In the beginning of Elizabeth’s reign travelers had no choice but to ride on horseback or to walk.  Goods were transported on strings of pack-horses.  When Elizabeth rode into the city from her residence at Greenwich, she placed herself behind her lord chancellor, on a pillion.  The first improvement made was in the construction of a rude wagon a cart without springs, the body resting solidly on the axles.  In such a vehicle Elizabeth rode to the opening of her fifth Parliament.  In 1583, on a certain day, Sir Harry Sydney entered Shrewsbury in his wagon, “with his trompeter blowynge, verey joyfull to behold and see.”  Even such conveyances fared hard on the execrable roads of the period.  Down to the end of the seventeenth century most of the country roads were merely broad ditches, water-worn and strewn with loose stones.  In 1640 Queen Henrietta was four weary days dragging over the road from Dover to London, the best in England.  Not till the close of the sixteenth century was the wagon used, and then rarely.  Fifty years later stage-wagons ran, with some regularity, between London and Liverpool; and before the close of the seventeenth century the stagecoach, a wonderful invention, which had been used in and about London since 1650, was placed on three principal roads of the kingdom.  It averaged two to three miles an hour.  In the reign of Charles ii. a Frenchman who landed at Dover was drawn up to London in a wagon with six horses in a line, one after the other.  Our Venetian, Busino, who went to Oxford in the coach with the ambassador in 1617, was six days in going one hundred and fifty miles, as the coach often stuck in the mud, and once broke down.  So bad were the main thoroughfares, even, that markets were sometimes inaccessible for months together, and the fruits of the earth rotted in one place, while there was scarcity not many miles distant.

But this difficulty of travel and liability to be detained long on the road were cheered by good inns, such as did not exist in the world elsewhere.  All the literature of the period reflects lovingly the homelike delights of these comfortable houses of entertainment.  Every little village boasted an excellent inn, and in the towns on the great thoroughfares were sumptuous houses that would accommodate from two to three hundred guests with their horses.  The landlords were not tyrants, as on the Continent, but servants of their guests; and it was, says Harrison, a world to see how they did contend for the entertainment of their guests—­as about fineness and change of linen, furniture of bedding, beauty of rooms, service at the table, costliness of plate, strength of drink, variety of wines, or well-using of horses.  The gorgeous signs at their doors sometimes cost forty pounds.  The inns were cheap too, and the landlord let no one depart dissatisfied with his bill.  The worst inns were in London, and the tradition has been handed down.  But the ostlers, Harrison confesses,