them, except one, the "George," right out of existence.

But let us use Dickens's own words to describe these inns in general
and the "White Hart" in particular, for none of ours can improve his
picture.

"Great, rambling, queer old places they are, with galleries and
passages and staircases, wide enough and antiquated enough to
furnish materials for a hundred ghost stories, supposing we should
ever be reduced to the lamentable necessity of inventing any, and
that the world should exist long enough to exhaust the innumerable
veracious legends connected with old London Bridge and its adjacent
neighbourhood on the Surrey side.

"It was in the yard of one of these inns--of no less celebrated a one
than the 'White Hart'--that a man was busily employed in brushing the
dirt off a pair of boots, early on the morning succeeding the events
narrated in the last chapter. He was habited in a coarse-striped
waistcoat, with black calico sleeves, and blue glass buttons, drab
breeches and leggings. A bright red handkerchief was wound in a
very loose and unstudied style round his neck, and an old white hat
was carelessly thrown on one side of his head. There were two rows
of boots before him, one cleaned and the other dirty, and at every
addition he made to the clean row, he paused from his work, and
contemplated its results with evident satisfaction."

This, we need hardly say, was the inimitable Sam Weller, and
it was his first introduction to the story with which his name
is now inseparable.