than that of the Hammersmith Guest House, more elaborate in its
architecture and perhaps more beautiful. I found it difficult to
keep my eyes off the wall-pictures (for I thought it bad manners to
stare at Clara all the time, though she was quite worth it). I saw
at a glance that their subjects were taken from queer old-world myths
and imaginations which in yesterday's world only about half a dozen
people in the country knew anything about; and when the two Hammonds
sat down opposite to us, I said to the old man, pointing to the
frieze:

"How strange to see such subjects here!"

"Why?" said he. "I don't see why you should be surprised; everybody
knows the tales; and they are graceful and pleasant subjects, not too
tragic for a place where people mostly eat and drink and amuse
themselves, and yet full of incident."

I smiled, and said: "Well, I scarcely expected to find record of the
Seven Swans and the King of the Golden Mountain and Faithful Henry,
and such curious pleasant imaginations as Jacob Grimm got together
from the childhood of the world, barely lingering even in his time:
I should have thought you would have forgotten such childishness by
this time."

The old man smiled, and said nothing; but Dick turned rather red, and
broke out:

"What DO you mean, guest? I think them very beautiful, I mean not
only the pictures, but the stories; and when we were children we used
to imagine them going on in every wood-end, by the bight of every