In this room the curious may notice the copy of a deed, dated March 22nd, 1383, conveying the inn from one Peter Pokeland to Richard Gofayre; but, although the “Crown” is a house of considerable antiquity, and mentioned in that document, the existing house is not of so great an age as this, and has been rebuilt, or very extensively remodelled, since then. A fine ingle-nook, with ancient iron crane, is now a feature of the refurnished “Lygon Arms” at Broadway, in Worcestershire, an hotel that in these latter days has been carefully “restored” and so fitted out with modern-ancient features by Warings, and some really old articles of furniture, purchased here, there, and everywhere, that in course of time posterity may agree to consider the whole house-full a legacy, as it stands, of the old domestic economy of the inn-keeping of the sixteenth, the seventeenth, and the eighteenth centuries. At the quaint Kentish village of Sissinghurst, near Cranbrook, stands the old “Bull” inn. It had a rugged ingle-nook occupying one side of the taproom, and on the wall picturesquely hung a very old pair of bellows, a domestic utensil now not often seen. In the corner of the room stood a gigantic eight-footer “grandfather” clock. But the chief item of interest was, without doubt, the roasting-jack over the hearth, with the date “1684.” All this formed one of the most delightful old-world interiors, until quite recently, but now the ingle is abolished and the ancient crane sold to a museum. A particularly good ingle-nook is to be seen in what is now a lumber-room, but was once the tap-room of the “Talbot” inn at Towcester, the great oaken beam spanning the fireplace being quaintly carved, in flat and low relief, with the figure of that extinct breed of dog, the “talbot.” [Illustration: THE INGLE-NOOK, “CROWN” INN, CHIDDINGFOLD.] CHAPTER XIII INNKEEPERS’ EPITAPHS In the long, long pages of the large collections of curious epitaphs that have been printed from time to time, we find innkeepers celebrated, no less than those of other trades and professions. The irreverent wags who made light of all ills, and turned every calling into a jest had, it may well be supposed, a fine subject to their hands in the landlords of the village ale-houses. To Richard Philpots (appropriate name!) of the “Bell” inn, Bell End, who died in 1766, we find an elaborate stone in the churchyard of Belbroughton, near Kidderminster, with these verses: To tell a merry or a wonderous tale Over a chearful glass of nappy Ale, In harmless mirth, was his supreme delight, To please his Guests or Friends by Day or Night; But no fine tale, how well soever told, Could make the tyrant Death his stroak withold; That fatal Stroak has laid him here in dust, To rise again once more with Joy, we trust.