Dickens in December, 1858, when he

was presented with a gold repeater watch of special construction as

a mark of gratitude for his reading of the Christmas Carol, given a

year previously in aid of the funds of the Coventry Institute. The

hotel was, at the time the Pickwickians arrived there, a posting

inn of repute. From Coventry Sam Weller beguiled the time with

anecdotes until they reached Dunchurch, "where a dry postboy and

fresh horses were procured"; the next stage was Daventry, and in

neither case is the name of an inn mentioned or hinted at.

At the end of each stage it rained harder than ever, with the result

that when they pulled up at the "Saracen's Head," Towcester, they

were in a disconsolate state. Bob Sawyer's apparel, we are told,

"shone so with the wet that it might have been mistaken for a full

suit of prepared oilskin." In these circumstances, and on the

recommendation of the wise Sam, the party decided to stop the night.

"There's beds here, sir," Sam assured his master as a further

inducement; "everything clean and comfortable. Very good little

dinner, sir, they can get ready in half an hour-pair of fowls, sir,

and a weal cutlet; French beans, 'taters, tart and tidiness. You'd

better stop vere you are, sir, if I might recommend." At this very

moment the host appeared, and, having confirmed Sam's statement,

Mr. Pickwick decided to take the "advice" of his trusted servant,

which caused the landlord to smile with delight.

[illustration: The Pomfret Anns (formerly the "Saracen's

Head"), Towcester. Drawn by C.G. Harp]

The pilgrim to Towcester to-day, searching for the sign of the

"Saracen's Head," would find himself on a fruitless errand, for it

was changed scores of years back to the Pomfret Arms. Indeed, it

was so called at the time The Pickwick Papers were first published,

having been altered in 1881 at the bidding of the new lord of the

manor when he succeeded to the titles and estates.

But doubtless Dickens knew it in his newspaper reporting days, and

described it from memory. In any case, he is historically correct

in retaining the old name, for the period of his book is 1827-28.

Beyond the change of name the hotel to-day is practically the same

as it was in those early days, the only material alteration being

the conversion of the kitchen into a bar-parlour and smoking-room,

where the open chimney and corner seats have given place to more

modern and ornate substitutes.

Situated in the main street this old posting house is a prominent

feature. The exterior is typical of the period. It is a low,

long-looking building with many windows, two stories high (unless

the dormer windows in the old red-tiled roof be counted another),

and is built of a light brownish sandstone brick, peculiar to the

neighbourhood. There is a picturesque bow window on the ground

floor to the left of the solid oak gateway leading into the coach

yard, and over this hangs the swinging sign-board flanked on each

side by two curious carved figures set in alcoves let into the wall;

the whole general setting is a pleasant survival of the old-time

days of the coaching era.

There always is an agreeable and comforting relief to the traveller

when he at last arrives at the inn at his journey's end, and that

feeling will not be dispelled to-day when the old "Saracen's Head" is

reached. But to the Pickwickians, on the occasion of their visit,

wet to the skin, tired, and sorely out at elbow with the raging

element they had just driven through, the "Saracen's Head" must have

been a haven of delight indeed; and those few words of instructions

from the landlord to make the room ready for them must have been

cheerful to their ears, and the result, as described in the

following paragraph, a joy to their hearts:

"The candles were brought, the fire was stirred up, and a fresh log

of wood thrown on. In ten minutes' time a waiter was laying the

cloth for dinner, the curtains were drawn, the fire was blazing

brightly, and everything looked (as everything always does in all

decent English inns) as if the travellers had been expected and

their comforts prepared for days beforehand."

So in this cosy room they gathered, after they had sufficiently

dried themselves, and eagerly waited for dinner to be served.

To them suddenly reappeared Sam Weller, accompanied by no less

a person than the notorious Mr. Pott of the Eatanswill Gazette--who,

that worthy had discovered, was also staying in the hotel. He was

on his way to the great Buff Ball, to be held at Birmingham the next

evening. Needless to say, he was heartily welcomed and an agreement

was made to club their dinners. Mr. Pott soon began to entertain

the company with gossip about his mission and firebrand intentions,

taking the opportunity of letting off some of his best abusive

expletives at the expense of his rival paper, the Eatanswill

Independent, and its editor.

Incidentally he extolled the genius of one of his staff, and

revealed the great secret of how he "crammed" for an article

on "Chinese Metaphysics" by turning up the two words in the

encyclopaedia and combining his information. He was in the midst of

enlivening the proceedings with extracts from his own lucubrations,

when his great rival, whom he was abusing, drove up, unknown to him,

and booked abed for himself at the same hotel. Mr. Slurk was also

making for the great Buff Ball at Birmingham, and, having ordered

some refreshment, retired to the kitchen (a custom in those days)

to smoke and read in peace.

"Now some demon of discord," writes Dickens, "flying over the

'Saracen's Head' at the moment," prompted Bob Sawyer to suggest to

his friends that "it wouldn't be a bad notion to have a cigar by the

kitchen fire." They all agreed that it was a good idea, and forth

they went--only to find, to their surprise, Mr. Slurk there before

them deep in the study of some newspaper. The rival editors both

started at each other, and gradually showed symptoms of their

ancient rivalry bubbling up, which, by slow but certain process,

developed until it eventually precipitated them into a free fight

with carpet bag and fire shovel as respective weapons.

The details of this fracas are too well known to need repetition

here. Suffice to say that, when the fray was at its height, Mr.

Pickwick felt it his duty to intervene, and called upon Sam Weller

to part the combatants. This he dexterously did by pulling a meal

sack over the head and shoulders of Mr. Pott and thus effectually

stopping the conflict. The scene, it will be remembered, was

depicted with much spirit by Phiz, the artist who illustrated

the book. The rivals parted, peace once more reigned, and the

company repaired to their respective beds. In the morning both

Mr. Pott and Mr. Slurk were careful to continue their journey in

separate coaches before the Pickwickians were stirring, whilst the

spectators of the exciting scene went forward to London in their

post-chaise a little later.

This incident is one of those that are best remembered in the book,

and has made the "Saracen's Head," Towcester, a notable Pickwickian

landmark. The old posting inn remains to-day as it was when the

book was written, and if the kitchen--as such--is not on view any

longer, the same room turned to other uses is there for the faithful

disciple to meditate in and visualize the scene for himself; and

no doubt he will find that the inn is as famous now for its "French

beans, 'taters, tarts and tidiness" as it used to be.

We would, however, suggest to the present owner that the words

"formerly the 'Saracen's Head' "should be added to those of the

Pomfret Arms Hotel on the sign now hanging so gracefully over the

pavement as a guide to the Dickens pilgrim seeking the Pickwickian

landmark of the town.

CHAPTER XVII

"OSBORNE'S," ADELPHI, AND TONY WELLER'S

PUBLIC-HOUSE ON SHOOTER'S HILL

There is a singular and conspicuous interest attaching to Osborne's

Hotel in the Adelphi, for the almost pathetic reason that it was in

one of its rooms that Mr. Pickwick first made the momentous

announcement of his intention of abandoning his nomadic life of

travel and adventure and settling down in "some quiet, pretty

neighbourhood in the vicinity of London, "where he had taken a house

which exactly suited his fancy. And so it may be said that within

its four walls the Pickwick Club brought its activities to an end,

for on Mr. Pickwick's decision to retire from its ramifications,

coupled with the fact that during his absence in the Fleet Prison

it had suffered much from internal dissensions, its dissolution was

imperative, and to use his own words with which he announced the

fact to his friends on the occasion in question, "The Pickwick Club

no longer exists."

That was an historic pronouncement, and the room in which it was

made naturally becomes a veritable landmark for Pickwickians; and a

fitting mark of this distinction might well be made, by the fixing

of a tablet on the walls of the historic building, which still

stands practically as it was in those adventurous days. The event

which first brought Mr. Pickwick and his friends to the hotel was

a domestic one; but the occasion did not pass without an awkward

adventure such as always dogged the footsteps of the Pickwickians.

Mr. Pickwick had just been released from the Fleet Prison and was

at Mr. Perker's office settling little details in connexion with

Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, when his old friend Wardle turned up

quite unexpectedly to seek the advice of the little lawyer on the

situation which had arisen by his daughter Emily's infatuation for

Mr. Snodgrass. He had brought his daughter up from Dingley Dell

and informed Mr. Pickwick that "she was at Osborne's Hotel in the

Adelphi at this moment, unless your enterprising friend has run away

with her since I came out this morning."

Mr. Perker made advice unnecessary, for he proved to both of them

that they were quite delighted at the prospect. Mr. Wardle

forthwith invited them to dine with him, and he sent the fat boy

to "Osborne's" with the information that he and Mr. Pickwick would

return together at five o'clock. Arriving at the hotel the fat boy

went upstairs to execute his commission.

"He walked into the sitting-room without previously knocking at the

door, and so beheld a gentleman with his arm clasping his young

mistress's waist, sitting very lovingly by her side on a sofa, while

Arabella and her pretty handmaid feigned to be absorbed in looking

out of a window at the other end of the room. At sight of which

phenomenon the fat boy uttered an interjection, the ladies a scream,

and the gentleman an oath, almost simultaneously.

"Wretched creature, what do you want here?" said the gentleman, who

it is needless to say was Mr. Snodgrass.

To this the fat boy, considerably terrified, briefly

responded, "Missis."

"What do you want me for?" enquired Emily, turning her head

aside, "you stupid creature."

"Master and Mr. Pickwick is a-going to dine here at five,"

replied the fat boy.

After being bribed by Snodgrass, Emily and Arabella, he was invited

by Mary to dine with her downstairs, where he regaled himself on

meat pie, steak, a dish of potatoes and a pot of porter. Here he

attempted to make love to Mary, and, having failed, "ate a pound or

so of steak with a sentimental countenance and fell fast asleep."

"There was so much to say upstairs, and there were so many plans

to concert for elopement and matrimony in the event of old Wardle

continuing to be cruel, that it wanted only half an hour to dinner

when Mr. Snodgrass took his final adieu. The ladies ran to Emily's

bedroom to dress, and the lover, taking up his hat, walked out of

the room. He had scarcely got outside the door when he heard

Wardle's voice talking loudly; and, looking over the banisters,

beheld him, followed by some other gentlemen, coming straight

upstairs. Knowing nothing of the house, Mr. Snodgrass in his

confusion stepped hastily back into the room he had just quitted,

and, passing from thence into an inner apartment (Mr. Wardle's

bedchamber), closed the door softly, just as the persons he had

caught sight of entered the sitting-room. These were Mr. Wardle

and Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle and Mr. Benjamin Allen,

whom he had no difficulty in recognising by their voices."

In this dilemma Mr. Snodgrass remained, for the door was locked

and the key gone, and in desperation he sat himself down upon a

portmanteau and trembled violently. In the meantime Mr. Pickwick,

Mr. Wardle and the rest of the company settled down to dinner, at

which the fat boy made himself conspicuous "by smirking, grinning

and winking with redoubled assiduity." His state of mind grew

worse, when, having at Mr. Wardle's instructions, gone into the

next room to fetch his snuff-box from the dressing-table, he

returned with the palest face "that ever a fat boy wore." In

his effort to acquaint Mr. Pickwick with what he encountered in

the room, his manner became worse and worse, and on the instant

that Mr. Wardle was about to ring for the waiters to remove him

to a place of safety, Mr. Snodgrass, "the captive lover, his face

burning with confusion, suddenly walked in from the bedroom, and

made a comprehensive bow to the company."

"Mr. Snodgrass, who had only waited for a hearing, at once recounted

how he had been placed in his then distressing predicament; how the

fear of giving rise to domestic dissensions had alone prompted him

to avoid Mr. Wardle on his entrance; and how he merely meant to

depart by another door, but, finding it locked, had been compelled

to stay against his will. It was a painful situation to be placed

in; but he now regretted it the less, inasmuch as it afforded him an

opportunity of acknowledging before their mutual friends that he

loved Mr. Wardle's daughter deeply and sincerely, that he was proud

to avow that the feeling was mutual, and that if thousands of miles

were placed between them, or oceans rolled their waters, he could

never for an instant forget those happy days when first--et cetera,

et cetera.

"Having delivered himself to this effect Mr. Snodgrass bowed again,

looked into the crown of his hat, and stepped towards the door."

But he was stopped on the threshold, and Arabella, having taken up

the defence, called on Mr. Wardle to "shake hands with him and order

him some dinner. "A reconciliation took place and Mr. Snodgrass had

dinner at a side-table, and when he had finished drew his chair next

to Emily, without the smallest opposition on the old gentleman's

part. The remainder of the evening passed off very happily "and all

was smiles and shirt collars."

During the next few days much perturbation was evinced by the

Pickwickians at their leader's continual absence from the society

of his admiring friends, and it being unanimously resolved that

he should be called upon to explain himself, Mr. Wardle invited

the "full circle" to dinner again at Osborne's Hotel to give him

the opportunity. After the decanters "had been twice sent round"

Mr. Wardle called upon Mr. Pickwick for his explanation. This was

forthcoming in a pathetic speech, very affecting to all present,

announcing his unalterable decision of retiring for the rest of his

life into the quiet village of Dulwich. "If I have done but little

good," he said, by way of peroration, "I trust I have done less

harm, and that none of my adventures will be other than a source

of amusing and pleasant recollection to me in the decline of life.

God bless you all."

With these words Mr. Pickwick filled and drained a bumper with a

trembling hand; and his eyes moistened as his friends rose with one

accord and pledged him from their hearts. So runs the chronicle,

and so ended the immortal Pickwick Club, in the precincts of

Osborne's Hotel in the Adelphi, which also became the headquarters

of the relatives of Mr. Wardle during their stay in London for the

wedding of his daughter. From here the wedding party set out for

Mr. Pickwick's new abode at Dulwich, from which house the ceremony

took place, and where the wedding was celebrated by a happy

breakfast party afterwards.

[illustration: Osborne's Adelphi Hotel. From a photograph

by T.W.Tyrrell]

To have the distinction of being the venue for such notable events

is something that any self-respecting hotel should be proud of, and

we are sure that Osborne's Hotel will be remembered so long as it

stands for those reasons alone. But it has other reasons for fame,

even if they are more likely to be forgotten, or lightly passed over

by those who keep the records of London's notable landmarks. It

stands to-day in a neighbourhood distinguished for its history, and

has claims to a share in the making of that history.

It is situated, as it has always been, at the corner of John and

Adam Streets, and was first opened in 1777 as the Adelphi New Tavern

and Coffee House. Dickens no doubt knew it well, for the Adelphi

and its neighbourhood attracted him greatly, and its curious old

buildings, side streets and rambling arches often figure in his

books. When a mere boy at work in the blacking factory, down by

the river there, he continually wandered about its quaint byways.

"Osborne's" was a notable house in those days, and if its full

records were available, no doubt many an entertaining story

concerning its activities could be told. As it is, it is known

that "being completely fitted up in the most elegant and convenient

manner for the entertainment of noblemen and gentlemen," as it

boasted in its early days, many notable figures in past history

made it their headquarters.

On the 8th August, 1787, Gibbon stayed there on his arrival from

Lausanne with the completion of his "History," and wrote to Lord

Sheffield to apprise him of the fact. In 1802 Isaac D'Israeli, the

author of Curiosities of Literature and father of the famous Earl of

Beaconsfield, stayed in the hotel after his honeymoon. It is also

on record that George Crabbe, the poet, with his wife resided for a

time there, and that Rowlandson, the caricaturist, died in one of

its rooms in 1827.

Perhaps the most notorious of visitors to it were the King and Queen

of the Sandwich Islands in 1824. Unfortunately, both were victims

to the smallpox epidemic which raged at the time, and died in the

hotel, the latter on the 8th July of that year and the former on the

14th September. The visit of the "illustrious" king, we are told,

gave rise to the popular song, "The King of the Cannibal Islands."

During the war it was acquired as a house of utility for the military.

Before it was acquired for that purpose it was the favoured resort of

business men of the neighbourhood and of certain literary and artistic

coteries, and was the headquarters of the famous O.P. Club. However,

it has returned now to its old-time ways and methods, and we hope it

will long remain a landmark for the Dickens lover and particularly the

Pickwickian devotee.

The last tavern mentioned in The Pickwick Papers is the "excellent

public-house near Shooter's Hill, "to which Mr. Weller, senior,

retired. Unfortunately it was never named, nor has it been

identified. Continuing to drive a coach for twelve months after

the Pickwick Club had ceased to exist, he became afflicted with

gout and was compelled to give up his lifelong calling. The

contents of his pocket-book had been so well invested by Mr.

Pickwick, we are told, that he had a handsome independence for

the purpose of his last days. At Shooter's Hill he was quite

reverenced as an oracle, boasting very much of his intimacy with

Mr. Pickwick, and retaining a most unconquerable aversion to widows.

CHAPTER XVIII

PICKWICK AND THE "GEORGE" INN

Certain traditional legends naturally grow round our old London

landmarks and, when once started, no matter how conjectural, they

are hard to overtake or suppress.

The George Inn, Southwark, is an instance of this, and the legend

that is prone to cling to it is that it was the original of the

White Hart Inn of Pickwick fame; the contention being that Dickens,

when writing so faithfully of the "White Hart" in Chapter X of The

Pickwick Papers, where Sam Weller was first discovered, described

the "George" and called it after its near neighbour, the "White

Hart." This contention, we submit, has no justification whatever.

The only reason, therefore, for referring to it here, is with a

view to dispelling the illusion.

It is surprising that so good a Dickensian as the late J. Ashby

Sterry should have been one of those who favoured the idea. Whether

he was the first to do so we are not aware. But in his very

interesting and informative article entitled "Dickens in Southwark,"

in The English Illustrated Magazine for November, 1888, he states it

as his opinion that the "George" was the original of the "White

Hart," and reverted to the same idea in The Bystander (1901). The

following extract from the former article contains the argument he

used to substantiate his claim:

"Moreover it (the 'George') is especially notable as being the spot

where Mr. Pickwick first encountered the immortal Sam Weller. The

'White Hart' is the name, I am aware, given in the book, but it is

said that Dickens changed the sign in order that the place should

not be too closely identified. This was by no means an unusual

custom with the novelist. I think he did the same thing in Edwin

Drood, where the 'Bull' at Rochester is described under the sign

of the 'Blue Boar.' A similar change was made in Great Expectations,

where the same inn is disguised in like fashion, in the account

of the dinner given after Pip was bound apprentice to Joe Gargery.

The 'White Hart' is close by, on the same side of the way, a little

nearer London Bridge, but little, if anything, is remaining of

the old inn, and the whole of the place and its surroundings have

been modernised.

[illustration: The George Inn, Southwark, in 1858. From an

engraving by Fairholt]

"I, however, had the opportunity of comparing both inns some years

ago, and have no hesitation in saying that the 'George' is the inn

where the irrepressible Alfred Jingle and the elderly Miss Rachel

were discovered by the warm-hearted, hot-tempered Wardle. If you

like to go upstairs you can see the very room where Mr. Jingle

consented to forfeit all claims to the lady's hand for the

consideration of a hundred and twenty pounds. Cannot you fancy,

too, the landlord shouting instructions from those picturesque

flower-decked galleries to Sam in the yard below?"

These deductions and views are not in any way convincing to us;

indeed, we find ourselves in complete disagreement with them,

and few Dickensians, we feel sure, will endorse them.

Mr. Ashby Sterry's argument regarding the "Bull" and the "Blue Boar"

at Rochester proves nothing. Dickens described the "Bull" there in

The Pickwick Papers and called it the "Bull" at Rochester, as he did

the "Leather Bottle" at Cobham, the "Angel" at Bury St. Edmunds, the

"Great White Horse" at Ipswich--to name a few parallel cases. When

he described the "Bull" and called it the "Blue Boar," it was in

another book, Great Expectations, not in Edwin Drood, as stated by

Mr. Ashby Sterry, and its location was a fictitious city, i.e. The

Market Town.

The only case in which Dickens deliberately used the name of one inn

for another was that of the "Maypole" and "King's Head" at Chigwell

in Barnaby Rudge. But in this instance he admitted that he had done

so, although it was scarcely necessary, for the inns were very

dissimilar and the novelist's description of the latter could not

be taken for the former.

The case of the "George" and the "White Hart" is different. They

both stood quite near to each other at the time Dickens was writing

The Pickwick Papers, and were both so named and both famous. There

could be no reason, therefore, for him to describe one and call it

by the other's name.

Although they may not have been identical in all particulars as to

structure, the "George" and the "White Hart" were sufficiently alike

to make it possible for a person of imagination to go over the

"George" and be satisfied that such and such a room might do for

the one in which "Mr. Jingle forfeited all claims to the lady's

hand," and imagine, too, that the galleries could be accepted easily

as those over which "the landlord shouted instructions to Sam in

the Yard." But these flights of fancy could be indulged in even

n the New Inn, Gloucester, or any similar old coaching inn, if one

so desired.

Mr. Percy FitzGerald, the greatest authority on The Pickwick Papers,

is of the same opinion as ourselves on the point, and asks: "Why

should notoriety be attached to the 'White Hart,' from which the

'George' was to be shielded?"

No, the "George" is a wonderfully alluring old inn, and for this

reason Dickensians have a warm place in their hearts for it. But

we have no hesitation in saying that it is not the original of the

"White Hart" of Pickwick and Sam Weller fame.

Another distinguished writer, the American novelist and artist,

F. Hopkinson Smith, in his book, Dickens's London, fell into a

similar blunder. Indeed, his book contains some glaring mistakes,

owing, no doubt, to the fact, which he admits, that he gathered his

information from any Tom, Dick or Harry he came in contact with

during his wanderings. In describing his visit to the "George," he

found incidents from Pickwick to fit every nook and cranny in the

building and quoted them with much conviction. But he quoted no

facts, nor did he give any data to substantiate his statements.

Someone told him it was the original of the "White Hart," as they

told him that the house named Dickens House in Lant Street was where

Dickens once lived, irrespective of the fact that the actual house

was demolished years before. Yet that satisfied him, he took no

trouble to make further enquiries and then imagined the rest. In

regard to the "George" he let his imagination run riot, dilated on

this being Miss Wardle's room, this being the room where the couple

were discovered, and further states that Dickens made the inn a

favourite one of his when a boy in Lant Street, and speaks of the

seat he used to sit in. All of which is sheer nonsense.

Dickens may have known the George Inn in those early days, but being

only a mere boy is not likely to have frequented it. Although in

later years--those of Little Dorrit and the Uncommercial Traveller--it

is quite likely he may have visited it. Indeed, Miss Murray, the

present hostess, tells us he did. Her authority was Abraham Dawson,

a well-known carman and carrier in days gone by, who was a nephew of

W. S. Scholefield who owned the inn at the time. Dawson assured her

that he frequently chatted with Dickens in the coffee-room.

Yet the only occasion, so far as we are aware, that the novelist

actually mentions the inn is in Little Dorrit, Book I, Chapter XXII,

where Maggy, speaking of Tip, says: "If he goes into the 'George'

and writes a letter. . . ."

No, the George Inn is just a fine survival of old days--the old days

of which Dickens wrote--and is similar, in many respects, to what the

'White Hart' used to be. As such Dickensians have a great affection

for it, and there is no need to invent stories about it to justify

their reverence.

Mr. A. St. John Adcock is another writer who steers clear of the

confusion. In The Booklover's London, after referring to the

"White Hart," he goes on to say: "If you step aside up George Yard,

which is next to the 'White Hart' yard, you may see the old George

Inn which, with its low ceilings, ancient rafters and old wooden

galleries outside, closely resembles what the 'White Hart' used to

be, and gives us an idea of the inn yards in which the strolling

players of Shakespeare's time used to set up their stages."

Let us leave it at that and retain our regard for the old inn for

what it is, rather than for what it is not.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Inns and Taverns of "Pickwick", by B.W. Matz