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 richly dight 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

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 these bizarre ornaments 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 fine healthy, 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]

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 adornment to 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

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 considerably altered. 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.”