ot altogether beautiful; and at the other end
of the town the Landgate, the sole survivor of the town's five portals.
Between these two, dotted about here and there in the winding,
cobble-stoned streets, are buildings of great beauty, some
unfortunately modernized on the outside. One is the old rubble-stone
building in Watchbell Street, commonly known as the Carmelite Friary.
It is an interesting specimen of a small mediaeval hall with chambers
below, but its association with the order is now pretty generally
recognized as a mistake. Steep little Mermaid Street--perhaps the most
beautiful of all the quaint turnings--has two notable buildings, the
Old Hospital and the Mermaid Inn. The Hospital is a fine timbered
structure with huge gables. The Inn is a Tudor building, surrounding a
tiny court. Little is to be seen from the road; but inside it is a
charming old-world place, with latticed windows and massive oak beams,
fine panelling and great fireplaces. In the stately red house at the
head of the street Mr. Henry James for many years found inspiration for
his wonderful studies of modern temperaments,--about as remote as
possible from the atmosphere of the quaint little grass-grown street.
Perhaps the most interesting of all the buildings is the Old Flushing
Inn. It possesses some fine oakwork, but the greatest attraction is
the quaint mural painting in imitation of tapestry, covering the whole
of one wall, and dating from 1574. In olden days the place was a
popular rendezvous among gentlemen of the "free trade", for in the rear
it possessed a courtyard which extended right to the edge of the
cliff--at that point practically vertical and about sixty feet
high--and it was a simple matter to beach a boat just below.

In High Street, almost facing the turning which leads up to the church,
is a dark red-brick building of the seventeenth century: this is
Pocock's Grammar School, which readers of Thackeray will remember as
the place where Denis Duval was sent to be educated. A little farther
along we come to Conduit Hill, in which is situate the Ancient
Monastery of the Austin Friars--a fair building, possessing that rare
thing, flamboyant tracery. If the ghosts of the little brothers of
bygone days ever return to their former haunts, they must be deeply
grieved or intensely amused, for the building has been everything from
a malt-house to a Salvation Army barracks.

As we leave the town a flood of questions surges i