CHAPTER XIV.OLD SUBURBAN MANSIONS.

“Care colonne, che fate là?Non siamo in questa verità.”

The depth and mistiness of the apse behind is lost. The accomplished architect of the fane had these objections in view when he designed a fine baldacchino, supported on rich twisted columns, which would have left the view open and increased the sense of distance. It is really melancholy to find how architects have lost this sense of appropriateness in all their attempts.

In a side chapel on the right is seen the Duke of Wellington’s monument, an ambitious structure, somewhat after the pattern of Queen Elizabeth’s monument in the Abbey. There is a sad story of disappointed hopes and failure associated with it. The artist, Alfred Steevens, was an enthusiastic person, full of ardour, and accomplished. He could paint as well as mould, and saw here a chance, as he fancied, of “immortalizing himself.” He flung himself into the work, but only to pass from disaster to disaster. He had modelled his style a good deal after the Elgin marbles, and in Holford House there is a great chimney-piece of his execution, of which the model is shown in the South Kensington Museum; figures in rather contorted attitudes, with brawny, muscular, and fleshy limbs; these were his favourite peculiarities, and as they contrasted with the tame conventional school of his time, it was considered genius and not extravagance.

Full of high aspirations, he accepted the commission which was to give him immortality, and agreed to execute it for the sum of £14,000. Considering that the whole was nearly twenty feet high, and comprised carvings and marbles, and bronze castings and much delicate detail, this was cheap. But the artist was a careless, unbusiness-like man; the cash was served out to him as he asked for it by Mr. Penrose, the architect of “the fabric.” He took his time over the matter, and one day it was discovered that almost the whole sum was spent and scarcely half the work executed. The

CHIMNEY PIECE, BY STEEVENS.

THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON’S MONUMENT.

modelling was fairly complete, but there were the castings, the erection, etc.; the artist had no more money to go on with, and ruin stared him in the face. In this condition he fell into the hands of Mr. Ayrton, a rough official, without delicacy, and who only looked to his strict duty. This unfeeling but still conscientious man—at least, to the nation—peremptorily called on the artist to deliver what he had been paid for to perform, and, on his failure, actually seized on his studio and all his models, by way of execution. The unfortunate sculptor wrote a piteous letter, appealing to Mr. Gladstone for mercy, which had no result. There was much hubbub. Mr. Ayrton was abused by some and praised by others, for doing his duty by the nation. At last, after much clamour, and appealsad misericordiam, it was resolved that he should have another chance; further time was given, some more money wasgranted, and the ill-fated artist set to work with what spirit he could muster. Before he could do much he died, and the “job” being now left on their hands the Government had to make what they could of the business. An artist was found who undertook to complete the whole for £5,000 or £6,000 more, and it was finally set up at a total cost of £27,000. There can be no question that the poor artist was in the wrong and behaved badly; but at the same time it must be said this improvidence was owing to a good spirit. He wished to furnish the best of work and the best of material. In this view, the visitor should note the exquisite and perfectly pure character of the marble columns, and that there are no exceptions to this excellence is owing to the generous recklessness of the sculptor, who rejected many pieces before he accepted one that was suitable. The beautiful delicacy of the tracery on these columns is worth notice, and could only be brought out by a material of a corresponding delicacy. The general result, however, is unsatisfactory. The artist intended to have a small equestrian figure on the top, which the rough Ayrton declared would exhibit the Duke as “riding over his own recumbent body,” so an emblematic group was proposed instead. This pedestal, however, is still left vacant. The monument is, moreover, unsuited to the place, and so large for the area that no proper view of it can be obtained. The large window behind still further hinders the effect. At the time it was judiciously suggested that it should be shifted and placed across the chapel, with the wall for a background. The sarcophagus on which the Duke reposes is oddly balanced on a small base, and his head and feet project between the columns. Steevens has done other work, but there is a certain violence and extravagance in his conceptions which must modify the high opinion once entertained of him.

St. Paul’s does not offer so much farcical entertainment as the Abbey in fantastic memorials; but the figures displayed have an unvarying tameness and platitude. Few would recognize Dr. Johnson in the undraped man with the head bent down, the work of Bacon, and which is reared at the corner of the choir. Here we find a number of ponderous generals and commanders, not one of whom shows the spirit displayed by the effigies at Westminster. Still there are some of interest, one or two of Flaxman’s, such as that of Howard: the Napiers, however, are dreadful. All the modern work is rather indifferent; witness the black doors to the sham tomb, flanked by two “lumpy” figures. Worst of all are the amateurish relievos let into apsidal spaces in the aisles, in memory of regiments. The iron gates to the choir aisles are really fine pieces of work, solid and yet airy in treatment. The treatment of the choir, under modern rearrangements, has had the effect of narrowing it to an extraordinary degree. The organ, divided in two and perched aloft at each side, has helped this effect, and the stalls encroach too much. It is forgotten now that the arched screen gallery placed at one of the doors stood acrossthe entrance to the choir with the organ at the top, the fine commemorative inscriptions to Wren below, “Si monumentum requiris, circumspice.”[12]

The wonderful solid railings round the Cathedral are the admiration of the ironfounder. It has been noted that those of St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields appear to have come from the same foundry. Like everything connected with the great Cathedral they have a little history. They cost, to begin with, nearly £10,000. They are of a fine colossal pattern, to show, as it were, that their service is worthy of the church they protect. If we would contrast with them specimens of poor workmanship, we shall find them at the Law Courts, which are fenced round with fragile and pretentious railings, which look as if a strong arm could pull them down in a few moments. Of the St. Paul’s railings an art-writer has said truly: “These celebrated railings are examples of that old art of working in iron which once flourished in England and died out almost suddenly. Their history is singular. When the Cathedral was completed tenders were invited for supplying the ironwork, and it was found that one of the tenders sent in was so much lower than all the others that it was at once accepted. The rails were duly delivered, and proved to be of cast iron. The specifications had, by accident, never mentioned hammered or wrought iron, and all the other conditions prescribed had been fulfilled. So the railings had to be accepted; and they are to-day almost as perfect as when they were first put up. The casting certainly was of the finest description. Hammered iron would have shown corrosion long ago; but the skin to some extent protected the surface. In the cast-iron cannon of early date the skin was invariably left on, and so the outsides of the pieces actually show less rust than the insides. A railing of hammered iron fixed into stone coping with lead soon becomes a battery in which the ironwork suffers constantly. The damp and fog and rain, unequally affecting the two surfaces, set up electrical action, and the iron gradually gives way. Had those railings round St. Paul’s been of the best wrought instead of the best cast metal, we should to-day have seen the bases all attenuated and eaten away like the posts to which gondolas are moored at the doorway of a Venetian palace.” A portion, as we have said, is now in America.

Of all the many questions that have exercised the artistic world the treatment of the interior dome of St. Paul’s has caused the greatest perplexity. Experiments of all kinds have been made to try the effect. Nearly all the angles have been fitted with costly mosaic work, but any one can see for himself that the effect is not what might be expected, or in the least satisfactory. The reason is, that the colouring is too sombre andheavy, and not of the gay, bright, and radiant character which mosaic demands. The prominent portions have been gilt, but in a “niggling” way, and, the stone remaining soiled and stained, the effect is bad. The Whispering Gallery was treated experimentally by such artists as Sir Frederick Leighton and Mr. Poynter, who set up round it simulated figures and other decorations, but without result. The truth is, these decorations do not suit our skies and fogs, nor the rough state of the rest of the Cathedral. The only treatment would be painting the whole in gay cheerful colours, as in St. Peter’s; but this again, for many reasons, would not be desirable.

About the year 1825 an accomplished architect, Mr. Elmes, brought forward a plan for improving the churchyard, and which would have set off the Cathedral with extraordinary effect. He proposed to take down all the houses surrounding it and rebuild them after a large uniform plan so as to follow the outline of the Cathedral.

One of the pleasantest incidents in these London explorations is the sudden discovery of some quiet sequestered nook or corner, so sheltered and forgotten that the great hum and roar of the streets does not reach it. These agreeable surprises occur oftener than one would imagine, and in places where we would least dream of looking for them. Nowhere is the current of life and traffic so congested as on Ludgate Hill: the stream surges up and down the hill, yet here we come upon such an oasis. Turning out of Paternoster Row, and passing near its aorta, as we might almost style Stationers’ Hall Court, we stand before a red arch and gateway, quite modern, but not out of keeping. This is the entrance to Amen Court, happily named, a little sequestered square, where the canons of St. Paul’s live when they are “in residence.” Nothing more lazy, dreamy, or retired can be imagined. The hum of the City seems without, and shut out as by walls. The inclosure is quite monastic. You enter at one gate, pass round three sides of a square, and out by another. There is a central block of old, grimed, well-worn, and well-caked brick houses, in front of which spreads out a vast expanse of ground ivy, spread out like a carpet: who would think of or expect such a thing? There is a grass plot and flower beds and more old brick houses, with bits of shining brass on which are inscribed the canons’ names. Here is life dozed away; but the sound of the Cathedral bell reaches us.

IT is always pleasant to see some old, well-preserved mansion, with its pictures and doorways in good condition, the attendant housekeeper directing attention in her prim “show-woman” way to the carvings by “Grumbling Gibbons” (a phrase once actually uttered). More grateful, however, is it to come by chance on some neglected, unsung mansion which is celebrated by no flourishings of housekeepers, and which lingers on in its modest seclusion. Such used to be Hoghton Tower in Lancashire, with its long-forsaken court and leaden statue in the centre, its terraces and balustrades, all sad and dilapidated, but now restored to its old uses.

There are still to be found about London suburbs a few of the old and picturesque family mansions built in the days of King William or Queen Anne. These veterans of ripe, time-defying brick, spacious and even elegant in their proportions, excite more interest than many of us are able to explain. Some of the best have been levelled. A few still exist—usually altered and added to, for the use of schools or “institutions”; but not many of them are likely to last much longer.

Last year we heard of a fine old house at Wandsworth that had been doomed: it was to be cleared away by some builder of suburban villas. It was a very interesting specimen of its kind. It stood back a little from the road—presenting a rather imposing front of ripe and hard old red brick, with a richly-carved tympanum curiously protected from the incursions of the birds by a wire netting—a building well disposed and balanced, with two little low wings or “dependences” peeping from behind luxuriant shrubs. Over all was that sort of red rust which gives a grateful look of ripeness to old brickwork. The doorway was well and richly carved. Welcome, on entering, was the prospect of the old hall, dusky, panelled in oak, and crossed by three airy arches, well carved, with light pillars suggesting a colonnade. Beyond was the stair, rising effectively in short lengths. The elegant, twisted rail, slight but stable, the solidly-moulded balustrade—were admirably effective and interesting. The wall of the stair was richlydight with allegorical painting; whilst in the carved ceiling, among the clouds and vapours, were stately medallions with portraits. The colours, though somewhat faded and overlaid with grime, were in good order, and when cleaned would no doubt make a brave show. Verrio’s work—a country job—we may easily believe it to be. All through the mansion was abundant panelling and doors, with cornices richly cut. There was a perplexing little room, seemingly sliced off some greater apartment, the ceiling of which also displayed pictorial glories—two tremendous dames seated on clouds, one handing a sealed letter to the other. In the broad ceiling over the stair a medallion picture, said to be a portrait of the Duchess of York; and another believed to represent Queen Anne. In all this there was a sense of surprise mingled with a tranquil charm, a kind of new sensation. It was pleasant to think that the hard and grinding London practical spirit had overlooked this graceful relic. The spirit of Anne seemed to flutter through the old chambers. But it was on passing through to the back, to the old-fashioned “grounds,” that this sentiment was intensified. Looking up we could see that its back façade was as architectural as the front, displaying another richly-carved pediment and scutcheon with what appeared to be a cipher. The solemn brickwork, rusted and mellow, looked down on an old-fashioned, low-lying plaisaunce. From the richly-carved doorway we entered upon a stone platform, two gracefully-curved flights of steps sweeping down to the garden. Here you could scarcely believe that you were close to the high-road and to the ever-jingling tram-cars. Beyond, there were shady old trees and velvet lawns, strongly marked by an old-fashioned air of tranquillity. This old place is said to have been the residence of the Princess Anne and her husband. For my part, I have no hesitation in accepting the tradition. In any case, let us hope that the spoiler will not be allowed to intrude. There are but few of this pattern in or near London, and none so interesting as this “Wandsworth Manor-house.”

Another house is also interesting, not merely from its merits as a picturesque structure, but also from its associations. Half way up Highgate Hill, which leads us to a cluster of old houses and on to Hampstead, where there are many more, we come to a solid, impregnable-looking building, rising in its garden, and standing retired behind a low wall and surrounded by old trees. This is Cromwell’s House, which, the tradition runs, was inhabited by him, or by one of his generals—Ireton, most probably. This fine old building impresses us by its massive and picturesque air, its high roof and “shaggy” eaves, its heavy solid cupola, and its rich and beautiful carvings. The very wooden gates of the period have been retained, with their delicate carvings in low relief. The tone and colouring of the brickwork is of a mellow genial crimson, almost a raspberry tint, the mouldings are all delicate, yet bold and firm, a model for modern artists in brick; they are as sharp

CROMWELL’S HOUSE, HIGHGATE.

as on the day they were wrought and will stand time and weather for a century to come. The doorway is heavy and massive. The whole aspect of this fine old mansion suggests that we are a hundred miles away from London. When we enter, we find nothing but deep-brown oak, heavily corniced doors, a hall all set off with the same material, sombre and mysterious. Beyond is the stair, which has a celebrity of its own: it is laid out in the always effective style of short flights of half a dozen steps, with then a turn at right angles, and a landing, as though our fathers, like Hamlet, were “short and scant of breath,” and liked to ascend leisurely. There are fine massive balustrades and—here is the curiosity of the thing—at intervals rise carved oak statuettes of the Parliamentary soldiers with singular and pleasing effect. It is astonishing that thesebizarreornaments have escaped destruction hitherto, and that accident or design has not damaged or destroyed them. The old house is now a children’s hospital, and nurses and matrons pass up and down the Parliamentary staircase. But this occupancy suggests misgivings, as a hospital, once it begins to flourish, has a fashion of expanding or levelling regardless of antiquarian associations. The choice piece of ground, the gardens behind, and the finehealthy, stimulating air are tempting enough; and a few years may see the Cromwellian house levelled, and an imposing modern, but hideous pile reared in its place.

A scientific pilgrimage in search of the old London houses and mansions would discover even much more that is interesting and novel. London abounds in such. But here the same old story of disaster has to be repeated—the best are going or gone. Not by the slow processes of the leveller and builder, but through some onsets which work wholesale.[13]

FAIRFAX HOUSE, PUTNEY.

Among the solid old houses in the London suburbs, few attracted the pedestrian more powerfully than the imposing residence at Putney, known as Fairfax House. This pile of old brick was a welcome adornmentto that pleasing bit of Putney which was close to the bridge. Its great length, old ivy, quaint gables and grounds, gave it a particular attraction. Yet, in 1886, the word went forth that it was to be levelled, and the ground built over.

Many protests were made, among others, by a lady who had been a former resident. “I lived,” she pleaded, “for nineteen years in that dear old house, and would take any trouble to prevent its destruction. It is older than he mentions. The house was built by one Dawes, a merchant, in the reign of Henry VIII. Queen Elizabeth used to breakfast in the oak-panelled drawing-room, waiting for the tide, to ford the river on her journeys from Sheen to London. This gave it the name of the Queen’s House, by which it is called in the older documents, and by which it was known till the present name was given after General Fairfax was quartered there. The house was added to in the reign of Queen Anne; this date is given on one of the two sun-dials on the walls. Much more lofty rooms were built over the low drawing-room. Besides its picturesqueness and historic interest, the old house has the merit of being built in a substantial style only too rare in these days. The best preservation would be if some rich man would buy. Could not the garden be saved also? Such a variety of fine old specimen trees is rarely to be met with even in much larger grounds: and the house would be much spoilt by having the garden destroyed.”

But some practical-minded surveyors, in whose hands was the sale of the house, came to demolish the story: “Many erroneous statements have been published, and we may state that there is no shut-up room in the house. There was formerly an enclosed space in the cellars, but this was opened some years ago, and nothing whatever was discovered. There is no indication of any subterranean passage, and it would be difficult to propound any theory to account for its supposed existence. There is every reason to suppose that the house was never visited by Queen Elizabeth, and this supposition is strengthened by the fact that no portion of the house (which we have carefully inspected) appears to be of older date than her reign. If Queen Elizabeth was ever entertained in the oak-panelled drawing-room, as has been stated, the room must then have presented a totally different appearance, as the present panelling is about the date of the Restoration, and much of the work in the house is of considerably later date. It is also practically certain that Fairfax never took up his quarters in Fairfax House, although it is probable that his Commissary-General, Ireton, might have done so.” It is probable that few owners of moderate income, who were offered a large sum for some relic of antiquity, would decline, no matter how æsthetic their tastes. The result of the discussion was that the house was levelled, and over its fair gardens was built a row of practical and unlovely shops.

In the year 1888, a number of famous and historic houses were offered for sale by Messrs. Lumley. These included the old Shaw House at Newbury. “This may claim to rank, from an historical point of view, among the most interesting places in the southern counties. The beautiful Elizabethan mansion house, built by John Doleman just three centuries ago, is that same Shaw House, otherwise ‘Doleman’s,’ which figures so prominently in the exciting story of the second battle of Newbury. It is one of the few remaining sixteenth-century houses which, while it is in good preservation, has suffered nothing from the rash hand of the restorer, and its bowling-greens, fish-ponds, yew walks and paths along the Lambourne, and even the defensive works thrown up by the Royalist army, are still there to illustrate its remarkable history.” On the same day was offered for sale Carshalton House—whence Dr. Radcliffe was summoned to attend the death-bed of Queen Anne, and did not go. This mansion has its richly-timbered grounds and “fayre” gardens, and beautiful iron gates. There was also “submitted to public competition” Chalfont Park and Lodge, which was praised by Horace Walpole; also “The Oaks,” associated pleasingly with General Burgoyne’s drama “The Maid of the Oaks,” an old castellated red-brick mansion, standing in well-wooded grounds. Gatton House, with its marble hall, was also sold, once connected with the notorious and corrupt old borough. This was not bad for a single day’s work. The probability would be that the buyer would turn his purchase to immediate profit, level, and sell materials, and lay out the grounds for villa residences.

Yet one more agreeable old mansion, whose fall is hovering in the balance, or has been already determined, is the pleasing Raleigh House, out at Brixton.[14]It stood, or stands, in some charming grounds, old-fashioned, and rather secluded. For some years an agitation has been going on in the district to secure it as a park.

It is nearer to London, however, that the old houses disappear with the rapidity of a pantomimic change. The temptation of a garden and “grounds” is irresistible. Now where a single house stood you can trace a street of villas or terraces. A keen, sympathetic antiquary, living at Stoke Newington, Mr. Andrews, kept mournful watch on this, and some years ago recorded these baleful efforts:—

“Like autumn leaves, the ripe old red-brick mansions of the seventeenth and early part of the eighteenth century, which stood in their spacious grounds surrounded by lofty buttressed walls, and which gave a peculiar character to our London suburbs, are falling around us. Only a few months have passed since I recorded the demolition of Fleetwood House; last month the end of

RALEIGH HOUSE.

Kensington House was narrated, and I have two others to add to the series this month. The flat little branch line which ran out of Lower Edmonton was terminated at its Enfield end by a fine old red-brick mansion of the period of Queen Anne, which was utilized as the terminal station. This alteration would seem to necessitate the erection of a new station and the removal of the old one; so that probably before these lines are in the hands of the reader, the pick will be at its cruel work upon the fine old pile. The front of the house has good specimens of carved and moulded brickwork. The central portion of the front is, perhaps, one of the finest pieces of English brickwork in existence. It consists of an elaborate entablature, with a segmental pediment and four pilasters, which divide the front into three spaces, the central space, which contains a large window, being twice as wide as the lateral ones, each of which contains a niche, semicircular in plan, with a semicircular head, filled in with a well-carved cherub’s head. Above the niche is a panel containing swags of fruit and flowers, well carved out of brickwork. The entablature is very elaborately moulded and carved, the cornice having delicately-moulded dentils. Each pilaster has a carved composite capital. The bricks of which this portion of the front is formed are small, and the joints are almost imperceptible. All the carving is out of the solid brickwork, and none of this work appears to have been cast. The front contains, in addition, four windows, with carved brick architraves and label-heads. The other features are the usual ones found in houses of this period. All the rooms are panelled.

“The other old house is at the foot of Denmark Hill, Camberwell, and was till lately known as ‘Denmark Hill Grammar School.’ It was erected by Sir Christopher Wren upwards of two hundred years ago, and is said to be the last specimen of his work in the neighbourhood. It was once the residence of Mrs. Thrale, and during her occupancy Dr. Johnson was, no doubt, a frequent visitor here, as he was at Kensington House. The mansion was, on the 16th ult., sold in upwards of a hundred lots for old building materials, and two hundred small houses will shortly spring up on the site.”

The changes which have taken place in the City have been so imperceptible that we are scarcely conscious of the alteration of old landmarks and lines of streets. They have been well summarized by a laborious antiquary in one of the daily papers:—

“The amount of rebuilding that has taken place in the last ten years far exceeds that necessitated by the Great Fire. With the exception of the Regent’s route, cut through from Carlton House up to Regent’s Park, there is no important thoroughfare that has not changed its appearance in the last few years. The Strand and Piccadilly are on the maps what they were long ago, but one by one, and sometimes in small groups, so many houses have been pulled down and rebuilt that their appearance is considerablyaltered. Where entire rebuilding has not been effected, refronting has been adopted in many cases, as,e.g., in Gower Street, Hans Place, and several houses in Mayfair. Mount Street and its neighbourhood is new, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, is not recognizable, while Flood Street and others adjoining have been swept away. The aspect of Whitehall is greatly changed of late years, and Spring Gardens is all but gone. Michael’s Grove, Brompton, has undergone a thorough transformation. The whole area about Lower Sloane Street, where was the Old Chelsea Market, with its neighbouring courts, has been cleared, and is already partly rebuilt. The completion of Lennox Gardens and Cadogan Square was followed almost immediately by the rebuilding of Leete Street, Draycott Place and Street, and part of the King’s Road. Shaftesbury Avenue and the new Charing Cross Road are showing their influence right and left of them, and the whole of that part of London is becoming new, while their existence has already altered the character of life in the celebrated Seven Dials neighbourhood.”

THE old mansions of nobles and gentlemen in Grosvenor Street, Brook Street, Hill Street, Cavendish Square and Portman Square are generally of a fine and dignified pattern. There is an imposing air about the halls. The staircase is laid out in a noble style. The reception rooms are grand, and disposed in an original way, a surprise to us who are accustomed to the modern pattern of “front and back drawingrooms.”

Some of these old mansions offer a pleasing study, and excite admiration from their good effect. The Burlington Hotel has lately added to its premises a couple of old and stately mansions of this grand pattern. The decoration is the most interesting feature, consisting of garlands and panelling, wrought in a sort of massive stucco and laid profusely on the walls, with a rich but heavy effect—“surfaces,” as they are called, of the boldest pattern. Everywhere are medallions and flowers.

Close by was a more interesting pile which for years many passed by without even a look of curiosity. This was a large building at the bottom of Old Burlington Street, apparently a factory or warehouse. “Few persons living,” says an agreeable reminiscent, writing in February, 1887, “can recollect the old Western Exchange, which in 1820 was one of the sights of London. It ran parallel with the Burlington Arcade, the entrance being from 10, Old Bond Street, to which house it is still attached, and was at one time the grand banqueting hall. This hall is 170 feet by 105 feet, is very lofty, and has spacious galleries all round, supported by handsome Doric columns, highly decorated. There are numerous ante-rooms covering a large space of ground at the rear of several houses in Old Bond Street, the whole abutting on the Burlington Arcade, to which at one time there was an entrance. Its existence dates back to about the end of the sixteenth century, when the northern part of the street ended here. New Bond Street was then an open field known asConduit Mead, named from one of the conduits which supplied this part of London with water.

“In 1820 this place was converted into a bazaar, known, as already stated, as the Western Exchange. Though a fashionable resort before dinner of the idle and well-to-do, it did not last many years. Since then it has had a chequered existence, being occupied by commercial firms for various purposes. It is now about to be demolished, to erect on its site ‘commanding premises’ for a West-end firm of coach-builders, and thus one more of the few old London houses with a history will soon have disappeared.”

In various streets of the neighbourhood are to be found some fine, well-preserved houses of excellent pattern. In Clifford Street there is an ironmonger, or dealer in chimney-pieces, and as we enter his “store” we are surprised to find ourselves in one of the handsome architectural halls of the old days. Low, but richly adorned, columns, fluted, and with Corinthian capitals, support the ceiling, which is as richly worked with panels and devices. On the left a stair rises, in very short flights of half a dozen steps, between two of the columns, and the balustrades are quite monumental in their solidity. All is as stout and solid as it was a century and a half ago, when no doubt it was constructed. Such a sight as this is a pleasing surprise to the traveller in London.

Many will recall the fine old “Kensington House,” a long, tall, high-roofed building of many windows, which stood behind a low wall in that suburb. It was ever interesting to pass by, for one thought of Louise de Querouaille, Duchess of Portsmouth, who lived there; of the French school held there after the Revolution by the Prince de Broglie as principal, to whom King Charles X. was pupil; and of Mrs. Inchbald, who lived here when it was a boarding-house. It was a pity to lose so fine a mansion, and with such gardens behind.

In 1872 this and another fine old house, with wings, were levelled to make way for Baron Grant’s imposing but ugly palace, and a space of seven acres was cleared. Many will recall the gigantic green lattice work reared at each side to fence out the adjoining houses. The edifice and grounds cost close upon £300,000, equivalent to a rental of £15,000 a year. By the time it was completed its owner was ruined, and he never lived in it.[15]

In some of the old-fashioned streets in Westminster we find noblemen’s or gentlemen’s houses disposed inside after a pattern which might be commended to the study and imitation of our modern architects. Not long since we were in a house in Park Place, whose interior seemed strikingly original and elegant. The staircase was in a sort of well, and the drawing-room landing took the shape of a kind of balustraded gallery, whence you could look down on the company ascending. The drawing-room had a piquant window, whence there was a view of the stairs. Though this was a small house there was a general tone of spaciousness. There are modest houses in the little streets leading out of the Strand which display the same elegance of arrangement.

One of the most pleasing, or quaint, survivals is a little tranquil corner in Westminster known as “Queen Anne’s Square,” or Gate. A very few years ago this might have altogether escaped the town traveller, so abandoned was it; but now it has come into fashion; the great “Mansions” tower over it, the ground is coveted, and is increasing in value every hour. Here are some houses of a truly antique pattern, high-roofed, with broad eaves, dormer windows, and, finally, some seven or eight doorways all of the same pattern, carved elaborately, each taking the shape of a sort of projecting canopy with pendent bosses. The whole is in perfect keeping, and is after one design—pillars, door-case, and railing. The effect is charming, and elaborate as the doorways are, the workmanship is so sound that they are in admirable condition, and have stood wind and weather for a couple of centuries. The artistic visitor will note the beautiful proportion of the pilasters, the due and effective breadth of the mouldings, while even the railings—simple and in such contrast to the pretentious and modern railings—are in keeping. In the corner of the square is the statue of Queen Anne. But already the refashioning has set in; stories are being added, the dormers swept away, and presently the houses will be modernized and rebuilt, the doorways coveted by the dealers, or disposed of for a good price in Wardour Street. One of the quaint oddities of the place is the grotesque faces which dot the walls, each different.

Within a couple of doors of the Adelphi Theatre are to be seen two houses, “quaint and old,” belonging to the Charles II. era—one said to have been the house of Drayton the poet—carved and original. I suppose few who pass hurriedly by, observe them. The old houses in London, of great pretensions to beauty, are very few. Of course there are a goodly number of simply antique mansions.

In James Street, and looking on the Wellington Barracks, is a quaint old Queen Anne house, extremely simple in treatment, but original. It is well worth looking at from its cheerful, gay brickwork, and the arrangement of the windows, disposed irregularly. It has quite the suburban or Richmond-like air, and ought to be on a common. Indeed, there is aquaint air of old fashion about this James Street rarely found in a London street.

Perhaps a gem of a house, as it might be called, is the one in Great Queen Street—No. 56, which was before alluded to. It consists of a most original, red-brick front, with pilasters adorned with rich and even elegant Corinthian capitals; above runs a no less rich cornice, while some piquant dormer windows give point and emphasis. Happily it has fallen into the hands of a worthy firm who deserve credit for having maintained it in its old perfect shape; but the necessities of trade have entailed the “excavation” of the lower storey, which of course destroys the effect. Still, as it is, this charming relic—the tradition runs that it was the work of Inigo Jones—is ever welcome to the passer-by, from the rich warm, mellow tint of its brick—its “closeness,” the whole being as smooth as a billiard table—and the general soundness of the work. This must have been built two centuries ago. What house of our day will stand for half a century, even with abundant renewings and repairs?

Two of the most beautiful and elaborate Old London houses are those to be found side by side at the end of Mortimer Street, out of Regent Street. There is a grace and richness in the carvings and general design which suggest some of the old Flemish houses in Antwerp and Bruges. Very few, I fancy, have ever noted this piece of architectural embroidery, which is as solid as it is interesting.

But it is melancholy to think of all that has been swept away, even recently. Forgotten now is the so-called Shakespeare Tavern, that stood a few years ago in Aldersgate Street, an extraordinarily picturesque specimen of the framed house, richly carved, overhanging the street, all gables and bows, a wonderfully effective example of the old wooden structures. In a short time we shall be looking for such things in vain, and have only pictures and photographs to remind us of them. Further down, on the opposite side of the street, stood, at the same period, that curious specimen of a nobleman’s town mansion, Shaftesbury House, with its huge stone pilasters and rambling façade. This also is levelled. It is something, however, to have seen these things. Nor must I forget a welcome surprise, or “treat” as an enthusiast would put it, in the way of old houses, which occurred many years ago, when it was announced in the papers that there was a special old house in the City, in Leadenhall Street, on the eve of being pulled down, and which every connoisseur ought to see before its destruction. I repaired thither with the rest, and was more than gratified, for a more instructive or effective survival could not be imagined. It was an old mansion of a thriving merchant in the days of Queen Anne. Outside it was gloomy, with an archway, under which you entered into a courtyard, round which spread the houses and offices. The front was clearly devoted to the business of the office; in the dwelling,just behind, the merchant and his family resided. But in what state! and what evidence of wealth and taste! There was a noble staircase with ponderous balustrades; the walls and ceilings were painted in allegorical devices—gods and goddesses and clouds; rooms all panelled in oak with carved cornices—such was the spectacle! This was the fashion of the day, the combination of business with opulence. The merchant had not then his box in the country, to which he repaired at evening, but lived in the town. Here was a glimpse of the old City—state and trade commingled—merchant and family and clerks and wares all under the same roof. In a few days the pickaxes were busy on the paintings!

ROOM IN THE SIR PAUL PINDAR TAVERN.

So lately as December, 1877, an action was brought by the owner of the Sir Paul Pindar Tavern in Bishopsgate Street to restrain the neighbouring hospital from pulling down the adjoining old house. The two houses were said to be to some extent framed together, so that parts of the rooms of one would be immediately above or below the rooms of the other. The two had probably formed originally one house. The buildings were old and interesting, and the plaintiff deposed that he attributed much of the value of the good-will “to the antique and quaint appearance of his house.” It appeared that the one house was separated from the other by a timber-framed partition, and that a portion of this had been removedto enable the South Kensington authorities to get some large and handsome ceilings. Already Sir Paul Pindar’s house leans ominously, as though the foundations were giving way. This elegant oldmansion might be placed in a museum, so profuse and delicate are the carvings and carved panellings. Mr. Birch tells us it was built about the year 1650, the owner being a wealthy merchant, who gave a sum of £10,000 to old St. Paul’s Church. The ceilings of the two rooms are exceedingly rich, one representing, in flat relief, the sacrifice of Isaac, the other being divided into geometrical patterns. What will become of this work when the old building has to be taken down?

SIR PAUL PINDAR’S HOUSE.

Mr. Birch notes with much praise the fine old mansions of St. Helen’s, their fine design and material, of “cut brick.” The date 1646 is on one of the pilasters. He thinks—and is probably right—that it is the work of Inigo Jones, who was employed on the church, where some of the screens and also the doorways are of his design. In No. 9 is to be seen a good fire-place. To the same architect also, Mr. Birch attributes “a very noble chimney-piece” in the house No. 25, Bishopsgate Street—Crosby Hall Chambers. It is a duty of rather mixed experience, the hunting up these relics, and the request to be admitted to see a room or hall upstairs is sometimes received suspiciously, but often enough very cordially. In some cases the City mind cannot understand the taste that prompts such inquiries. But on the whole there is a courtesy and cordiality of reception which is gratifying, the owner seeming flattered that his property should attract the notice of the curious. Mr. Birch, always a sympathetic observer, describes an old chamber in the Ward Schools of St. Botolph, Billingsgate, as a perfect gem, with its fine oak panels running round, in each panel an excellent painting inchiaro oscuro. Another imposing chamber is that one at Islington where the Directors of the New River Company meet, with its fine ceiling wrought with an oval in Inigo Jones’s manner. But in truth there is an abundance of these old apartments in London, stately, dignified, but comparatively unknown and difficult to find.

In Hanover Square and George Street there is quite a Dutch tone, asany one will see who pauses and glances from one house to the other. Removing the shops, in imagination, as well as the plaster with which the old brickwork has been encrusted, and peopling them with fine company, carriages waiting at the door, we can see what the old pattern was. Many are rich in pilasters and cornices, and it will be noted that most of the windows are slightly arched. They are, in fact, of the same pattern as some of the stately mansions in Grosvenor Square inhabited by the “nobility and gentry,” and would have the same effect if occupied by such tenants. A curious and elaborately adorned house stands on the right of the church—the fashionable St. George’s.

ROOM IN SIR PAUL PINDAR’S HOUSE.

To an artistic eye one of the pleasantest sights is an old-fashioned mansion standing in its garden, with an elegant gate of twisted iron, monograms, and a gilt helmet, it may be, interlaced, with sinuous leaves gracefully bent. Through its openings we see the straight flagged walk leading to the fan-shaped steps, with the smooth flowing rail of hammered iron, opening outin a graceful curve. The doorway is tall and narrow, with an overhanging cornice. The windows exhibit a feeling of design and balance. There are the high, the solidly imperishable carved eaves which no damp can penetrate. The whole has an air of grace; it suits its garden, and its garden suits it. Out at Clapton, nearly opposite to the Salvationist Barracks, is a house of this pattern; pleasing, if only as a survival of the well-designed suburban house, and which will well repay a walk. It is now a ladies’ school.

The larger mansions in London, which answer to noblemen’s “hôtels” in Paris, are few, and are not very imposing of their class. Of this grand and pretentious kind there are barely half a dozen. The old Northumberland House, with its well-known lion—now levelled—was perhaps the only one with historical associations. The Brothers Adam, who have done so much for the metropolis, do not seem to have been sufficiently appreciated in this line. Their work is found abundantly in the country and suburbs, in houses of “noblemen and gentlemen.” The speculator is ever casting hungry glances at these tempting morsels. One of the finest of these mansions, so interesting from its associations, was Chesterfield House, with its graceful façade, flanked by colonnades joining the two wings, its harmonious yet unpretending combination of spacious rooms and fine staircase. Of late years this mansion passed through all the vicissitudes of a “letting house,” and was finally disposed of to a wealthy magnate who is said to have shown much ability and skill in “exploiting” his purchase. In the gardens a row of magnificent mansions, stables, etc. was reared. The ground covered by the wings was also built over, and the house, shorn of its charming colonnades, now disposed against the blank brick walls at right angles to the main building, serves as a residence for the proprietor himself. It was whispered that this clever arrangement of the purchase had recouped the whole outlay, and that the mansion is now rent free. The room where, as the tradition runs, Johnson waited, is now lit with the electric light!

Devonshire House, whose gloomy and rather dilapidated wall is familiar to all who pass through Piccadilly, is “a neat, plain, well-proportioned brick building,” a description that well suits its unpretending merits. There is also Lansdowne House adjoining, on the north, which has a large expanse of garden and grounds. It is one of the earliest works of the Brothers Adam, and after their favourite pattern, a central block with a pediment and four columns, two lower wings adhering, as it were, to it. It is said that the reception apartments when thrown open for festivities will hold a larger number of guests than any other London house. It has its grand gallery, one hundred feet long, with a famous collection of statues and pictures. Perhaps, says a certain guide book, in an amusingly odd criticism, “there is no other collection inwhich the human countenance appears with such glorious attributes of mental expression and artistic execution.” It may be said, however, that this at least applies admirably to the famous Reynolds portrait of Sterne, with its very original attitude and Voltairean glance. The Duke of Westminster’s mansion in Upper Grosvenor Street had probably originally one of those dismal walls which excited Sir W. Chambers’s reprobation. There is now in front a striking, open colonnade, or “columniated screen,” as the architects call it, with two gateways, probably suggested by that in front of old Carlton House. Through this is seen the rather ordinary mansion itself, which somehow suggests an “hôtel” in the faubourg. Facing the park are the gardens, which have been curtailed by the erection of a somewhat ponderous gallery to hold the pictures. Here is one of the most famous London collections, with ten Claudes, eleven Rubenses, and seven Rembrandts, and over one hundred works by masters of the first and second rank. This is the remarkable feature in the case of these noble London mansions, viz., the curiosities of the picture gallery or art collection, suggesting the show palaces at Rome and Genoa. A sad specimen of failure, after abundant promise and lavish outlay, is offered by Apsley House. This was an old brick house which the Iron Duke purchased for nearly £10,000, and proceeded to patch and remodel, with the most unprofitable result. There are many stories of his dissatisfaction and disappointment at the result, and of the costly shifts to which he and his architect, Wyatt, were led to resort to. It was admitted that it would have been better and cheaper to have reared an entirely new edifice. Here is a gallery and many choice works of art, the most interesting of which is Canova’s colossal statue of Napoleon—the first object which greets the visitor.

Few would imagine that in that fast-decaying city, Dublin, are to be found some of the finest and most architectural specimens of the nobleman’s house. It is pitiable to see these stately piles falling into ruin, or turned to baser and, at least, unsuitable uses. There are some half a dozen still remaining, worthy of admiration from their beautiful proportion, noble and spacious apartments, and exquisite stucco. The Duke of Leinster’s in Merrion Square is now occupied by the Royal Dublin Society. Another, in William Street, belongs to a commercial firm; Lord Alborough’s, a name long associated with Mr. Holloway and the “cure of a bad leg of long standing,” with its private theatre and chapel forming two wings, has become a barrack. Lord Charlemont’s, in Rutland Square, designed by Sir W. Chambers, is a public office. The friezes, ceilings, and other decorative works in these places are truly astonishing and indeed incomparable, and, it is said, a number of Italian artists were brought over specially for the work. Nothing indeed shows the decay of taste so much as the contrast between the older patterns of chimneypiece and the new. Not many years ago there was a sort ofbande noireestablished in Dublin, who bought up all these artistic fittings, with the result that almost every old house in the county was ruthlessly stripped of its adornments, which were taken away to embellish newly-built houses in London. One private gentleman, who was concerned in a building speculation, secured no less than forty or fifty chimney-pieces at one swoop!

An imposing pile of building rises on one side of Piccadilly, between the Arcade and the Albany, whose great archway leads to the most popular of exhibitions, that of the Royal Academy. This pretentious and florid mass is already grey and ancient-looking. Yet not many years back its place was filled by a long, prison-like, well-grimed, and very dead wall, literally blackened with the dirt of a century, and more. In the centre was a huge, massive gateway, that might have opened into Newgate. This forlorn-looking place was old Burlington House, which seemed as though no one ever lived in, or entered it. Few supposed that within there was a building and architectural combination of an original order, which had often excited the admiration of connoisseurs—the work of thedilettanteEarl of that name, whose skill is still to be admired in the spacious York Assembly Rooms, for which he furnished designs. In his alterations of his house in Piccadilly there was much pleasing grace. It was of only two stories, which can still be noticed, but they are now groaning under the superimposed third story laid on them by the modern architect. They seem to protest——

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