sional visit to Boston, I usually put up at the Eastern Stage
House, perhaps because it was there that the stage-coach by which I
arrived at the city discharged its passengers. It was an old fashioned
establishment, which but for the absence of galleries, might remind one
of the famous Tabard Inn, from which Chaucer's pilgrims set out. For its
capacious yard, in which the passengers alighted, and where they
remounted for their homeward journey, was approached through a narrow
cross street, and in its ample stables the stage-horses took their rest
and refreshment. The front entrance to the tavern was under an archway on
Ann street, loyally named for the old queen; for which title was not long
ago senselessly substituted the unsuggestive appellation of North street.
It has long since given place to more modern edifices. It was a
comfortable place of temporary residence, and in illustration of former
manners I remember one practice which I have never seen elsewhere. At the
plate of each guest, at dinner, was placed a small decanter of brandy,
holding I suppose half-a-pint of that liquor, and for which no extra
charge appeared in the bill, which account itself was moderate enough
compared with the inordinate hotel reckonings of the present day.

IX.

In small matters, as well as in great, history repeats itself. Thus, the
anachronic emotion of Miss ---- (on page 17) finds its parallel in
"Facetiae Poggii," written at Florence, in the year 1450, of which the
following story is one:--

"Cyriac of Ancona, a wordy man and much given to talk, was once deploring
in our presence the fall and ruin of the Roman empire, and seemed to be
vehemently grieved at it. Then Anthony Lusco, a most learned man, who
also stood by, said, jeering at the silly grief of the fellow, 'He is
very like a man of Milan, who, hearing on a feast day one of the race of
minstrels, who are wont to sing the deeds of departed heroes to the
people, reciting the death of Roland, who was slain about seven hundred
years before in battle, fell at once a-weeping bitterly, and when he got
home to his wife, and she saw him sad and sighing, and asked what was the
matter, "Alas! alas! wife," he said, "we are as good as dead and gone."
"Why, man," she answered, "what dreadful thing has befallen you? Take
comfort and come to supper." But he, when he went on sobbing and sighing,
and would take no food, and his wife pressed him to tell the cause of his
woe, at last