—The Sporting Monk, the prototype of the Hunting Parson of more recent days:— An outrydere that lovede venerye; A manly man, to ben an abbot able. Ful many a deynte hors hadde he in stable: * * * * * Greyhoundes he hadde as swifte as fowel in flight; Of prikyng and of huntyng for the hare Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare. —The easy-going Friar, who “sweetely herde confessioun”:— And pleasant was his absolucioun * * * * * He knew the tavernes well in every toun, And everych hostiler and tappestere. {202} —The Merchant with his forked beard and “Flaundrisch bevere hat”—The Clerk of Oxenford—The Sergeant of Law, “war and wys”—The Franklin—The Ploughman—The Cook, and every other of that goodly company—How fresh their pictures are to-day! Each touch, each tint, as clear, as bright, as though the great father of English poetry had but yesterday laid aside his pencil! And then the Host, none other than the Henry Bayley of the Tabard, who represented the borough of Southwark in Parliament in 1376, and again in 1378, how interesting it is to observe his demeanour, as depicted by Chaucer. Quite at his ease, and on an equality with his guests, he talks with them, jests with them, in person presides over the table, acts as umpire and judge of the tales they tell upon the journey, and generally behaves more like a man who entertains his friends than a landlord serving his guests; and, be it remembered, these guests were not by any means of the lowest rank of life: A seemly man our hoste was withal, For to have ben a marshall in an hall, A large man he was with eyen steep, A fairer burgess was there none in Chepe: Bold of his speeche, and wys and well y-taught, And of manhood him lackede righte noughte. The old Tabard was partly burnt down in the great Southwark fire in 1676, and on rebuilding the ruined portion “that ignorant landlord or tenant,” Aubrey tells us, “instead of the ancient sign of the Tabard put up the Talbot or doge.” In this condition it remained until a few years ago, when, despite the protests of the antiquarian world, despite the pages of remonstrance with which the newspapers and magazines were filled, it was pulled down, and is now replaced by a tall brick building. Had we not enough and to spare of these tall brick buildings? [Illustration: The Tabard in 1722.] At the time when Knight wrote his _History of London_, the original house was sufficiently complete for him to leave us a description of the old arched entrance to the inn-yard, the balustraded galleries on which the bedrooms opened, the gabled roofs, the panelled rooms, and last, {203} but not least, the Pilgrim’s room, which tradition said was the veritable scene of the supper on the night before the guests set out upon their world-famed pilgrimage.