THE old, smaller squares in London are very interesting from their tranquil, retired air and antique pattern, and venerable trees. None is more characteristic than Queen Square in Bloomsbury, with its pleasant Queen Anne and Georgian houses running round. Most of these inclosures were laid out originally after the Dutch manner, which is still apparent. It must be a curious solitary sensation to live in one of these retreats, and they are affected by students and literary men. Old fashion, indeed, reigns in Queen Square, though now they have pulled down some of the houses to rear hospitals. The houses have a pleasant, tranquil air, though within they are gloomy enough. Everyone knows the curious half solemnity, half chill, inspired by an old Queen Anne house, such as one has experienced in Church Row, Hampstead. Here, you would think you were miles away from town, in some sleepy suburb. At the upper end lived Dr. Charles Burney—the father of the brilliant Fanny Burney—in a house which had been inhabited by Alderman Barber, and to which Swift was accustomed to resort. This house, I fancy, was one of those recently pulled down to give place to the hospital. In this worthy mansion one has the interest that one takes in all connected with Johnson.

Not far away is another antique square, very old-fashioned, and with good houses, Red Lion Square. The inclosures of both these places have more the air of “grounds” than of the prim and trim modern square. There is a certain wildness, and the grass grows carelessly. But it is now completely invaded by business, and every house is subdivided into offices. Curious little foot-alleys lead into it from various quarters.

Another interesting little square is the one yclept Golden. Many a Londoner scarcely knows of its existence, and many more have never seen it; yet it is within a stone’s throw of Regent Street. It is prettily proportioned, the grass flourishing with extraordinary greenness, and in the centre rises an effective statue. Not so many years ago private persons of high respectability lived here, among others Cardinal Wiseman. Now it is entirely given over to commercial offices, and has a busy air in consequence. It would seem strange now to look for any person of condition residing here. Some of the most forlorn and dismal places are those curious squares found in the long roads that lead out of London. There is one such near the Old Kent Road, built in a pretentious style and now utterly gone to seed and decay. All the doorways, of a curious pattern, are the same, so are all the windows. No one walks there, no custom appears to visit it. It seems one mass of abandonment and we hurry away depressed. Soho Square is really quaint and interesting: it is in a sound and flourishing condition; and so full of interest, that a small book has been written on its history. Nothing is more pleasing than the sudden glimpse that is obtained of it from Oxford Street, or from Dean Street, its fine old trees spreading out umbrageously. The old houses have a quaint, solid air, notably those at the corners. Still flourishes the old Soho Bazaar at one corner, a visit to which in days gone by was thought a treat and a wonder for children. The houses, with the streets surrounding, are valuable as suggesting how old London of a hundred and fifty years back must have looked. It can have been little altered, and though shops have been opened in many of the lower stories, these have in many instances retained their old parlour shape. One is struck by the handsome quality of the mansions, the sound, solid doors, and the “detached” character of each house; that is, each was finished by itself, and not built in “rows.” A long blank wall pierced with windows, now a chapel, was formerly Mrs. Cornely’s Ridotto Rooms. On the same side of Soho Square we may note a singularly handsome house, architectural in its bold pilasters and cornices, and the cheerful red of its brick, which suggest that famous old Inigo Jones’s house in Great Queen Street. This imposing-looking edifice belongs to the flourishing firm of Crosse and Blackwell, who have taken pains to keep it in sound condition, and have fitted up one of the handsome old chambers as a sort of baronial hall, with oaken panellings and ornamental chimney. Wardour Street is suspiciously close at hand, but the spirit that prompted the work was good. Some of the houses display curious devices—faces, roses, and fleur-de-lys. Close by, in Oxford Street, we find the wine-famed Messrs. Gilbey in occupation of a rather stately building with a heavy porch and architectural front. It is long forgotten now that this was erst the Pantheon, originally one of the most beautiful buildings ever erected in London, as we can learn from the fine series of engraved plates published in its heyday. The interior was burnt early in the century, and it was reconstructed, but not with the same magnificence. It has a curious history therefore—being used as an opera house, and a place of entertainment for assemblies. A well-known man of fashion in Sheridan’s days, Colonel Greville, was much concerned with its fortunes.

Indeed, a history of the London squares would have extraordinary interest and romance, and there are many odd details associated with them. Who knows, for instance, that the eminently grave and respectable mansions round Russell Square were actually built out of the square itself?—the bricks being obtained from an immense pit dug in the centre, which still lies in a hollow. The air of Portman Square used to have a reputation for extreme salubrity and mildness, and Mrs. Montagu—who lived in one of the corner houses, and entertained her chimney sweeps there—used to declare that “it was the Montpelier of England.” One of the most genuine and truly old-fashioned squares is Berkeley Square—where the trees are ancient, their branches spreading away close to the ground. The grass seems extra rich and green, as though long laid down. Of a sunny day there is a most picturesque effect from the shade cast on the grass by the branches. We seem to be straying in some old park, and there is a tranquil, retired air. These little effects are overlooked by the incurious sojourners in town. Belgrave Square dates from only the year 1825, and was the work of the Messrs. Cubitt, the houses being designed by an Italian. Hanover Square, and George Street adjoining, is certainly one of the most notable and characteristic portions of London, for its almost picturesque old houses. These are in fine condition, but so familiar is the locality that few will perhaps have taken note of them. The square and street date from the time of George I., and, it is stated, “exhibit many examples of the German style of architecture in private houses.” Indeed, we have only to pause before some of the houses at the upper end of George Street to see the truth of this. Within there are fine specimens of staircases and panellings. “The view down George Street, from the upper end of the square, is one of the most interesting in the whole city; the sides of the square, the area in the middle, the breaks of building that form the entrance of the vista, the vista itself, but above all, the beautiful projection of the portico of St. George’s Church, are all circumstances that unite in beauty, and render the scene perfect.” Mr. Malton says, “This view has more the air of an Italian scene than any other in London.” Harewood House, on the north side of the square, was built for the late Duke of Roxburghe, but purchased by Lord Harewood: it was designed, as can be seen at the first glance, by the Adams. These tall houses of George Street, with their bright cheerful tint, their long windows, have within fine spacious staircases of infinite variety, walls handsomely panelled and richly decorated, and, above all, fine ceilings elaborately wrought in good old stucco work. In some of the houses the drawing-room walls are set off with medallions in low relief of the Wedgwood pattern. This old stucco work is now a lost and beautiful art. Mr. Aitcheson, the accomplished architect, has recently explained its true principles, which are totally at variance with the modern system. One of

the most attractive of the houses here is the Arts Club—a fine, interesting specimen, with rather florid ceilings exhibiting very delicate work, fine inlaid marble chimney-pieces, and a “flowing” staircase. Though a small mansion, it offers that curious air of spaciousness which arises from the sense of proportion being duly felt and carried out.

While wandering through the immediate district of Hanover Square, where the same school of architects seems to have inspired the work, I came on a house of pretension which many an explorer would overlook, and which has certainly escaped the notice of the careless wanderer. At the top of Old Burlington Street is a large mansion, a centre block and two wings, which now does duty as two or three distinct establishments. One wing forms the entrance and hall, with a circular stair built into a sort of rotunda, from which open richly-carved doors and doorways. The other wing is pierced by a long tunnel which leads by a kind of alley to St. George’s Church. The centre block is given over to a house agent. Here too is abundance of mouldings and decorations, with a monumental fireplace, over which is a sort of panelled chimney-piece. This contrast with the practical uses for which the place serves is curious. Behind is a large building or hall which can scarcely be made out from the street, so built in is it. This is now known as the Burlington Hall, and used as a Young Men’s Association. This place, with all its dependences, must date from the middle of last century.

Portman and Cavendish Squares offer a great variety of mansions, well built and well designed—such specimens of the interiors as I have seen are remarkable for their noble stone staircases, florid ironwork railings, and heavily panelled walls. The beautiful solid work with which noblemen and gentlemen used to adorn their mansions can be well illustrated by a casual instance which lately came under my notice. A gentleman who was fitting up his West End house was informed by his builders that a mansion was being pulled down in Grosvenor Street, I think, and that some of the fittings could be secured for the usual “old song.” Among these were a set of massive mahogany doors—portes battantes—of the finest description, the mouldings being set off with richly gilt brass.

St. James’s Square has a cheerful dignity of its own: one of the most dramatic incidents of the century took place in one of the houses. When the issue of the battle of Waterloo was unknown, a wealthy Mrs. Boehm was giving a grand ball, at which the Regent was present. All the rank and fashion of London were there, the windows lit up and open, for the night was sultry; the crowd gathered thickly, looking up at the festivity and the clustered figures. It was after midnight, when a roar came from the distant streets, which increased and swelled, and was borne into the room. The dancing stopped, and those looking on witnessed an indescribable scene of tumult and joy. A chaise and four approached—flags projecting from the windows: an officer, Major Percy, leaped out, carrying his flags, rushed upstairs, and coming up straight to the Prince, knelt on one knee and announced the great victory. Poor Mrs. Boehm’s ball was ruined, for the Prince and everyone departed instantly. But the scene rises before us on some of the summer nights when festivity is going on in the square.[16]

How very few “West-enders” have penetrated so far as Fitzroy Square, which, though close to Tottenham Court Road, is somewhat difficult to find. There is an attraction in its stately faÇades, one side of which is the work of the Brothers Adam, and has quite the flavour of Bath. Another side was designed by an inferior artist; while the remaining ones are in the ordinary style. Anyone who would wish to feel thoroughly “old-fashioned” should come and live here. Not many years ago, before the era of studio building set in, it was much affected as a haunt of artists; but now it offers a curious “running to seed” air. It is, however, well worth a visit, and a person of taste, by contrasting the two sides, will see how skilfully a true architect can lay out a pile of buildings.