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 BARNABY RUDGE.

CHAPTER THE FIRST.

In the year 1775, there stood upon the borders of Epping Forest, at a distance of about twelve miles from London — measuring from the Standard in Cornhill, or rather from the spot on or near to which the Standard used to be in days of yore — a house of public entertainment, called the Maypole; which fact was demonstrated to all such travellers as could neither read nor write (and sixty-six years ago, a vast number, both of travellers and stay-at-homes, were in this condition) by the emblem reared on the roadside, over against the house, which, if not of those goodly proportions that Maypoles were wont to present in olden times, was a fair young ash, thirty feet in height, and straight as any arrow that ever English yeoman drew.

The Maypole — by which term, from henceforth is meant the house, and not its sign — the Maypole was an old building, with more gable-ends than a lazy man would care to count on a sunny day; huge zig-zag chimneys, out of whichh it seemed as though even smoke could not choose but come in more than naturally fantastic shapes, imparted to it in its tortuous progress; and vast stables, gloomy, ruinous and empty. The place was said to have been built in the days of King Henry the Eighth ; and there was a legend, not only that Queen Elizabeth had slept there one night, while upon a hunting excursion, to wit, in a certain oak-panelled room, with a deep bay window, but that next morning, while standing on a mounting blocK.