When evening draws in and the last pallid light in the sky glints on the old casements of the wayside cottages of "Chapel House," or in the dark avenue, the spot wears a solemn air, and seems to exhale Romance.
London inns retired from business are, as may be supposed, comparatively few. A curious example is to be found under the shadow of St. Alban, Holborn, in "White Hart" Yard, between Gray's Inn Road and Brooke Street. It is the last fragment of an old galleried building, presumably once the "White Hart," but now partly occupied by a dairyman and a maker of packing-cases. Local history is silent as to the story of the place.
Of all converted inns, there is probably no stranger case than that of the "Edinburgh Castle." It is not old, nor was it really and truly, in the hearty, hospitable sense, an inn, although the landlord doubtless was included in the all-comprising and often deceptive category of "licensed victuallers," who very generally do not victual you. The "Edinburgh Castle" was, in short, a great flaring London gin-palace in Limehouse. It has been described by a journalist addicted above his fellows to superlatives--the equivalent in literature of nips of brandy "neat"--as "one of the flashiest, most flaunting, sin-soaked dens in London," which is just so much nonsense. It _was_, however, a public-house on a large scale, and did a big trade. It was ornate, in the vulgar, gilded public-house way, and not what can properly be styled a "den."
Those curious in conversions may easily see to-day what the "Edinburgh Castle" was like, for its outward look is unchanged, and many an old frequenter, come back from foreign climes--or perhaps only from H.M. Prison on Dartmoor--shoulders his way in at the old familiar doors and calls for his "four 'arf," or his "two o' brandy," before he becomes aware of the essential change that has come over the place. No more booze does he get at the "Edinburgh Castle": only coffee, tea, or the like--which do not come under that head. The "Edinburgh Castle" has indeed been acquired by the Barnardo Homes for the "People's Mission Church."
There are excuses for the mistake often made by old patrons, for the idea of the management is to entice them in, in the hope of reforming them. But if those old customers were at all observant they would at once perceive, and make due deductions from, the odd change in the sign that still, as of yore, is upheld on its old-fashioned post by the kerbstone. Instead of proclaiming that So-and-So's Fine Ales are sold at the "Edinburgh Castle," it now reads: "No drunkards shall inherit the kingdom of God."