Among old New England inns; being an account of little journeys to various quaint inns and hostelries of colonial New England . choly account of his trip from Burlingtonto St. Albans: I had an uncomfortableseat in the hind part of the wagon upon themail bag and other goods. I might, indeed,have sat in front along with the driver, butmy legs would have been cramped betweena large chest and the fore part of the two evils I chose the least: but I shallnever forget the shaking, jolting, jumblingand tossing, which I experienced over thisdisagreeable road, up and down steep hills,which obli
Among old New England inns; being an account of little journeys to various quaint inns and hostelries of colonial New England . choly account of his trip from Burlingtonto St. Albans: I had an uncomfortableseat in the hind part of the wagon upon themail bag and other goods. I might, indeed,have sat in front along with the driver, butmy legs would have been cramped betweena large chest and the fore part of the two evils I chose the least: but I shallnever forget the shaking, jolting, jumblingand tossing, which I experienced over thisdisagreeable road, up and down steep hills,which obliged me to alight, (for we had onlytwo poor jaded horses to drag us) and fagthrough the sand and dust exposed to a burn-ing sun. When we got into our delectablevehicle again, our situation was just as bad;for the road in many parts was continuallyobstructed by large stone; stumps of trees,and fallen timber; deep ruts and holes, overwhich, to use an American phrase, we were* waggond most unmercifully. Perhapsthe nature of the country, as well as tem-perament, had, after all, something to dowitH these differing accounts. 330. On the Road It would be interesting to know whetherLambert rested his weary bones, on thatjourney to Canada, at the Eagle Tavern,East Poultney, Vermont. It was there inhis time as it is to-day, right across the roadfrom the village green and exceedingly hos-pitable in aspect, though it now takes in onlyan occasional guest for whom provision can-not elsewhere be found. In Revolutionarydays the house was a famous rallying cen-tre, and it was here that Captain WilliamWatson delivered that famous toast: Theenemies of our country, — may they havecobweb breeches, porcupine saddle, a hardtrotting horse and an eternal journey. Itwas this doughty captain, too, who, uponthe death of his good dog, Comus, placedthe remains in a wooden box and buriedthem beside the road back of the tavern,erecting, to mark the spot, a stone withthis inscription: Comus is dead! Good dog,
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