“Oh, how different it is now!” Betty said, looking at the crowded warehouses and dingy houses along the waterside. “There’s nothing of it left.” “Nothing but the names of streets. Come down this one, now called Park Street. Look. That turning is Rose Alley.” “Then here was the Rose Theatre?” Betty exclaimed, glancing up the dingy, grimy little road. “Now look at the tablet on this brewery which tells us that here stood the Globe Theatre. It may have done; though some people think it is not the exact site.” They walked farther along by the river’s edge, towards the next bridge, till Betty saw painted up at the entrance to another dingy street, _Bear Gardens_. “From that name you know that you are on the spot where some of the poor bears were baited,” said Godmother, “and having so recently seen Southwark as it _was_, you can in imagination sweep away all these dreary streets and see the green fields and gardens round each of the separate buildings. Now we’ll go back to London Bridge, and walk straight on from it up what is now called the Borough High Street in Southwark. “This,” she explained when they reached the crowded thoroughfare, “as you remember, was the country road along which, in the fourteenth century, the pilgrims passed on their way to Canterbury. Look on the left of the street for names of turnings which will bring the line of inns back to your memory. Here,”—she stopped at a turning called Talbot Yard—“was the _Tabard_ you visited in Chaucer’s day, and as it was standing when Shakespeare lived here, he too must often have visited it.” “But why isn’t it called _Tabard_ Yard?” “It was burnt down about seventy years after Shakespeare’s day, and rebuilt and re-christened, but this is the actual place on which the old Tabard stood. Let us cross the road. Do you see that Court nearly opposite?” “_St. Margaret’s Court_,” Betty read as they turned into a dingy-looking place with rather old but very poverty-stricken houses on either side. “Why, this must be where St. Margaret’s Church stood, and where we saw the Miracle play in the Middle Ages!” “It is. The church was still there when Shakespeare lived, though I doubt whether he saw a Miracle play acted. They had gone out of fashion in his day.” “Well, I’m glad that at least the _names_ of the old places are kept,” sighed Betty, “for there’s nothing else, is there? It’s all ugly and dirty and _modern_ now. How I wish even one bit of an old inn was left!” “Well, you have your wish,” said Godmother. “There _is_ one tiny bit of an inn left standing. Come in here.” They recrossed the road, and at No. 77 in the High Street entered a yard, the end of which was occupied by the carts and other belongings of a railway. But on the right, with its two rows of wooden galleries still there, stretched one wall of an ancient tavern.