OLD ENGLISH COTTAGE HOMES; OR, VILLAGE ARCHITECTURE OF BYGONE TIMES. PART X. THE VILLAGE INN. [Illustration: VILLAGE INN AT WINGHAM.] Those who recollect “coaching times” can alone realise the idea of a “village inn.” Railways have created “country hotels,” but the modern hotel is so different from the old-fashioned inn that it gives one little idea of the kind of hostelry at which our fathers broke their journeys when going from London to York, Norwich, or Bristol. Possibly the attendance was none of the best and the accommodation not all that could be desired, yet they had somehow or other a charm about them. They were homely and not luxurious, and the company was decidedly mixed, yet there was more good-fellowship and kindly feeling among the guests than can be found in the modern hotel. Of course, we speak alone of country inns and hotels. Some of our new London hotels are quite what is wanted in a large busy town, and are distinctly an advance upon the metropolitan hotel of our grandfathers’ day. But everyone who recollects travelling by coach has a kindly corner in his heart for the old roadside inn. How briskly everyone got down from the coach when the landlord advanced from the porch of the cheery old building, or the pleasant-looking landlady came to the door, with her pretty and healthy-looking daughters, to welcome the ladies. There might, of course, be some bilious old gentleman or cantankerous old lady amongst the arrivals, but the cheerfulness of the scene and the healthy appetite generally pacified even these unamiable folks. [Illustration: A VILLAGE INN, ALFRISTON, SUSSEX.] What friendships were made, and who does not remember some pleasant act of kindness connected with the old inn? One of the earliest recollections of my life is of such an act. I was a child, and was being taken down to Norfolk to be put to school. We sat down to dinner, my father on one side of me and a strange, but very gentle, married lady on the other. My father got very interested in a conversation with another clergyman on “dangers threatening the Church.” I felt miserable, frightened, and ready to cry when a sweet voice whispered in my ear, “What is the matter, my little man? Ah, I see your hands are cold and you cannot cut up your dinner.” So she took my hands and warmed them in her own fair palms. After a minute she addressed me again. “Why, my dear child, you don’t seem to be at your ease even now.” I was too silly or shy to tell her what was the matter (and perhaps a little bit ashamed), but her quick woman’s wit soon found out what was wrong. I saw her whisper to one of the girls who were waiting, and very quickly a _child’s_ knife and fork were placed before me. I had never before handled a large knife and fork. How grateful I felt to that kind and thoughtful lady. I never saw her again; and although it is more than half a century since this act of kindness was done, I shall never forget either her or it.