the words tavern and hotel, as savouring of bad old times, when every man might drink himself into a mad-house and his children into a jail.
Our tavern is a house.
I use the form guest-house from the close resemblance of my lodgings, in the way of meat and drink, to a guest-house on the Dwina and the Nile
It is a water-drinking house.
Among the merits of the place, put out on cards to catch the eyes of tourists in the Vermont
uplands, these two virtues are set forth: first there is dry air to breathe, and next there is good water to drink.
Elsewhere one hostelry is famous for trout, a second for terrapin, a third for madeira, a fourth for champagne.
no hostelry has ever yet thought of advertising the quality of its pump.
But in St. Johnsbury
the well-spirits reign.
An American poet of another mind has sung:
If ere I kneel me down to pray
My face shall turn towards St. Peray.
But such a poet would persuade no man to follow his lead on Sleepers' Creek.
Though lodging in the rooms which echoed to the mirth of Captain Barney
, we are now the votaries of a severer saint than St. Peray.