It was about ten days after the syllabub party, when he had quite
recovered his ordinary health, that he mounted his stout pony in his
military undress, his cocked hat perched on his well-powdered bob-
wig, with a queue half-way down his dark green gold-laced coat, and
with his long jack-boots carefully settle by Palmer over the knee
that would never cease to give him trouble.
Thus he slowly ambled into the town, catching on his way distant
toots of the postman's horn. In due time he made his way into the
High Street, broad and unpaved, with rows of lime or poplar trees
before the principal houses, the most modern of which were of red
brick, with heavy sash-windows, large stone quoins, and steps up
to the doors.
The White Dragon, dating from the times of the Mortimer badge, was
built of creamy stone, and had an archway conducting the traveller
into a courtyard worthy of Chaucer, with ranges of galleries running
round it, the balustrades of dark carved oak suiting with the timbers
of the latticed window and gables, and with the noble outside stair
at one angle, by which they communicated with one another. To these
beauties the good Major was entirely insensible. He only sighed at
the trouble it gave his lame knee to mount the stair to the first
storey, and desired the execution of the landlord's barbarous design
of knocking down the street front to replace it with a plain, oblong
assembly room, red brick outside, and within, blue plaster, adorned
with wreaths and bullocks' faces in stucco.
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