Somersetshire abounds in old-world villages, more particularly the eastern division, or rather the eastern side--to the east, say, of a line drawn from Bristol to Crewkerne. This line would intersect such famous historic places as Wells and Glastonbury, but in our limited space we must confine our attention more particularly to more remote spots. One of these, for example, is the village of Norton St. Philip, midway between Bath and Frome, which possesses one of the oldest and most picturesque inns in England. This wonderful timber building of projecting storeys dates mainly from the fifteenth century, although it has been a licensed house since 1397, and upon its solid basement of stone the "George" looks good for many centuries to come. It was formerly known as the "Old House," not that the other buildings at Norton St. Philip are by any means new. It is merely, comparatively speaking, a matter of a couple of hundred years or so. Many are the local stories and traditions of "Philips Norton Fight," for here it was that the Duke of Monmouth's followers had the first real experience of warfare; and the encounter with the Royalist soldiers was a sharp one while it lasted. Monmouth's intention of attacking Bristol had been abandoned, and during a halt at Norton on June 27, 1685, his little army was overtaken by the king's forces under the young Duke of Grafton, Monmouth's half-brother. The lane where fighting was briskest used to be remembered as "Monmouth Street," possibly the same steep and narrow lane now called Bloody Lane, which winds round to the back of the Manor Farm (some remains of which go back quite a century before Monmouth's time), through the courtyard of which the duke marched his regiment to attack the enemy in flank. The other end of the lane was barricaded, so Grafton was caught in a trap, and had difficulty in fighting his way through. Both armies sought protection of the high hedges, which, take it all round, got the worst of it; but Grafton lost considerably more men than Monmouth, although a cannonade of six hours on both sides only had one victim. An old resident living fifty years ago, whose great-grandfather fought for "King Monmouth," used to relate how the duke's field pieces were planted by the "Old House," his grace's headquarters; and the tradition yet lingers in the inn that Colonel Holmes, on Monmouth's side, finished the amputation of his own arm, which was shattered with a shot, with a carving knife. Some of the ancient farmhouses between Bath and Frome preserve some story or another in connection with "Norton Fight," and George Roberts relates in his excellent Life of Monmouth that early in the nineteenth century the song was still sung: "The Duke of Monmouth is at Norton Town All a fighting for the Crown Ho-boys-ho."