Ainsworth. Dick Turpin must have known this hostelry very well, it being on his favourite and most paying line of road; and the chances are that he stopped at it more than once, for it was in a remote position and a convenient halting-place for his calling. Outwardly the old inn may be a trifle more time-toned and not so trim or well kept as then, but otherwise I do not imagine that either it or the town has altered much since his day. On the whole it doubtless looks much the same to us now as it did to him. Stilton is a place that in an age of change has remained unchanged; since the last coach departed thence it appears to have fallen into a deep sleep with small prospect of ever awakening again. The railway has left it quite out in the cold. Of Stilton it may truly be written, "It was!"
Dick Turpin must have passed by the "Bell" on his famous ride to York—if ever that ride took place, for sundry hard-headed and hard-hearted antiquaries, who ought to know better, declare the episode to be as apocryphal as the "Battle of Dorking." Legends should not be judged by the same standard as matter-of-fact history! I wish learned authorities would devote their time to some more profitable task than that of upsetting innocent and perfectly harmless romances: already they have demolished nearly all the fabled stories of my childhood, besides a host of my favourite traditions which I liked to feel might be true, such as the picturesque elopement of Dorothy Vernon. "In reality nine out of every ten traditions are deliberate inventions." Possibly; nevertheless I find no special
