The Sun.
London, England, 1853-01-25 00:00:00

THE OLD INN AT DIINMOW.

" And now a few words more in reference to the old inn.
Many years ago, it had been the most important habita-
tion in the place: in fact, the hall. Neglected by its owner,
Sir Walter Fitzwater, an eccentric personage about whom
strange tales were told, though none to the effect that he
had much chance of gaining the Flitch, for indeed he se-
parated from his lady who died in despair, it was said,
soon after that unfortunate event; then altogether aban-
doned by him • and in the end sold, and for an old song,
for like most deserted houses it was supposed to be haunted
and no one would inhabit it. Half of the mansion was
next pulled down, including the haunted wing, and the
residue being converted into an inn, passed through several
hands, and was at length taken by Jonas Nettlebed im-
mediately after his first marriage. But the precautionary
measures above detailed had not been entirely effectual in
getting rid of the ghost. It only appeared to have changed
its quarters. There was still one chamber left ; and the
best in the house, unluckily; in which whoever slept was
sure to be scared by some unaccountable noise or preter-
natural appearance. With this exception the inn was
quiet and comfortable enough, and the general accommo-
dation excellent. Good ale, clean sheets, civil host and
buxom hostess : what more could any reasonable traveller
desire? Let us walk up and look at the old house. As-
' suredly, it is picturesque, and rich enough in elaborate
architectural detail to please yon. What a fine facade it
presents ! high roof, quaint gables, twisted chimneys, and
bay-windows, still full of stained glass. And what a large
and hospitable porch ! Note those noble elm-trees grow-
ing near it. To an arm of one of the largest of them is
suspended Jonas .Nettlebed's gaudy signboard. But for
that, and the circular bench embracing the tree, and the
watering-trough for horses, and some other matters, you
would never have taken the house for an inn. Now let us
enter. The promise without is not belied by what we find
within. Hero is a spacious and lofty room, capable of
accommodating any number of guest ; and here no doubt
the old Fitzwalters -- a hospitable race, save the last of the
line—must often have feasted their friends, and held their
Christmas revels. Is it much changed since their time ?
We think not. Witness that high, carved mantelpiece,
amongst the ornament of which you may discern their
many-quartered shield : and you may also find their ar-
morial bearings in the blushing panes of the bay-windows.
The wainscots are of oak as in days of yore ; and that
ponderous table of the same dark material, and that mas-
sive carved sideboard, can never have left their places.
They must have belonged to acme Fitzwalter in the days
of good Queen Bess, when the hall was built, and when
that fine oak staircase was reared, which you see leading to
the railed gallery above. Many a light foot has tripped
down those polished steps ; many a heavy boot clanked up
them. Rich silks have rustled in the gallery above ; fair
faces have looked down upon the gallants below, when
beards were wagging at the board, and the damsels' names
were on their lover's lips as they raised the cup to them.
Many a swift couranto has been danced upon the floor :
many a song has echoed from the vaulted roof : many a
Yule log has crackled upon the hearth ; many a sport and
pastime has been held round it. All are gone now. No
wonder there is a ghost in the house. It must mourn over
past splendours—over the buried joys of other days."
The scene opens, of course, at once in the locality
thus oddly invested with popular celebrity. And here
it is that our romancist gives us this capital descrip•
tion of