architecture. The "White Hart" in
Southwark retained its galleries on the north and east side of its
yard until 1889, though a modern tavern replaced the south and main
portion of the building in 1865-6. This was a noted inn, bearing as
its sign a badge of Richard II, derived from his mother Joan of Kent.
Jack Cade stayed there while he was trying to capture London, and
another "immortal" flits across the stage, Master Sam Weller, of
_Pickwick_ fame. A galleried inn still remains at Southwark, a great
coaching and carriers' hostel, the "George." It is but a fragment of
its former greatness, and the present building was erected soon after
the fire in 1676, and still retains its picturesqueness.

The glory has passed from most of these London inns. Formerly their
yards resounded with the strains of the merry post-horn, and carriers'
carts were as plentiful as omnibuses now are. In the fine yard of the
"Saracen's Head," Aldgate, you can picture the busy scene, though the
building has ceased to be an inn, and if you wished to travel to
Norwich there you would have found your coach ready for you. The old
"Bell Savage," which derives its name from one Savage who kept the
"Bell on the Hoop," and not from any beautiful girl "La Belle
Sauvage," was a great coaching centre, and so were the "Swan with two
Necks," Lad Lane, the "Spread Eagle" and "Cross Keys" in Gracechurch
Street, the "White Horse," Fetter Lane, and the "Angel," behind St.
Clements. As we do not propose to linger long in London, and prefer
the country towns and villages where relics of old English life
survive, we will hie to one of these noted hostelries, book our seats
on a Phantom coach, and haste away from the great city which has dealt
so mercilessly with its ancient buildings. It is the last few years
which have wrought the mischief. Many of these old inns lingered on
till the 'eighties. Since then their destruction has been rapid, and
the huge caravanserais, the "Cecil," the "Ritz," the "Savoy," and the
"Metropole," have supplanted the old Saracen's Heads, the Bulls, the
Bells, and the Boars that satisfied the needs of our forefathers in a
less luxurious age.

Let us travel first along the old York road, or rather select our
route, going by way of Ware, Tottenham, Edmonton, and Waltham Cross,
Hatfield and Stevenage, or through Barnet, until we arrive at the
Wheat Sheaf Inn on Alconbury Hill, past Little Stukeley, where the two
roads conjoin and "the miles