The Tabard has passed away! Another of the relics of old London—a link between the picturesque past and the prosaic present—rich as it was in remembrances associated with the birthtime of English poetry, is now a thing of the past. We have but few of these relics of Bygone London remaining; it is true the Tower, St. John's Gate, and the house of Sir John Crosby still linger with us; but who knows how soon the site of the Tower will be wanted for a railway station, the gateway of the old knights be found to be an obstruction in the way of Pickford's vans, and the old Bishopsgate Street house swept away by the broom of "improvement?"

If there be one spot within the bounds of London that may be especially termed classic—which may be looked upon as sacred to poetry—that spot is Southwark, despite its hop warehouses, in the midst of which stood the Tabard. The legend of the ferryman's daughter and the foundation of the monastery and church of St. Mary Overies is redolent of romance. In Clink Street, Shakespeare lived and wrote, and in the theatre on Bankside he gave utterance to his inspired imaginings; in St. Saviour's Church sleeps Gower, the contemporary of Chaucer; and in one grave repose Fletcher and Massinger; whilst on Bankside, in twin fraternity, dwelt Beaumont and Fletcher.

More than to others should this spot and the Tabard be dear to the citizens of London, for he to whose shrine pilgrims of the hostelry were wending their way was the son of a London merchant; and he who describes, and has rendered immortal, that riding to Canterbury, in April of the year of grace, 1383, was born within the walls of the City.

The Tabard owed its origin to the Abbey of Newere Mynstre, Winchester, which was founded by King Alfred, and afterwards removed outside the walls, when it assumed the name of Hyde Abbey, temp. Henry I. Alwyn, the eighth abbot, was uncle to King Harold, and fought, with twelve of his monks, under his standard at Hastings. In process of time the Abbey waxed rich, and in 1307 the Abbot purchased a plot of land near the palace of the Bishop of Winchester, and thereon, as Stow informs us, "built a faire house for him and his train when he came to the City to Parliament." At this spot was a convergence of roads from the southern and western counties, from whence started eastward "The Pilgrim's Road" to Canterbury, in consequence of which the Abbot built, in close contiguity, a hostelry for the reception of pilgrims, where they might repose until a sufficient number was gathered together to proceed in company for protection from the dangers of the road. It was built in the picturesque style of the period, with gables to the street, cross timberings and latticed windows; in the interior was a large courtyard, with balustraded galleries running round it, leading to dormitories; and there was a "Pilgrims' Hall," a large room some 45 feet in length, with open fireplaces and long tables, at which the pilgrims dined and supped during their sojourn. At the dissolution, 1538, it was sold, along with the Abbot's House, and is described as "The Tabard of the Monastery of Hyde, and the Abbot's place, with the stables and gardens belonging thereunto." Still, however, it retained its character of an inn, and in the reign of Elizabeth was repaired and partially rebuilt by "Master J. Preston." A view of it, as it then appeared, is given in Urry's edition of Chaucer, 1721, representing it in the old timbered and gabled style, with a beam stretching across the road, from which the swinging and creaking sign was pendant, and on which was an inscription,—"This is the Inn where Sir Jeffry Chaucer and the nine-and-twenty pilgrims lay on their journey to Canterbury, anno 1383." In 1673, in pursuance of an Act of Parliament, this cross beam, with its supporting posts, was taken down, but the inscription, after the rebuilding, was painted over the gateway, where it remained until 1813, when it was erased.

The street front of the inn was consumed in the great fire of Southwark, 1676, along with 600 other houses, but was immediately rebuilt, presumably in facsimile of the original, with its courtyard, galleries, pilgrims' hall, and quaint old sleeping-rooms, and it is possible that some parts which escaped the fire may have been a portion of the Tabard, where Chaucer sat as "a chiel takin' notes," and where the pretty prioress, the wife of Bath, the knight and the squire, and the Sumpnour and the Pardoner chatted and laughed and flirted; certainly the courtyard was the identical spot where the merry party mounted their nags and palfreys, to ride forth along the "Pilgrims' Road" to St. Thomas's shrine. The pilgrims' room was divided into three apartments; on its walls was formerly a fragment of tapestry, representing a procession of pilgrims, which afterwards disappeared. After the fire, says Aubrey, "the ignorant landlord or tenant, instead of the ancient sign, put up the Talbot or Dog." Truly he must have been ignorant or destitute of veneration for antiquity or poetical feeling, to commit such an act of vandalism, and his successors cannot have been much better not to have restored the old time-honoured designation.

For all time will the name of Harry Bailly, the jovial landlord of the Tabard towards the end of the fourteenth and beginning of the fifteenth centuries, be remembered. He was a notable burgess of Southwark, and evidently a popular character; he is supposed to be identical with Henry Tite Morton, who, in 1380, was assessed, with his wife Christiana, at 2s. to a subsidy, rented the customs of the borough in fee farm at £10 per annum; was bailiff to Southwark, whence his appellation, Henry le Bailly; represented the borough in the Parliament of Westminster, 50 Edward III., and in that of Gloucester 2 Richard II. A jolly fellow he seems to have been, well adapted for his profession:—

It was in the merry spring time of the year 1383, as the inscription on the sign informs us—

a time of the year when

that Chaucer and his company met at the Tabard.

St. Thomas of Canterbury was murdered in the year 1170, by four knights, instigated thereto by a passionate exclamation of King Henry II., who was at feud with him relative to the respective rights of Monarchy and the church, and his shrine during the intervening years had become one of the most popular in the kingdom; the Saxon people, down-trodden by their Norman lords, looking upon him as a sort of clerical Robin Hood, the defender of the rights of the poor against Regal and Baronial oppression, and in process of time it had become resplendant with precious metals and gems, the offerings of pious devotees. Says Chaucer—

He then gives a series of photographs of the pilgrims, representatives of various classes of the people of England at a most eventful period of our history—a period when Wycliffe was laying the foundations of the Protestant Church; when Wat Tyler and his fellow serfs were rising in assertion of their liberties; when Chaucer and Gower were fashioning the English language into shape, as contradistinguished from the Norman-French of the Court; when the feeble Richard occupied the throne, to be shortly driven hence by his cousin Bolingbroke, which eventually led to the Wars of the Roses, and resulted in the extinction of a vast number of the Norman families, rendering it easier for the Saxon element of the kingdom afterwards to gain the ascendancy.

Amongst the company are a knight, a worthy man, who had done deeds of prowess in all parts of the world, yet was meek as a maid, who was dressed in a "fustian gipon, alle besmattered" with marks of travel; along with him was his son, "a younge squire, a lover and lusty bachelor," with "lockes curl'd, as they were laid in press;" also his attendant, a yeoman "clad in green," and under his belt "a sheaf of peacock arrows bright and keen."

There was also a prioress

who sung the service "entuned in her nose full sweetly, and French she spoke full fair and fetisly, after the school of Stratford-atte-Bow."

"A friar there was, a wanton and merry Limitour (a licensed beggar), a full solemne man, who

There as he wist (to those he knew) to have a good pittance." Who

A merchant with a forked beard, "a Flandrish beaver hat, and bootes clasped fair and fetisly."

A threadbare clerk of Oxenford, on a horse as "lean as a rake," who would rather have twenty bookes of Aristotle and his philosophy,

A sergeant-at-law, "wary and wise, that often had been at the Porvis" (the portico of St. Paul's, where lawyers met for consultation).

A Frankelin, with white beard and sanguine complexion, and a silken "Gipciere" (purse) hanging from his girdle; a pompous sort of man, fond of good living, in whose house "snowed meat and drink, who was an important man in his county, lord and sire at sessions, high sheriff, and full often knight of the shire."

A haberdasher, a carpenter, a webbe (weaver), a dyer, and a tapiser; citizens with pouches full of silver; "yclothed in one livery of a solemn and great fraternity."

and all fitted by wisdom to be aldermen.

With them had they a cook, "to boil the chickens and the marrow bones," who, perhaps in consequence of the hot nature of his vocation, had a wondrous penchant for "draughts of London ale."

A shipman, "who rode upon a rouncy (hack) as best he could," somewhat after the style of modern mariners.

A doctor of physic, "well grounded in astronomy," who

A wife of Bath, who had had five husbands and was ready for a sixth; a buxom dame, dressed in scarlet hosen and hat as broad as a buckler, who smirked and smiled upon the squire, much as the widow Wadman did, in an after age, upon Uncle Toby.

A poore parson, "rich of holy thought and work," a learned man and clerk "that Christe's Gospel woulde preach living at home in his parish instead of running up to London," unto St. Paul's, to seek for a chantry for souls.

With whom was his brother, a ploughman, "that had of dung laid many of fother: a true swinker, who would thresh and dike and delve for Christ's sake, for every poore wight, withouten hire, if it lay in his might."

A miller, "a stout carle for the nones, full big of brawn and eke of bones, with beard red as any sow or fox, a wart on the cop of his nose, whence sprouted a crop of heres, red as the bristles of a sowe's ears; a jangler and goliardeis (reveller), who could well stealen corn and tollen thrice," and moreover "a baggepipe well could he blow and soun, and there withal he brought us out of town."

A Manciple, or purchaser of victuals for Inns of Court.

A Reeve, or land steward, a slender, choleric man, closely shaven and shorn, with calfless legs, who "ever rode hinderest of the rout."

A Sumpnour, or appositor of an Ecclesiastical court, "with a fine red cherubinne's face and a visage with knobs on his cheeks, of which children were afraid; a great drinker and garlic eater, and likerous (lecherous) as a sparrow."

His friend, a Pardoner, fresh from Rome, with a wallet "bretful of pardons and relics," making more money of them in a day than the parson of the parish in "moneths tway."

When this motley company had settled their reckoning with Harry Bailly, their host, he offered to be their guide to Canterbury, and as this was not the time when pilgrims hobbled along with peas in their shoes, he suggested that, to beguile the tedium of the way, they should each tell a tale, one going and another returning, and that he who told the best, should, on their return to the Tabard, be entertained at supper at the cost of the rest, which proposition was carried by acclamation; and the following morning the merry party mounted their nags in the court-yard and set forth, headed by the landlord, beside whom rode the miller, playing lustily on his bag-pipes until they got clear of the town, when the tale-telling commenced.

It may be supposed that they arrived safely at Canterbury, knelt at the shrine of the martyr, purchased their brooches, in evidence of their having been there, and caroused again on their return in the Pilgrims' Hall; but Chaucer leaves them on the road, prevented, perhaps, by troubles or death from giving the tales of the backward journey.

As the pilgrimages are coming into fashion, it may be that fresh gatherings may take place in Southwark; but it will not be at the Tabard, under the guidance of Harry Bailly, but at the London Bridge terminus, under the leadership of Cook, the excursionist; and it is to be feared that, instead of a Chaucer to depict the humours of the journey, their proceedings will be narrated by a newspaper correspondent.