Here, then, is the original story of the famous inscription, but it does not necessarily prove that this melancholy poet did not also inscribe it at Henley-on-Thames and elsewhere, notably at the “White Swan,” at that quite different and far-distant place from the Thames-side Henley, Henley-in-Arden, Warwickshire; an old-fashioned house still in existence, and claiming to date from 1358. [Illustration: HENLEY-IN-ARDEN, AND THE “WHITE SWAN.”] If the story of the “Red Lion” at the Oxfordshire Henley be a myth, as it is held to be, it is one of very considerable age, and one that has not only misled uncounted myriads of writers, but will continue to do so until the end of time. There is no disabling the flying _canard_, no overtaking the original lie, howsoever hard you strive; and as the famous stanza really _was_ at one time to be seen on a window of the “Red Lion” (whether written there by Shenstone or another), it really seems that there is a way out of the dilemma that probably has never until now been considered. Shenstone resided on the Shropshire border, near Henley-in-Arden, but on his journeys to and from London must often have stayed at the “Red Lion,” Henley-on-Thames, then on one of the two principal coach-routes; and it is quite probable that he was so pleased with the last stanza of “Freedom,” and so satisfied with its peculiar fitness for inn windows, that he inscribed it at both places, if not indeed at others as well: To thee, fair Freedom! I retire, From flattery, feasting, dice and din; Nor art thou found in homes much higher Than the lone cot or humble Inn. ’Tis here with boundless power I reign, And every health which I begin, Converts dull port to bright champagne; For Freedom crowns it, at an Inn. I fly from pomp, I fly from state, I fly from falsehood’s specious grin; Freedom I love, and form I hate, And choose my lodgings at an Inn. Here, waiter! take my sordid ore, Which lacqueys else might hope to win; It buys what Courts have not in store, It buys me Freedom, at an Inn. And now once more I shape my way Through rain or shine, through thick or thin, Secure to meet, at close of day, With kind reception at an Inn. _Whoe’er has travelled life’s dull round, Where’er his stages may have been, May sigh to think how oft he found The warmest welcome--at an Inn._ Misquotation--sometimes a vice, occasionally a great improvement upon the original--has constantly rendered the last two lines: May sigh to think, he _still_ has found _His_ warmest welcome at an inn; and here, it seems, the use of posterity is the better. Neither at the “White Swan” nor the “Red Lion” is the inscription now to be found. Dean Swift’s bitter jest, by way of advice to the landlord, scratched on a window of the “Three Crosses” inn at Willoughby, on the road to Holyhead, is certainly the next most celebrated. It runs: