where we understood we should meet with every thing comfortable; but, to
our disappointment, we found a most miserable, dirty pot-house, destitute
of even the common comforts of life. We were literally obliged to stoop,
in order to gain access to the Kitchen, which contained a small bed, and
a few chairs; through this an elderly woman conduced us to what she
distinguished by the name of a Parlour: in this room the furniture
consisted of two beds, a dirty table, and a few chairs. With disgust we
left this miserable hovel, and contented ourselves with a bason of milk:
we declined eating the bread, or rather oatmeal cake, which was of the
coarsest and hardest nature. I here recollected Shenstone’s
complimentary lines on an Inn, but could not apply them on the present
occasion:
“Whoe’er has travell’d life’s dull round,
Where’er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think that he has found
The warmest welcome at an Inn.” {49}
The road from Haverford to Newgin we found very uninteresting; and the
shell of