wait, and the inn will; it has waited several hundreds of years where it is, and you can finish your sketch after lunch." The argument was unanswerable, so we stepped within, and did ample justice to the repast that mine host had provided. I am inclined to think that the sketch did not suffer for the interruption, for a hungry man is apt to draw hastily, be he ever so enthusiastic about his work. Our repast finished and our drawing done, we sought out the landlord—a stout, jovial-looking personage; may his shadow never grow less!—for a chat, in the hope of gleaning thereby some information or traditions about the old place, and were not wholly disappointed.
It appeared that mine host had been there thirty-two years, and even in his recollection much of the stabling and a portion of the building in the rear also had gone to decay, and consequently was pulled down. He seemed proud of his ancient inn, but especially proud of the original sign-board, which, being of copper, for lightness, had not decayed, neither had it warped. "Now, I'll wager you cannot guess the height of it within a foot," he exclaimed, looking up at the swinging board. We thought we could, it seemed an easy matter; so we guessed and failed! We conjectured five feet. "Ah!" exclaimed the landlord, "I knew you would guess wrong—everybody does. Why, it's six feet and two and three-quarter inches high! I've been up on a ladder and measured it myself. It does look big when you're up close to it. There used to be lots of bets about it, I've heard, in the old coaching days, much to the profit of the drivers; for you see they knew the height and
