Upon its battered sign, if you look closely enough, you may still
see the Three Anglers themselves, somewhat worn and dim with time
and stress of weather, yet preserving their jollity through it all
with an heroic fortitude - as they doubtless will do until they
fade away altogether.
It is an inn with raftered ceilings, and narrow, winding passageways;
an inn with long, low chambers full of unexpected nooks and corners,
with great four-post beds built for tired giants it would seem, and
wide, deep chimneys reminiscent of Gargantuan rounds of beef; an inn
whose very walls seem to exude comfort, as it were - the solid
comfortable comfort of a bygone age.
Of all the many rooms here to be found I love best that which is
called the Sanded Parlour. Never were wainscoted walls of a mellower
tone, never was pewter more gleaming, never were things more bright
and speckless, from the worn, quaint andirons on the hearth to the
brass-bound blunderbuss, with the two ancient fishing-rods above.
At one end of the room was a long, low casement, and here I leaned,
watching the river near-by, and listening to its never-ceasing murmur.
Pages:
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91