bour-in-vain, or the Devil in a Tub, at Canterbury, alludes to the old fable of washing the Blackamoor white. The celebrated Devil Tavern, near Temple-Bar, now no more, was an instance of a remarkable misnomer: the sign, properly speaking, was that of St. Dunstan, the patron of the neighbouring church, and represented him in the act of performing that signal exploit of pulling the Devil by the nose with a huge pair of tongs. Notwithstanding this humiliating condition of his infernal majesty, by a natural obliquity in our minds, the sign was unhandsomely transferred from the saint to the devil, from whom the tavern has been called time out of mind.

"The Chequer, so common at the door of a public-house, is said to have been intended formerly as an intimation that draught-boards were kept within for the entertainment of the customers. The colours of the Chequer used to be red and white, whence the houses so distinguished were called red houses; and they were at length so numerous, that a red house became a general name for a tavern, and is used as such in many of the old plays. I must disagree with those who suppose the Chequer to refer to the arms of a duke of Norfolk, who had formerly the profits of a duty upon ale-houses; for the arms alluded to, are those of Maltravers, quartered only by the dukes of Norfolk, which are chequers or and azure, or blue and gold; colours which do not occur at the Chequer inn.

"The solemn mystical sign of the World's End is variously adumbrated. Sometimes the emblem is a man and a woman walking arm-in-arm, with the following lines underneath :

I'll go with my friend

To the world's end.

Sometimes it is the figure of a globe on fire, as at Chelsea. The various signs of the Salutation exhibit divers specimens of dress and manners, according to their dates. Sometimes we behold two fine gentlemen of the last century, equipped en cavalier, and exchanging most courteous salutes, to the effect of which their horses conspire by their caperings and curvettings. Sometimes two antiquated beaux, with long buckramed accoutrements and flowing perukes, joining hands, and bowing almost to the ground. The Welcome Rodney to the Prince of Wales,' at Lambeth, is the only 'modern Salutation I recollect.

"We are put in mind of a striking period of our history by the Saracen's Head. The rough manner in which that people treated our crusaders, and the sounding tales that were told of them by those who returned from engaging with them to their own country, gave this sign the formidable appearance it wears to this day.

"The local history which signs afford us is not to be despised. The Mitre at Lambeth, and the Hop-pole at Worcester, are specimens of this sort. Bishop Blaise, the patron of the woolcombers, adorns a sign in most towns which have any connection with the woollen manufacture. The Dog and Bear, in the Borough, perpetuates the memory of the Bear-Garden there: and Simon the Tanner, as I have said before, justly holds a place among the brethren of that mystery at Bermondsey.

"It is pleasant enough to remark the contests about the point of originality between neighbouring signs of the same description. Some years ago the disputes ran very high between the Magpies on the Windsor road; and the pride of antiquity had nearly carried back their claims to the Ark itself.

We had accordingly the Magpie, the Old Magpie, and the Old Original Magpie.

66

Sign-post poetry is much too extensive a field for me to enter upon in this place; but I almost wonder that the prevailing taste for scraps and collections of all sorts, has not set some of my worthy contemporaries to work upon these specimens. I think admirers in this age might be found for them; and it is evident how fruitful such a compilation would be in subjects for the painters and engravers of the day, who are grasping at every thing that can be embodied and represented, and laying the whole world under contribution to their arts. The young student, who sets out from the Bull inn, in Holborn, to travel to Oxford, may remark his approach to the seat of the Muses, in the following models of ale-house poetry.

• Fine Purl rare o,
Fit for a hero.

If not in haste,
Step in and taste.'

'I am a Fox, you plainly see;
There is no harm can come of me;
My master he has plac'd me here,
To let you know he sells good beer.'

"I have now, Mr. Olive-Branch, nearly exhausted my sign-post erudition, which may perhaps have afforded some information that is new and interesting to many of your readers. To you, at least, it may show what a multitude of topics lie before you, that have scarcely been breathed upon, and how objects that seem of no importance are connected with other objects of real magnitude in

the system of life, and supply sources of amusement, and matter for contemplation.

"Yours," &c.

As my correspondent has left me a little room, I think it will be an act of gratitude towards him to insert a short epistle I received some weeks ago, which will help to vindicate the importance of his subject, by showing on how much minuter frivolities the thoughts of half the world are exercised.

66.

SIR,

66 TO MR. SIMON OLIVE-BRANCH.

Among the various articles of useful information with which our diurnal prints abound, there are none which I breakfast upon with greater appetite than those paragraphs which give us an account of the motions of our superiors. What particular satisfaction must it afford readers of the class to which I belong, to be informed that a great man dined at ten o'clock in the evening, got into his post-chaise at twelve, and, while he was taking his afternoon's nap, was conveyed to Brighthelmstone to supper at nine the next morning!

"I am only kept from travelling by one considération, which I conceive is a pretty ordinary one among persons of circumscribed incomes. In this inability, however, I am greatly consoled by the perusal of such books and papers as describe the travels of others. As I have a pious confidence in the veracity of all writers of travels, especially if they write their own, I take a more than common

interest in this sort of reading, and my mind is full . of a new creation, into which I can slip at pleasure, when any thing disgusts me in the visible world. So extensive has been my reading on these subjects, that I have very little to learn at present from such as go about the world by day-light: but as it is of late the custom to peregrinate by night, I think a volume of road-dreams, or, where they have lamps in their carriages, highway lucubrations, would not be unacceptable to the public.

"But to return to the daily accounts which we receive of those that move in a sphere above us, I fear I cannot make your readers sensible of the satisfaction I have just enjoyed, from being positively informed that the duke of Ditchend, who reposed yesterday at Newmarket, sleeps to-morrow in town, and being able to make up my mind as to the fact of lord Feeble's arrival at Bath. Sir John Garçon, driving down Pall-Mall, in his phaëton, gives a pleasing jog to my spirits; lord Canaille's losses at play inspire me with pathetic emotions; lady Jumper's delivery excites my sympathies; and Dr. Gobblestone's gout throws me into a delicious melancholy. My soul feasts with delight on the motions of the court; and my bosom glows with satisfaction when I read of a journey to Windsor, and am assured that the royal family have all had their dinner. I sometimes imagine myself controuler of the universe, and that these accounts are officially laid before me. In short, it is impossible to tell you how much tender anxiety is bred in me for my species by this kind of reading, and how much I learn to forget myself in these glowing pictures and moving details of other men's actions and coucerns. Indeed, I would have every motion of the Great, however minute, announced in the way.