became enamoured of the daughter of a
vineyard proprietor. As she heartily reciprocated his affection, he
married her, and, bringing her home to England, installed her as
mistress of a brand-new home presented to him by a grateful Queen and
country. Given a similar set of circumstances, ninety-nine out of any
hundred newly-married men would have done as he did, and called it Hydra
House.

But Mr. Walford Sploshington disappointed us. He did more: he grieved
us; he insulted our instincts, sentimental and artistic, and he offended
our eyes. He filled in the dear old wells. He mutilated the Tudor garden
out of all semblance of a Tudor garden. He enlarged the windows and made
bays of them. He painted a vivid green all the exposed timbering that is
the characteristic feature of Tudor houses. In short, he did everything
to outrage the decencies. He even carried his vandalisms out to the old
gateway. There he erected two Corinthian columns, and spanned them with
the roof of a pagoda. It was a surprise to us that he retained the
ancient name of Hydra House. We had expected, even hoped, that he would
change it to something ornate and vulgar, and so leave nothing to remind
us of the old place of which we had all been so fond and proud. But one
sunny morning a sign-painter began work on the Corinthian columns.
Gaddingham and I did not, of course, stand to watch him; but, having
occasion to pass the pagoda during the afternoon, I happened upon
Sploshington himself, standing in the middle of the road, poising his
head this way and that, and quite obviously lost in admiration of ten
six-inch gilt letters, five on each column.

The five on the left-hand column made up the mystery word "Mydra." Those
on the right constituted "Mouse." Of course, I got it right almost the
moment I had passed. What I had taken to be an "M" in each word was
merely a highly-ornamental "H" with its horizontal bar sagging in the
centre with the weight of its grandeur. There had never been a name on
the gate in the whole history of Hydra House, but we agreed that
Sploshington felt that after all his vandalism no one would recognise
the place unless he labelled it, and, of course, he was unequal to
providing a plain, unassuming label.

Then Gaddingham and I took counsel together, and we decided that I
should write a nice letter to Sploshington. This is what I wrote:--

DEAR SIR,--I trust you will pardon the liberty I am taking in writing to
you, but a frie