We had crawled through the narrow and crooked streets of Norwich to its central Market Place under the Castle Mound; swinging to the left on entering it. Turning to the left again we were soon in Tombland, a wide and open space opposite the west end of the cathedral, the meaning of the name of which is uncertain. We had seen the cathedral spire rising against the clear sky, had glanced through two great archways leading to the Cathedral Church itself, had passed on our left the "Stranger's House" already mentioned, though the quaint fact that the faces of the figures of Hercules and Samson supporting the arch of its door are adorned with "Imperial" beardlets was forgotten then. At the end of Tombland we were in Wensum Street, and the "Maid's Head" was the first house on the right. We entered it by an archway some way down the street, and forthwith, in the covered courtyard, there was such a contrast between the old and the new as has never been matched in my experience. The surroundings, thanks to Mr. Walter Rye, who bought the ancient house and saved it from destruction, and thereby won the gratitude of every traveller of taste, were as nearly identical with those of the fifteenth century (when the Pastons used the "Mayde's Hedde" and spoke well of its accommodation) as was possible consistently with some modernisms which are indispensable. The bar parlour on the left, from which an attentive hostess issued to take our commands--one felt she ought to have a chatelaine and a wimple--seemed to be, and was, of almost immemorial age. So did the surroundings generally. Yet in the centre was the most modern thing in this world, the very incarnation of novelty, a motor-car, and a six-cylinder motor-car at that, and staring us in the face was a notice requesting motorists, in effect, to make no unnecessary noise, but to deposit their passengers or pick them up, as the case might be, rapidly as possible and then depart. In such surroundings, surely, no motorist possessed of even decent feeling could stand in need of this request; but, since it was there, it must be assumed that it came into existence because misconduct had shown it to be needed. For ourselves, we almost felt inclined to push the car, instead of compelling it to propel itself, onwards through the covered court and into the carriage yard and garage beyond. It was, and it is, a beautiful car--for cars can be beautiful, and half the assertions that they are ugly are due to the fact that the generation has not been sufficiently educated in relation to cars, has not grown familiar enough with them, to know what the lines of beauty in them are. Still, in the court of the "Maid's Head," the car was an anachronism, a jarring note, not in the picture, and the sooner it was moved out of sight the better. So moved it was and the original picture remained. The white cap of a _chef_, having a countenance that might pass for French beneath it, did not spoil the picture in the least.