Public ledger. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1865-1893, 1873-07-31
An ancient Inn.

From the Boston fost.I
Ii is within few years Of five centu-
ries since old Godfrey Chaucer the
morning star of English song, wrote
his never-to. be-forgotten Canterbury
Tales" The gallant and warllke Ed
ward the Third was reigning in what was
then really merrie England" Chaucer
himself was gay and wealthy conrtler'
the brother-in-law Of the royal duke,
John Gaunt; and the poem reflected,
with quaint fidelity, the manners and
habits of that brilliant and chlvalrous
time. An event has just occurred in
London which wildly recalls his far-ofi
age, and revives the sprightly memory OF
the merry party Of pilgrims who be-
guiled with romance their pilgrimage to
A Rockets shrine. The "Tabard Inn
has been knocked down to the highest
bidder by the hammer OF nineteenth
century auctioneer. IL is an odd old
structure, with many gables and deep,
sloping roofs, narrow windows and pro-
truding beams, an old-fashioned hostelry,
and queer. low studded rooms; and as a
relic of antiquity it would attract the
attention of the passer-bY. But when 1t
transpres that this is the very inn from
which Chaucer's pilgrims set out on
their iocund jaunt to Canterbury, and
that portions of it still remain IN the
state in which the Patriarch of English
poetry himself was wont to see 1t, the
"Tabard grows greatly in our genera
ton. Here, in this same broad court
yard, the pilgrims for the first time met
m this eccentrically shaped, uneven hall
they sat at their bippocras and oaten
cakes to discuss the details OF their
Journey. We may easily imagine mine
host, bold of his speech, and the
knight, with his chiyalrous mieni the
gay young squire of cured locks, and
the coy prioress, wearing her bracelet
inscribed with the motto, Love con
ouers all things" the jaunty monk,
who ties his hood with true lover s
knot nor should the poor parson, rich
in holy thought and work, nor the
threadbare Oxford clerk, whose horse
was as lean as a rake" be forgotten from
the eoodly company, much less the Jolly
Franklin. the gourmand of the party,
and the wife of Bath, with her shrewd
cenceits and witty sallies.
The Tabard " stands in the midst OF
a district dotted with historic memorials,
and there is an odd contrast between
the crowding and hustle Of the modern
life. which is suIging oil around it, and
the presence of these relics of time
that has long gone by and people who
have been centuries dead. tits situated
| in a nook Of Southwark, across the
Thames from st. PauPs, and not far
from London Bridge, ever alive with its
human tides. Near by is the house
where Peter the Great once lodged; IN
this vicinity pious Evelyn cultivated his
pretty urbausgarden; just in sight looms
The sncient spire Of ST. Saviour's, within
whose darksome and neglected vaults
sleep Cover, Chaucer's follower, the au
thor OF 1.-The Lovers Confession, and
beaumont and Fletcher, the twin bards
| of Elizabeth's time. These are irreverenl
DAYS, and it is probable that ere long
the memorials of teeming and chlval-
rous past will be swept quite away be
fore the craving for more room Of the
restless and practical present. The Ia
bard itself is already doomed. Its veneer
able walls are to be pulled down with all
uuholy speed, and in their place will rise
the commonplace and ere long sooty edl
6ce of hop factory. The most suggest
i've memento of Chancer is to be sacri-
feed to the British thirst for beer, tbs
quiet retreat of the gentle and Iocund
| Canterbury pilgrims is TO become NOISY
mart of feyerish trade. Substantial
county squires may well exclaim against
the Vandalism Of this revolutionary age,
and will be fain to liken the good old
Tabard to the Constitution; both, they
will say, with their fine traditions and
aroma OF purer ages, when lords were
lords indeed, and chivalry was the life
blood Of society, and democracy an IN
known heresy. are sueeumbing TO the
rage for gain and the vengeance OF the
moor upon the rich. Few Englishmen,
inded, Eill see without sadness Chaucer I
favorite inn 20 the way Of the lusty old
poet himself; for with It probably disap
pears the last relic upon which the light
Of the early dawn Of English pOesy was
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