Stage-coach and Tavern Days

The Bull’s Head Inn of Philadelphia had a sign suited to its title; it was sold in the middle of this century to an Englishman as the work of Benjamin West. The inn stood in Strawberry Alley, and West once lived in the alley; and so also did Bernard Wilton, a painter and glazier, in the days when the inn was young and had no sign-board. And as the glazier sat one day in the taproom, a bull ran foaming into the yard and thrust his head with a roar in the tavern window. The glazier had a ready wit, and quoth he: “This means something. This bull thrust his head in as a sign, so it shall be the sign of the inn, and bring luck and custom forever.” I think those were his words; at any rate, those were the deeds.

West also painted the “Ale Bearers.” One side had a man holding a glass of ale and looking through it. The other side showed two brewers’ porters carrying an ale cask slung with case hooks on a pole – as was the way of ale porters at that day. It is said that West was offered five hundred dollars for a red lion sign-board he had painted in his youth. In the vicinity of Philadelphia several taverns claimed to have sign-boards painted by the Peales and by Gilbert Stuart, and an artist named Hicks is said to have contributed some wonderful specimens to this field of art.

General Wolfe was a favorite name and figure for pre-Revolutionary taverns and sign-boards. There was a Wolfe Tavern near Faneuil Hall in Boston; and the faded sign-board of the Wolfe Tavern of Brooklyn, Connecticut, is shown on page 211 as it swung when General Israel Putnam was the tavern landlord. These figures of the English officer were usually removed as obnoxious after the Declaration of Independence. But the Wolfe Tavern at Newburyport continued to swing the old sign “in the very centre of the place to be an insult to this truly republican town.” This sign is shown in its spruce freshness on page 180. It is a great contrast to “Old Put’s” Wolfe sign-board.

A Philadelphia tavern with a clumsy name, though a significant one, was the Federal Convention of 1787 Inn. I cannot imagine any band of tavern tipplers or jovial roisterers ever meeting there, but it was doubtless used for political gatherings. It had a most pretentious sign painted by Matthew Pratt, a pupil of Benjamin West. It was said that his signs were painted in a style that should have given them place in a picture gallery, had it not been that the galleries of those days were few, and artists found their most lucrative employment in painting signs for taverns and stores. This inn kept first by a man named Hanna, then by George Poppal, was at 178 South Street, near Fifth Street. The sign was a painting of the National Convention which met May 14, 1787, in the State House or Independence Hall to frame the Constitution of the United States. George Washington was president, Mayor William Jackson was secretary. The convention met in the East Room, which was distinctly and correctly represented on the sign-board; its wainscoting, the Ionic pilasters supporting a full entablature beneath a coved ceiling, all were taken down by a “Commissioner of Repairs,” and all now are happily reproduced and restored. On one side of the sign-board Washington was seen seated under the panel bearing the arms of Pennsylvania. The dignified Judge Wilson occupied the chair, and Franklin sat near. All the heads were portraits. On both sides of the sign-board were the lines: —

“These thirty-eight men together have agreedThat better times to us shall very soon succeed.”

Watson, writing in 1857, tells of the end of this historic sign-board: —

“This invaluable sign, which should have been copied by some eminent artist and engraved for posterity, was bandied about like the Casa Santa of Lorretto from post to pillar till it located at South Street near the Old Theatre. The figures are now completely obliterated by a heavy coat of brown paint on which is lettered Fed. Con. 1787.”

This offence against historic decency can be added to the many other crimes against good taste which lie heavily on the account of the middle of the nineteenth century. The fin du siècle has many evils which are daily rehearsed to us; but the middle of the century was an era of bad taste, dulness, affected and melancholic sentimentality and commonplaceness in dress, architecture, household furnishings, literature, society, and art – let us turn from it with haste. It is equalled only in some aspects by some of the decades of dulness in England in the reign of George III.

Another sign-board painted by Woodside is described in Philadelphia newspapers of August, 1820: —

“UNION HOTEL

“Samuel E. Warwick respectfully informs his friends and the public generally that he has opened a house of Entertainment at the northeast corner of Seventh and Cedar Streets, and has copied for his sign Mr. Binn’s beautiful copperplate engraving of the Declaration of Independence, by that justly celebrated artist, Mr. Woodside: —

“Whate’er may tend to soothe the soul below,To dry the tear and blunt the shaft of woe,To drown the ills that discompose the mind,All those who drink at Warwick’s Inn shall find.”

The Revolutionary War developed originality in American tavern signs. The “King’s Arms,” “King’s Head,” “St. George and the Dragon,” and other British symbols gave place to rampant American eagles and portraits of George Washington. Every town had a Washington Tavern, with varied Washington sign-boards. That of the Washington Hotel at Salem, Massachusetts, is on page 63.

The landlord of the Washington Inn at Holmesburg, Pennsylvania, one James Carson, issued this address in 1816: —

“Ye good and virtuous Americans – come! whether business or pleasure be your object – call and be refreshed at the sign of Washington. Here money and merit will secure you respect and honor, and a hearty welcome to choice liquors and to sumptuous fare. Is it cold? You shall find a comfortable fire. Is it warm? Sweet repose under a cool and grassy shade. In short, every exertion shall be made to grace the sign of the hero and statesman who was first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen.”

On Beach Street a tavern, with the name Washington Crossing the Delaware, had as a sign-board a copy of Sully’s famous picture. This must have been a costly luxury. A similar one used as a bridge sign-board is on page 239.

About 1840 one Washington Tavern in Philadelphia, on Second and Lombard streets, displayed a sign which was a novelty at that time. It was what was known as a “slat-sign”; perpendicular strips or slats were so set on the sign that one view or picture was shown upon taking a full front view, a second by looking at it from one side, a third from the other. The portrait of Washington and other appropriate pictures were thus shown.

Other patriotic designs became common, – the Patriotic Brothers having a sign representing the Temple of Liberty with weapons of war. On the steps of the temple a soldier and sailor grasp hands, with the motto, “Where Liberty dwells, there is my country.”

A very interesting sign is in the possession of the Connecticut Historical Society. It is shown on page 28. This sign is unusual in that it is carved in good outline on one side with the British coat of arms, and on the other a full-rigged ship under full sail, flying the Union Jack. At the top on each side are the letters U. A. H., and 1766. It is enclosed in a heavy frame, with heavy hangers of iron keyed to suspend from a beam.

The initials U. A. H. stand for Uriah and Ann Hayden, who kept the tavern for which this board was the sign. It stood near the river in Essex, then Pettspung Parish, in the town of Saybrook, Connecticut. The sign was relegated to a garret when the British lion and unicorn were in such disrepute in the new land of freedom, and, being forgotten, was thus preserved to our own day.

An old sign shown on pages 151 and 153 swung for nearly a century by the roadside before a house called Bissell’s Tavern, at Bissell’s Ferry, East Windsor, Connecticut. Originally it bore an elaborate design of thirteen interlacing rings, each having in its centre the representation of some tree or plant peculiar to the state it designated. These interlacing links surrounded the profile portrait of George Washington. Above this was the legend, “The 13 United States.” Beneath this, “Entertainment by David Bissell, A.D. 1777.” Ten years later the words David Bissell were painted out and E. Wolcott substituted. The date 1787 was also placed in both upper corners of the board. In 1801 the sign and house came to Joseph Phelps. A new design was given: a copy of the first gold eagle of 1795, and on the other the reverse side of same coin and the name J. Phelps. In 1816 J. Pelton bought the Ferry Tavern, and he painted out all of J. Phelps’s name save the initials, which were his own. He hung the sign on the limb of a big elm tree over the Ferry road.

Arad Stratton, who kept the old tavern at Northfield Farms, had a splendid eagle on his sign-board, which is shown on page 140. This tavern built in 1724 was pulled down in 1820.

William Pitt’s face and figure frequently appeared on sign-boards. One is shown on page 156 which hung at the door of the Pitt Tavern in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. This tavern was kept from 1808 to 1838 by Landlord Henry Diffenbaugh. The sign-board was painted by an artist named Eicholtz, a pupil of Sully and of Gilbert Stuart, whose work he imitated and copied.

A small, single-storied ancient tavern used to stand near the old Swedes’ church. Over the door was a sign with an old hen with a brood of chickens; an eagle hovered over them with a crown in its beak; the inscription was: “May the Wings of Liberty cover the Chickens of Freedom, and pluck the Crown from the Enemy’s Head.” This was a high flight of fancy, and the Hen and Chickens was doubtless vastly admired in those days of high sentiment and patriotism after the Revolution.

Lafayette and Franklin showed their fame in many a sign-board. When the sign of the Franklin Inn was set up in Philadelphia in 1774, it bore this couplet: —

“Come view your patriot father! and your friend,And toast to Freedom and to slavery’s end.”

John Hancock was another popular patriot seen on tavern signs. The sign-board which hung for many years before John Duggan’s hostelry, the Hancock Tavern in Corn Court, is shown on page 110. This portrait crudely resembles one of Hancock, by Copley, and is said to have been painted by order of Hancock’s admirer, Landlord Duggan. At Hancock’s death it was draped with mourning emblems. It swung for many years over the narrow alley shown on page 182, till it blew down in a heavy wind and killed a citizen. Then it was nailed to the wall, and thereby injured. It was preserved in Lexington Memorial Hall, but has recently been returned to Boston.

It was natural that horses, coaches, and sporting subjects should be favorites for tavern signs. A very spirited one is that of the Perkins Inn, at Hopkinton, New Hampshire, dated 1786, and showing horse, rider, and hounds. The Williams Tavern of Centrebrook, Connecticut, stood on the old Hartford and Saybrook turnpike. One side of its swinging sign displayed a coach and horses. It is shown on page 400. The other, on page 396, portrays a well-fed gentleman seated at a well-spread table sedately drinking a glass of wine. Sign-boards with figures of horses were common, such as that of the Hays Tavern, page 65; of the Conkey Tavern, page 190; of Mowry’s Inn, page 57; and of the Pembroke Tavern, page 217.

Of course beasts and birds furnished many symbols for sign painters. On the site where the Northfield Seminary buildings now stand, stood until 1880 the old Doolittle Tavern. It was on the main-travelled road from Connecticut through Massachusetts to southern New Hampshire and Vermont. Its sign-board, dated 1781, is on page 158. It bore a large rabbit and two miniature pine trees.

Joseph Cutter, a Revolutionary soldier, kept an inn in Jaffray, New Hampshire, on the “Brattleboro’ Pike” from Boston. His sign-board bore the figure of a demure fox. It is shown on page 412.

Indian chiefs were a favorite subject for sign-boards; three are here shown, one on page 203, from the Stickney Tavern of Concord, New Hampshire; another on page 382, from the Wells Tavern at Greenfield Meadows, Massachusetts; a third on page 310, from the Tarleton Inn of Haverhill, New Hampshire.

Two Beehive Taverns, one in Philadelphia, one in Frankford, each bore the sign-board a beehive with busy bees. The motto on the former, “By Industry We Thrive,” was scarcely so appropriate as —

“Here in this hive we’re all alive,Good liquor makes us funny.If you are dry, step in and tryThe flavor of our honey.”

The sign-board of Walker’s Tavern, a famous house of entertainment in Charlestown, New Hampshire, is shown on page 162. It bears a beehive and bees. This sign is now owned by the Worcester Society of Antiquity.

The Washington Hotel, at the corner of Sixth and Carpenter streets, had several landlords, and in 1822 became the New Theatre Hotel. Woodside painted a handsome sign, bearing a portrait of the famous old actor and theatrical manager, William Warren, as Falstaff, with the inscription, “Shall I not take mine ease at my inn?” A writer in the Despatch says the tavern did not prosper, though its rooms were let for meetings of clubs, societies, audits, and legal proceedings. It was leased by Warren himself in 1830, and still the tavern decayed. He left it and died, and the fine sign-board faded, and was succeeded by the plain lettering, Fallstaff Inn, and the appropriate motto, chosen by Warren, gave place to “Bring me a cup of sack, Hal.” The place was a “horrible old rattletrap,” and was soon and deservedly demolished.

The Raleigh Inn, in Third Street, showed the story of the servant throwing water over the nobleman at the sight of smoke issuing from his mouth. This was a favorite tale of the day, and the portrayal of it may be seen in many an old-time picture-book for children.

On Thirteenth Street, near Locust, was a sign copied from a London one: —

“I William McDermott lives here,I sells good porter, ale, and beer,I’ve made my sign a little widerTo let you know I sell good cider.”

On the Germantown road the Woodman Tavern had a sign-board with a woodman, axe, and the following lines: —

“In Freedom’s happy landMy task of duty done,In Mirth’s light-hearted bandWhy not the lowly woodman one?”

The Yellow Cottage was a well-known Philadelphia tavern, half citified, half countrified. Its sign read: —

“Rove not from sign to sign, but stop in here,Where naught exceeds the prospect but the beer.”

These lines were a paraphrase of the witty and celebrated sign, said to have been written by Dean Swift for a barber who kept a public house: —

“Rove not from pole to pole, but stop in here,Where naught excels the shaving but the beer.”

Sir Walter Scott, in his Fortunes of Nigel, gives this version as a chapter motto: —

“Rove not from pole to pole – the man lives here,Whose razor’s only equalled by his beer.”

Entering a large double gate, the passer-by who was seduced by this sign of the Yellow Cottage walked up a grand walk to this cottage, which was surrounded by a brick pavement about five feet wide which was closely bordered in front and sides by lilac bushes and some shrubs called “Washington’s bowers.” These concealed all the lower story on three sides except the front entrance. If you could pass the bar, you could go out the back entrance to a porch which extended across the back of the house. Here card-playing, dominos, etc., constantly went on; thence down a sloping field, at the end of the field, was an exit. On one side of this field was a stable, chicken-house, and pens which always held for view a fat hog or ox or some unusual natural object. Shooting parties were held here; quoit-playing, axe-throwing, weight-lifting, etc.; and it had also a charming view of the river.

Biblical names were not common on tavern sign-boards. “Adam and Eveses Garden” in Philadelphia was not a Garden of Eden. This was and is a common title in England. Noah’s Ark seems somewhat inappropriate. The Angel had originally a religious significance. The Bible and Peacock seems less appropriate than the Bible and Key, for divination by Bible and key has ever been as universal in America as in England.

In Philadelphia, on Shippen Street, between Third and Fourth, was a tavern sign representing a sailor and a woman, separated by these two lines: —

“The sea-worn sailor here will findThe porter good, the treatment kind.”

No doubt thirsty tars found this sign most attractive; more so, I am sure, than the pretentious sign of Lebanon Tavern, corner of Tenth and South streets. This sign was painted by the artist Pratt. On one side was Neptune in his chariot, surrounded by Tritons; underneath the lines: —

“Neptune with his triumphant hostCommands the ocean to be silent,Smooths the surface of its waters,And universal calm succeeds.”

On the other side a marine view of ships, etc., with the lines: —

“Now calm at sea and peace on landHave blest our Continental stores,Our fleets are ready, at command,To sway and curb contending powers.”

As the sign purveyor dropped easily into verse, albeit of the blankest type, these lines surmounted the door: —

“Of the waters of LebanonGood cheer, good chocolate, and tea,With kind entertainmentBy John Kennedy.”

Chocolate and tea seem but dull bait to lure the sailor of that day. The Three Jolly Sailors showed their cheerful faces on a sign-board appropriately found on Water Street. One of the tars was busy strapping a block, and the legend below read: —

“Brother Sailor! please to stopAnd lend a hand to strap this block;For if you do not stop or call,I cannot strap this block at all.”

In Castleford, England, the Three Jolly Sailors has a different rhyme: —

“Coil up your ropes and anchor here,Till better weather does appear.”

In Boston the Ship in Distress was a copy of a famous sign-board which hung in Brighton, England, a century ago. Both had the appealing lines: —

“With sorrows I am compassed round,Pray lend a hand, my ship’s aground.”

Tippling-houses in both Philadelphia and Boston had a sign-board painted with a tree, a bird, a ship, and a can of beer, and these quaint lines, an excellent tavern rhyme: —

“This is the tree that never grew,This is the bird that never flew,This is the ship that never sailed,This is the mug that never failed.”

Other Philadelphia sign-boards of especial allurement to sailors were “The Wounded Tar,” “The Top-Gallant,” “The Brig and Snow,” “The Jolly Sailors,” “The Two Sloops,” “The Boatswain and Call,” and “The Dolphin.” The sign-board of the Poore Tavern (page 405) shows a ship under full sail.

In a small Philadelphia alley running from Spruce Street to Lock Street, was a sign-board lettered “A Man Full of Trouble.” It bore also a picture of a man on whose arm a woman was leaning, and a monkey was perched on his shoulder, and a bird, apparently a parrot, stood on his hand. The woman carried a bandbox, on the top of which sat a cat. This sign has a long history. It was copied from the famous sign-board of an old ale-house still in Oxford Street, London; (it is here shown, opposite this page). It is said to have been painted by Hogarth; at any rate, it is valued enough to be specified in the lease of the premises as one of the fixtures. The name by which it is known in London is The Man Loaded with Mischief. The bird is a magpie, and the woman holds a glass of gin in her hand. In the background at one side is a pot-house, at the other a pawnbroker’s shop. The engraving of this sign is signed “Drawn by Experience, Engraved by Sorrow,” and the rhyme: —

“A monkey, a magpie, and a wifeIs the true emblem of strife.”

A similar sign is in Norwich, another in Blewbury, England. One inn is called The Mischief Inn, the other The Load of Mischief. Still another, at Cambridge, England, showed the man and woman fastened together with a chain and padlock. A kindred French sign-board is called Le trio de Malice (the trio being a cat, woman, and monkey).

An old Philadelphia tavern on Sixth Street, below Catherine Street, had the curious name, The Four Alls. The meaning was explained by the painting on the sign, which was a very large one. It represented a palace, on the steps of which stood a king, an officer in uniform, a clergyman in gown and bands, and a laborer in plain dress. The satirical inscription read: —

“1. King – I govern All.2. General – I fight for All.3. Minister – I pray for All.4. Laborer – And I pay for All.”

This is an old historic sign, which may still be seen in the streets of Malta. In Holland, two hundred years ago, there were four figures, – a soldier, parson, lawyer, and farmer. The three said their “All” just as in the Philadelphia sign-board, but the farmer answered: —

“Of gy vecht, of gy bidt, of gy pleyt,Ik bin de boer die de eyeren layt.”

“You may fight, you may pay, you may plead, but I am the farmer who lays the eggs,” – that is, finds the money for it all. Sometimes the English sign-painters changed the lettering to The Four Awls. There are several epigrams using the word “all”; one, an address to Janus I., is in the Ashmolean Mss. It begins: —

“The Lords craved all,The Queen granted all,The Ladies of Honour ruled all,” etc.

A famous old English sign was “The Man Making His Way Through the World.” The design was a terrestrial globe with the head and shoulders of a naked man breaking out like a chick out of an egg-shell; his nakedness betokened extreme poverty. In Holland a similar sign reads, “Thus far have I got through the World.” One in England shows the head coming out in Russia, while the feet stick out at South America. The man says, “Help me through this World.” This sign is sometimes called the Struggling Man. It was displayed in front of a well-known Philadelphia inn, and also on one at the South End in Boston. The story was told by a Revolutionary officer that during that war a forlorn regiment of Continentals halted after a weary march from Providence, in front of the Boston tavern and the Struggling Man. The soldiers were broken with fatigue, covered with mud, and ravenous for food and drink. One glared angrily at the sign-board and at once roared out with derision: “’List, durn ye! ’List, and you’ll get through this world fast enough!”

Both in Philadelphia and Boston was found the sign known as the Good Woman, the Quiet Woman, or the Silent Woman, which was a woman without a head. The sign, originally intended to refer to some saint who had met death by losing her head, was naturally too tempting and apparent a joke to be overlooked. New Chelmsford in England had until recently a sign-board with the Good Woman on one side and King Henry VIII. on the other. In this case the Good Woman may have been Anne Boleyn.

A popular Philadelphia inn was the one which bore the sign of the “Golden Lion,” standing on its hind legs. Lions fell into disrepute at the time of the Revolution, and the gallant animal that was a lion in its youth became the Yellow Cat in middle and old age. It was a vastly popular cat, however, vending beer and porter of highest repute. It was kept in ancient fashion unchanged until its antiquity made it an object alike of dignity and interest – in fact, until our own day. With its worn and sanded floor, tables unpainted, and snowy with daily scrubbing; with tallow candles when gas lighted every “saloon” in the city; with the old-time bar fenced up to the ceiling with rails, it had an old age as golden as its youth. Susan, an ancient maiden of prehistoric age, fetched up the beer in old pewter mugs on a pewter platter, and presented a pretzel with each mug.

The great variety of tavern-signs in Philadelphia was noted even by Englishmen, who were certainly acquainted with variety and number at home. The Englishman Palmer wrote during his visit in 1818: —

“We observed several curious tavern signs in Philadelphia and on the roadside, among others Noah’s Ark; a variety of Apostles; Bunyan’s Pilgrim; a cock on a lion’s back, crowing, with Liberty issuing from his beak; naval engagements in which the British are in a desperate situation; the most common signs are eagles, heads of public characters, Indian Kings, &c.”

There had been so many sign-boards used by business firms in Philadelphia, that they had been declared public nuisances, and in 1770 all sign-boards, save those of innkeepers, had been ordered to be taken down and removed.

From a famous old hostelry in Dedham, swung from the years 1658 to 1730 the sign-board of Lieutenant Joshua Fisher, surveyor, apothecary, innholder, and officer of “ye trayne band,” and his son and successor, Captain Fisher – also Joshua. About 1735 one of the latter’s daughters married Dr. Nathaniel Ames, who had already started that remarkable series of annual publications, familiar now to antiquaries, and once to all New England householders, as Ames’ Almanack. The first of these interesting almanacs had appeared in 1726, when Ames was only seventeen years old, but he was assisted by his astronomer father. After the death successively of his wife and infant child, the doctor entered into a famous lawsuit with the family of his sisters-in-law for the tenure of the land and inn; and the turning-point of the suit hung upon the settlement of the term “next of kin.”