WHY do distant objects please? It is a question which has exercised many minds. William Hazlitt once had the inspiration to write an essay on the subject, saying, among other things, that the reason for our pleasure is that we clothe distant objects with the indistinct and airy colours of fancy. There is truth in this argument when applied to landscape, and still more so in regard to history and antiquities. We look on the distant past as we do on a beautiful sunset, conscious only of warm, glowing reflections. Forgetfulness and ignorance play a great part in our estimate of bygone days and things. The invasion of Britain by Julius Cassar and the later Romans has been the joy of the archaeologist—descendants of those who suffered at the time; and if we wander through Hastings Castle it is the personality of William the Conqueror which inspires us rather than remembrance of the troubles endured by the vanquished. We believe that tribulation, especially that of other people in a previous generation, had compensations.

In the same way we take pleasure in imagining pictures of the peaceful past, rich in colour and pleasant in tone. Those days in which our fore-fathers used y instead of i and almost invariably ended their words with an e, seem so picturesque and delightful. How many paintings have been shown at the Royal Academy under the title of “Merrie England” or its equivalent? Only Mr. Algernon Graves knows. The poets have been not less backward than the artists in proclaiming the romance of life in those distant days, and novelists have led us astray with equal regularity. For, almost certainly, we have been led astray. It is inconceivable that the days and nights in the olden times were filled with masques and continual merriment. Joviality there was, of course, and an absence of those assets of civilization which sometimes trouble us now: but life was a very serious thing, and even when there was no war at home or abroad, there were political and social movements which at times must have made the lives of the people intolerable. So history teaches us.

To destroy illusions, however, is not the way to earn popularity, so few but pessimists and the most severe historians look back with a keen eye for defects in our national romances. Most of us may take a generous view of the lives of our remote ancestors. Let them be supposed to have had the advantage of us in their environment, occupations, pastimes, and sentiments. It is futile to institute comparisons, and those who made England are entitled to the benefit of the doubt. That they did possess certain privileges is beyond question, and as other blessings have been substituted for the benefit of later generations, we can afford to look back with a certain amount of envy on the time when traditions were being made and events followed one another with less disturbing frequency than they are doing in the twentieth century.

The days of our youth are regarded, not without reason, as the period of our greatest happiness. It is often a transparent fiction, but on the whole there is an element of truth in the idea. For one thing our lives are then before us, and even if we have no definite course to be followed steadily there is generally the beacon of hope to inspire our progress. In after years, especially if we have been successful, the obstacles seem to have been lower and fewer. We may imagine, therefore, that the relentless advance of time is regarded with equal anxiety by inanimate things. If the stones, bricks, and timbers of ancient secular edifices could speak they would wish us to believe, as human beings do, that their early days were the best. Perhaps they would be right in this supposition, for buildings when first erected serve the purpose for which they are required and generally satisfy those who own and live in them. No doubt perfection was not attained in regard to the full utilisation of the site, the accommodation provided, and so forth, in the past any more than in the present, but ancient buildings would receive a certain measure of praise on completion. So it would be natural that the structure itself, given the power to absorb impressions, would look back to its earliest and most useful existence with the same feeling of regret experienced by most people in maturity or old age. If it were an Elizabethan mansion, the principal facade would recall with pride the arrival on horseback or otherwise of those notable guests who, dim years ago, conferred splendour and everlasting honour on the establishment, each projecting bay meanwhile looking down with mingled wonder and disparagement on the apparently lifeless motor carriage now bringing visitors to its time-worn entrance. The interior of the ancient mansion would be inclined no less than the exterior to look upon modern beings as usurpers and unheroic characters, compared with those who once walked through the stately halls and corridors. It would be interesting indeed if we could interpret the feelings of these monuments of the past. Such a chronicle would be as full of pathos as any history of a noble race or family, once powerful and magnificent, now crest-fallen or defunct. For building materials are subject to stranger vicissitudes than those who cause them to be manipulated. Even if they have only decay to contend with it is a constant struggle against their eventual fate, but as often as not they have to face destruction sooner or later. Sometimes the stones which have been used in an historic building are forced to do service again and again until their record and significance are lost. Occasionally we have a clue to the past, as in the case of “Nonsuch,” the beautiful palace begun by Henry VIII, and once an attraction on the road to Epsom. It is supposed that when this building was pulled down, to the perpetual disgrace of the first Duchess of Cleveland, some of the materials were used in the construction of “Durdans,” the prototype of the existing Surrey residence of Lord Rosebery. The fate of the Holbein Gateway, which once adorned Whitehall, was to be dismembered by order of the hero of Culloden, the idea being that it should be re-erected in the Great Park at Windsor. This was never done, though Thomas Sandby drew up a scheme at the time; and with the exception of a few fragments, this most interesting relic of Tudor architecture only survives in illustrations and models. A better destiny was in store for a later structure which outlived the esteem of the authorities, namely Temple Bar. That this work by Sir Christopher Wren should have been removed from Fleet Street was essential, no doubt, through the press of traffic which had arisen; but it is astonishing that the stones should have been permitted to lie about in the Farringdon Road for some years until rescued and re-erected at Theobald’s Park by Sir Henry Meux. The City Corporation struck a medal to commemorate the demolition in 1878, but it may be hoped that some day another one may be issued simultaneously with the restoration to London of this unique relic. Such examples of vandalism could be multiplied indefinitely; and when buildings destroyed by other means, such as fire, are added to the list, it is a matter for congratulation that so many remains of architectural design and craftsmanship are available for study in something approaching their original state.

Two main features contribute to the chequered existence of historic buildings. The first is restoration, which includes alterations and additions, and the second is decay, the variety which renders a house uninhabitable as well as obsolete. In the former case the old work has often been utterly spoiled by drastic measures of reconstruction or by good-intentioned but fatal efforts to repair and beautify: in the latter case the building gradually goes to pieces until it becomes a ruin, splendid still perhaps in its suggestion of other days, but becoming year by year a monument needing continual attention if it is to survive. We are then immersed in the depths of antiquarian lore, and the problems of archaeology which arise are only equalled by the diversity of methods brought forward for keeping the object intact. Conservation is a science as well as an art, but even so it is difficult to obtain unanimity of opinion from experts when work is contemplated. The case of Stonehenge may be mentioned, although it is beyond our field. Century by century this imposing group of stones has suffered, and different generations of engineers as well as architects, individually or as societies, have made suggestions for its maintenance and partial reconstruction. Yet in spite of great care it is always in jeopardy, partly because it is private property. At the time of writing this relic of Druid architecture is for sale, and if it could be made the national monument it deserves to be, special measures could be taken for its preservation. Another instance of disagreement between those experienced in restoration occurred when Mr. F. Baines, acting for the Office of Works, proposed to strengthen the fourteenth-century hammer-beam roof of Westminster Hall with the aid of steel as well as oak (1914). This modern method of preservation was duly adopted, and it will be for the experts in the years to come to praise or blame the restorers and the craftsmen engaged in the work at the present time.

With the institution of new legislative machinery it may be hoped that there will be no more instances of misapplied enterprise in removing objects of historic interest from their original positions. The case of Tattershall Castle, since presented to the nation by Lord Curzon, is fresh in the memory of all. The iniquity of taking away the fine sculptured stone fireplaces, now happily restored to their positions, has been matched time after time by similar acts, and it was not without much evidence of artistic crime that the Government rightly took action. Too much sentiment has overflowed, perhaps, in certain cases of alleged vandalism. Owners, including public bodies, have been neglectful of their possessions, and only when someone else has speculated on the commercial value, have the objects been appreciated for their artistic interest. It seems strange, for example, that some treasures of craftsmanship and antiquity from Westminster Abbey, Winchester Cathedral, and other sacred places should have been available for erection elsewhere at the call of the highest bidder. Innumerable relics of domestic architecture and decoration have been taken from English homes for transportation. Anyone who wished to do so could make out a list of indignities which would cause almost as much chagrin as the record, published recently by the National Gallery Committee, of important pictures sold out of the United Kingdom in modern times. The sale of a Gainsborough might be bracketed with the exportation of the Elizabethan panelling from Rotherwas, Herefordshire. In all such cases, however, the word desecration must not be used, for it often happens that without the intervention of those who understand the importance of these things, the decorative details of many houses would have ceased to exist or would have been obscured. A generation which could paint or whitewash the fine panelling it had inherited deserves and receives nothing but censure. Such acts of depreciation were once common, however, and it required a new order of intelligence to cause the removal of blemishes which did great injustice to the original work and really deprived the owners of desirable surroundings. In private houses this unappreciative attitude towards the past was evidence of personal taste gone wrong and might be attributed to narrow influences. But that the germ of destruction should appear in the most hallowed places is more remarkable. Occasionally there is compensation for such curious actions, as in the case of Hampton Court. About a year ago, during the redecoration of a suite of apartments, some fine oak panelling was discovered behind the battening and papered canvas, together with two stone fireplaces and other features which had been hidden for many years. These had been Wolsey’s private rooms, and their restoration to their original state provided a remarkable contribution to our imaginative picture of the great Cardinal.

A visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum will reveal evidence of the modern regard for details once completing and adorning buildings which have been demolished or have seen better days. The front of Sir Paul Pindar’s house, transferred from Bishopsgate to the Museum, is of epic grandeur; while the inlaid oak panelling from Sizergh Castle, Westmoreland, with the bedstead to match, reminds us in an exceptional way of sixteenth-century accomplishments. It is fortunate that many fine examples of exterior and interior workmanship have escaped the perils to which they have been exposed since the days of their pristine elegance, and are now preserved in comparative safety. Though there is little reason to doubt that some really desirable objects have always commanded a certain degree of respect, sufficient care has not been exercised in many notable cases. The history of the housebreakers’ trade is full of artistic tragedies, and the awakening of public interest might have come sooner for the benefit of the national reputation. Exactly when the movement began for the full appreciation of such works of art and industry cannot be stated. The influence of the Society of Antiquaries, dating from the eighteenth century, has been considerable, and other bodies have worked quietly also for the purpose of recording the existence of objects worthy of attention. With such efforts of tabulation and description the good work generally ceased, and the worship of the things themselves being confined to a limited circle the warmth of appreciation was seldom of sufficient power to ripen the fruit of the tree of knowledge. It was the plucking of the fruit which was responsible for a better appreciation of its quality. When astute business men perceived that there was money in the more or less abandoned relics of the past, and proceeded to find new owners for them, the British public discovered that the derelict objects were rare and beautiful. The work was not always artistic in the accepted sense, but it possessed character, individuality, and charm. It was not machine-made or finished with the precision of a later taste in handiwork, but it was good and English to the core. Museum directors, connoisseurs, architects, and craftsmen like William Morris, had their share in the enlightenment of the people to the real significance of the work of men’s hands, but the mainspring of the movement for preservation was the competition of professional antiquity hunters. Once the best attributes of old house fittings had been pointed out by various means, but chiefly in the language of value sterling, the future of relics existing in situ seemed brighter. Eyes were turned jealously to the equipments in old houses, and a new race of students arose to safeguard national and more or less private treasures. All this has happened in the last half of the nineteenth century. There remains much to be done, however, before the real lessons of the past are impressed upon the public.

While certain acts of vandalism have been committed by dealers able to turn their knowledge to account, considerable tolerance must be exercised on their behalf. In the first place they demonstrated the importance which should be attached to many objects of antiquity, and in the second place the business men put their weight into the scale against destruction. In the most practical way they prevented examples of craftsmanship from sharing the fate of firewood and rubble. They have kept things of singular merit intact when extinction was probable, and if sometimes they have exaggerated the importance of work which is merely old and not really interesting, their services in educating public opinion more than counterbalance their transgressions. Even the latter may be condoned to some extent, for through them the fame of English craftsmanship has been spread far and wide, developing a desire among students abroad to visit this country and to see in all their glory the priceless works of architecture and decoration remaining supreme in spite of the attacks by man, time, fire, and vandals.

When Goldsmith wrote that he loved “everything that’s old—old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine,” he unaccountably forgot to mention old houses. It may be assumed that the author of “The Deserted Village” included among his delights the actual haunts of his old friends, suggestive of still older times and manners. Looking back on the eighteenth century, when Johnson was uttering his sonorous observations, and Reynolds, Gainsborough, and Romney were immortalising the illustrious people of the day, we are envious of the opportunities presented to Goldsmith and his contemporaries to study and admire the monuments of the preceding centuries in something approaching perfection. At that time the majority of buildings grouped under the heading of Old English Mansions were unspoiled by decay and environment. They were just mellow and satisfying in every respect. Some of them, of course, had suffered in the Civil War, and bore witness then as now to their unsuitability as places of defence. But on the whole it was Tudor and Jacobean architecture without alloy.

Since the eighteenth century a gradual change has come over most of the buildings, until at the present time but few of them are in anything like a habitable state, though they may still be studied for what they reveal of the past. Some stately mansions like Hatfield House, Holland House, Knole, Penshurst, Charlton House, Kent (Plate XV), and Moreton

Old Hall (Plate XXIII), have descended from father to son or through allied families, and the inheritance has been maintained, though possibly the structures have been reduced in size or otherwise altered. In some cases the buildings have passed into the hands of strangers willing and able to keep them in repair without modernising them out of recognition. Others, however, have ceased to be anything more than reminders of bygone days, and in various stages of preservation they appeal more or less to students and tourists. In some cases it requires abundant imagination to reconstruct the scenes of which they were the central features. It is easy enough with a few buildings, but we are confronted often by some structures which have become almost de-naturalised under the pressure of urban expansion. They remain as oases in the desert of modern bricks and mortar, dignified still in spite of the affronts of unsympathetic neighbours; but their beauty has faded and no amount of sentiment can gloss over their obvious defects, robbed of their original uses and maimed by their present purposes. The parks which occasionally remain around these old buildings save us sometimes from intensified regret.

Among the most interesting relics of antiquity still retaining an appearance of prosperity are many of the hostelries scattered throughout the country. It gives everyone genuine pleasure to visit the establishments which share with the local church the architectural honours of the village or town, even though, as in the case of a building within easy reach of London, the sign of the inn and the date 1604 are supplemented by the magic word “Garage.” This is typical of many such places for rest and refreshment which are renewing their youth through the revival in travel by road. One may drive beneath archways to the extensive courtyards where proprietors have welcomed the arrival of kings, queens, and courtiers in the olden times, and but for the total difference in costume and the means of conveyance there is very little change in the scene or in the accommodation provided. It often happens that such old places have been devoted originally to domestic purposes, as in the case of the Nag’s Head Inn, Leicester (Plate LIX), once a private house, and Feering House, Essex (Plate X), which, at the time Fairholt visited it to reconstruct its past, was far from presenting the scene of family happiness the artist so quaintly imagined. The somewhat florid structure which spanned the highway and included the sign of the White Hart Inn at Scole, Norfolk (Plate XLV), was removed before the nineteenth century, and Richardson relied for his drawing on an earlier picture. Similar, if not quite so ornate structures are still to be seen in many places. Historians never fail to relate the tradition that at the White Hart Inn, besides this wonderful carved wood structure, was a round bed large enough to hold twenty couples, accommodation which dims the importance attached to the great bed at Ware, that Tudor or earlier piece or elaborate carpentry with a capacity for a mere dozen people. Apart from such freak productions the bedsteads of olden times were usually of ample proportions and were often works of art. Beautifully designed, carved, and inlaid, they were in keeping with the other possessions of the fortunate owners. The example shown from Cumnor Place, Berkshire (Plate LII), with its massive pillars and roof, is a reminder of the great and perhaps excessive care bestowed on the manufacture of such pieces of furniture.

Distant history as represented by architecture is a subject which has engaged the attention of all students of national development, and to their extensive researches the public is deeply indebted. Architects and archaeologists also have pieced together the evidence available and have reconstructed the past with great thoroughness. The mode of life at different periods has been revealed by means of plans and other drawings, often prepared with infinite labour. By such illustrations and by the records which have been transcribed it is possible to visualize the appearance of the country and its inhabitants from the beginning. In this supremely interesting occupation we are helped by imagination and, moreover, we have the advantage of the imaginative efforts of others better qualified to clothe the framework of the story. To Sir Walter Scott the highest tribute must be paid, for though his visions and word-pictures cannot be relied upon always for minute accuracy, he caught the spirit of the past and with wonderful insight restored it in vivid language. His heart was in the work of making the past live again, and he succeeded in giving verisimilitude to the scenes he described.

Illustrations abound of the buildings of Elizabethan and Jacobean date, from the measured drawings which owe their origin to prize competitions among students, to the elaborate pictorial reconstructions which sometimes astonish us by their wealth of detail and fanciful accessories. Painters in Victorian days attempted with varying success to interpret the past, generally introducing architectural backgrounds as settings for the dramatis personÆ. One of the chief artists of the period to attain success in this direction was George Cattermole (1800-1868), who in such pictures as The Hunting Party and Old English Hospitality proved himself to be well equipped with the necessary imagination and knowledge. He successfully illustrated Scott, and, indeed, founded his fame on his drawings inspired by the great author’s romances. One of Cattermole’s most distinguished contemporaries was Joseph Nash (1808-1878), in whose work the figures as a rule are subordinate to the architecture. This was to be expected from one who had been trained in the office of an architect, namely, the elder Pugin. Yet Nash, while treating buildings with the respect due to them, did not err on the side of technical hardness. He made the beauties of architecture intelligible to the public, contriving also to appeal to the professional mind. His object was to produce essentially picturesque interpretations, to make a set of views of the mansions of England from a new and attractive point of view. To use his own words, he tried to make them interesting, “not as many of them now appear, gloomy, desolate and neglected, but furnished with the rude comfort of early times or exhibiting the more splendid luxury and elegant hospitality of later periods; in short, the stately homes of England glowing with the genial warmth of their firesides and enlivened with the presence of their inmates and guests, enjoying the recreations and pastimes or celebrating the festivals of our ancestors. The artist has endeavoured to place himself in the position of a visitor to these ancient edifices, whose fancy peoples the deserted halls—stripped of all movable ornaments and looking damp and cheerless—with the family and household of the old English gentleman surrounded by everyday comforts, sharing the more rare and bounteous hospitalities offered to the guests or partaking of the boisterous merriment of Christmas gambols.”

Nash deserted the practice of architecture to good purpose, for he produced the standard books illustrating the mansions of the olden times existing in his day, and he made a greater name probably than he would have done had he stuck to the medium of bricks and mortar. The influence of his work was good, and as a transcriber of architecture for popular appreciation he occupies a similar place to that attained by the Lambs in their prose interpretations of Shakespeare. Both Cattermole and Nash were members of the “Old” Water Colour Society. They established traditions which endured and which are still to be detected in the exhibitions at the gallery in Pall Mall East.

Among other early Victorians who won fame by their representations of domestic architecture and accessories was C. J. Richardson (1806-1871), who was articled to Sir John Soane, and remained an architect, but devoted himself mainly to his task of illustrating the great work of the past. His drawings are more precise and laboured than those of Nash, but they are excellent records and enable us to realise the beauties of many buildings and details now destroyed or scattered. Thomas Allom (1804-1872), also a practising architect, produced some exceptionally good pictorial work, his Haddon Hall (Plate I) being typical. Ewan Christian (1814-1895), the architect of a large number of buildings, including the National Portrait Gallery, was a recipient of the Royal Gold Medal, and is better known by his building work than otherwise; but in his earlier days he executed many drawings of popular interest, such as Ince Hall (Plate III). Henry Shaw (1800-1873) is mainly known to fame by his architectural illustrations, many of which are included in this book. F. W. Fairholt (1814-1866) combined the life of author and artist with conspicuous success, his Horeham Hall (Plate XI) showing evidence of his deep love of pageantry as well as his architectural sympathies. A Belgian artist who lived and worked in London, Louis Haghe (1806-1885) established a considerable reputation for his able interpretations of old Flemish architecture, chiefly interiors. He was a most accomplished draughtsman, and, like other artists of the period, made great use of lithography as a medium. Though the drawings by Nash and other artists with similar ambitions come within the category of made-up pictures—that is to say, were inspired by the past rather than the present—they were often of considerable charm and bore few traces of being rather second-hand in design. To achieve success with a composition relying for its incidents and accessories on scenes enacted, or supposed to have been enacted, two centuries or more previously requires gifts of no mean order. Not only must there be a proper understanding of the sentiments of the times, but the people introduced must be dressed appropriately and must take their part in the proceedings naturally. Nash, of course, studied his backgrounds on the spot, and chose the point of view which would be most picturesque. For him it was then a comparatively simple matter to imagine what scenes had taken place there long years before. He saw with his mind’s eye and recorded his impressions with due regard to historical probability and artistic requirements.

Posterity owes much to the painstaking and capable artists who toured the country in search of likely material and who published the results of their labours in such a permanently attractive way. Without such drawings nothing would exist to remind us of some of the most interesting examples of craftsmanship produced in the preceding centuries. The illustrations are useful also for comparison with the modern views of buildings by means of photography, and it is curious to notice how much alike are some of the records. One often suspects photographers of taking up the same point of view as the less speedy draughtsmen of nearly a hundred years ago, not because one vantage-ground inevitably suggests itself, but because artists of the camera are inclined to follow the lead of their predecessors. This plagiarism may be forgiven, however, for it enables us to see exactly what changes have taken place in the interval of years.

Our thanks are due not only to those who illustrated but to those who published the drawings which are so valuable for reference, with the appropriate comments which accompanied them. The authors made light of difficult travel, and with much evident pleasure elaborated in prose the now hackneyed lines of Mrs. Hemans:

Happy should we be if we could give similar credit to those architects and craftsmen whose work was the best of its period but whose identities are unknown. They provided sources of pleasure and instruction, not only by the results of their skill but by inspiring artists of later generations to interpret their ideals and popularise their creations. Architects of modern times and students of all descriptions have searched in vain for information which would reveal the authorship of certain executed designs. Even when a clue has been obtained it has led to nothing definite, and the credit for much of the greatest building work is given to the client who paid for it, a thing not unknown in modern times. We are told that “Nonsuch” was built by King Henry VIII, Hampton Court by Cardinal Wolsey, and other venerable places were due, apparently, to the architectural genius of earls, knights, esquires, and other people. Perhaps these patrons did exercise considerable influence in the erection of the houses in which they intended to live, and in some cases it is likely that they superintended the work of quarrying the stone, felling the timber, and obtaining other materials. The anonymity of the real architect, as we should call him, was preserved, and, as in the case of the Gothic cathedrals, attributed to one or another bishop, we must be content to admire the work without knowing for certain to whom should be given the credit. The master builders and carpenters of the day succeeded as admirably in disguising their names as in doing their work, and it was not until the middle of the sixteenth century that the veil of obscurity was lifted.

When in 1563 John Shute published his “First and Chief Groundes of Architecture” he described himself as “Paynter and Archytecte,” but little is known of him in either capacity and his fame rests mainly on the publication of this excellent book on the Orders. Stephen Harrison, the designer of some fine triumphal arches for erection in London in 1603, “in honor of the High and mighty prince James, King of England,” described himself as “Joyner and Architect.” The latter word was evidently coming into use in England as a supplementary qualification. In June 1566 Queen Elizabeth laid the foundation-stone of the first Royal Exchange in London, known as “Britain’s Burse,” and the name of the architect employed by Sir Thomas Gresham was one Henry de Pas or Paschen, a native of Antwerp. It was not until 1570 that an English architect transmitted his name to posterity as the author of a notable example of domestic architecture. In the Soane Museum there is a plan of Kirby Hall (Plate XIV) on which John Thorpe wrote the words “Whereof I layd the first stone 1570”; and though Thorpe’s career and attainments have been the subject of acute discussion, he may be regarded as one of the first to emerge from obscurity. Afterwards came the Smithsons, father and son, Inigo Jones, Webb, Wren, and a succession of well-known architects. In addition to the names or architects arising from the depths of history there are other reminders of identity. On the exterior of Moreton Old Hall (Plate XXIII)is an inscription referring to William Moreton, MDLIX, and one, “Rycharde Dale, Carpeder, made thies windous by the Grac of God.” On the building known some years ago as “Nantwich Old Town Hall” (Plate XLIV) were the words “Richard Dale, Free-Mason, was the master carpenter in makinge this buyldinge, Anno Domini 1611”; and in the Victoria and Albert Museum is a beam of carved elm dated 1638 with the words, “I was set upp right and even per John Sommersett.” Such examples only whet our appetite for still earlier records of native workers. They existed in great numbers in spite of the fact that England in the sixteenth century was the home of many Italian artists who influenced the work of the day. Torrigiano arrived about 1510, and he found ample patronage, like many of his fellow-countrymen.

While it would be very instructive to know the names of those who designed and executed the Tudor buildings, it is doubtful if the facts ever will be established, and we must be content to admire without knowing to whom the credit should be given. Our appreciation is sincere, and we find unlimited interest in the remains of another industrial age. The question of authorship, however, though giving us opportunity for attribution, is not so important as the value of the buildings themselves. The problems of design and construction, the new planning, the means of decoration and equipment, such were the things which occupied the attention of our ancestors and which may now be traced and compared with subsequent architectural achievements. In Tudor times a domestic revolution was in progress. The accessories of life, possessed, if not enjoyed, by those who had gone before, were being thoroughly overhauled and were often condemned in the light of altered conditions. The barrack life of feudal and mediÆval times had been changed gradually and the accommodation had become more private. Residential possibilities began to be conceived. Comforts suggested themselves and were adopted in the new houses which arose all over the country. Building became a passion with the wealthy, and with the demand for ideas there arose a supply of men desirous of devoting their lives to the building and embellishment of houses, an ambition of which the fruits may still be enjoyed to some extent.

Subdivision was one of the guiding principles in the evolution of domestic architecture. Time was when the barest necessities in the way of architecture sufficed for the accommodation of the chieftains and their servants, armed or otherwise. The main requirement was solidity. Everyone then shared the fortified castles, which were surrounded in many cases by moats, and lived under the most primitive conditions. In those days apparently the only way to find solitude in a home was to get committed to the dungeons, and there were drawbacks to those retreats. Gradually more privacy was obtained by the lord and his family. The large and lofty hall, with dais and minstrel gallery, continued to dominate the plan and remained the most serviceable apartment, common to all; but smaller rooms began to be included in new buildings or additions were made to the old places. The castles, though remaining primarily as places of defence and protection from the weather, began to be used for occupation also, and new elements entered into their design and construction. The keep developed, and eventually the domestic requirements of the establishment displaced the other considerations.

When Henry VIII came to the throne, richer than most kings or England had been and with unlimited resourcefulness, the time had come for the development of the domestic buildings of the country in a way hitherto impossible. Throughout the reigns of the Tudor sovereigns there was continuous activity in this direction, as well as in other departments of the national life, and the evidence which remains proves what an upheaval of thought took place. Hitherto the most important, if not the main, attribute of a residence was its invulnerable character. The walls were as wide as many rooms at the present day, and this solid mass of stone or brick was pierced by apertures, varying in size but generally only large enough to admit light without providing an entrance for an enemy. At the foot of the building the holes were especially small. If the windows were glazed at all it was with horn as often as not, though glass was easily procurable. Fireplaces had been features of the interiors for many years before Tudor times, and they were often supplemented by open hearths in the middle of the large hall, the smoke escaping through a louvre in the roof. An example of this effective mode of warming is still to be seen at Penshurst.

The somewhat prison-like characteristics of these early buildings became obsolete through the advent of more peaceful occupations and by the invention of weapons against which stone and brick could not stand. The impetus given to more rational building gathered in force and, inspired by a monarch himself enterprising in such matters, the results were to be seen everywhere. The lands and properties which changed hands at the Suppression of the Monasteries brought wealth to many people, who immediately began to re-house themselves on a scale in keeping with their ample resources. In these buildings of Henry’s time there remained an inclination towards strength, and the small window openings only disappeared slowly. There was evidently a certain reluctance in giving up the appearance of a fortified dwelling-place, even though the building itself would be practically useless to defend the inmates against new means of attack. By the time of Elizabeth, however, this lingering aversion to the purely domestic building had vanished, and while the exteriors began to be more ornamental the interiors were arranged with increasing regard for comfort and convenience. The Hall remained as the chief feature of the ground floor, though by this time some families had abandoned the practice of taking their meals with their retainers. The Long Gallery came into existence as the principal room upstairs, being serviceable for recreation and entertainment. Its bay windows, when not too numerous, contributed to the internal and external interest of the building. Wide and majestic wooden staircases came into use and the spaciousness of the period was expressed admirably. Gardens, laid out with architectural forethought, began to form component parts of houses, and an air of opulence and peace pervaded the country, in spite of the fact that war-like preparations were in progress. The expansion of England was reflected in the architecture and decorations of the period, and under the influence of wealth, prosperity, and inclination new ideas were generated. The transition from mediÆval life was complete. After the defeat of the Invincible Armada the work of building went on with undiminished force; and though the Palladian era was beginning, destroying the simplicity and charm of the earlier period, the houses of the time were far from being destitute of attraction and significance.

Tudor architecture appeals to us for many reasons, and not least because of its human associations. In the presence of such a building as Hampton Court we are reminded of various periods of architecture and different generations of notable people. The names occur to us of many royal personages who lived there. We think of Wren ending his days near to the structure with which he was so intimately associated. But it is the memory of Wolsey which takes the foremost place in our thoughts. Everyone knows the pretty story of the Cardinal’s diplomacy in presenting the building to the monarch who so much appreciated it before and after it came into his possession. Its history, however, began some years before that, and it is to the events of those early days that we are specially attracted. We imagine Cardinal Wolsey securing the position of Lord Chancellor and setting builders and craftsmen to work on a suitable abode with total disregard to cost. Arrangements had to be made in the scheme for a great household and for the hundreds of guests and their retainers who in due course went to the noble residence on the banks of the Upper Thames. Wolsey’s hospitality monopolised the services or an army of dependents and the planning of the place was tested severely. To understand the requirements of Hampton Court in those days we may turn to the life of Wolsey written by George Cavendish in the sixteenth century. There we may read of the historic entertainment provided for the ambassadors from France. The Cardinal called for the principal officers of his house, such as his steward, comptroller, and the clerks of his kitchen, ordering them to prepare the best banquet that

could be provided by money or friendship. The preliminaries were carried out on a magnificent scale. “The yeomen and grooms of the wardrobes were busied in hanging of the chambers with costly hangings, and furnishing the same with beds of silk, and other furniture apt for the same in every degree. Then the carpenters, the joiners, the masons, the painters, and all other artificers necessary to glorify the house and feast were set to work. There was carriage and re-carriage of plate, stuff, and other rich implements; so that there was nothing lacking or to be imagined or devised for the purpose. There were also fourteen score beds provided and furnished with all manner of furniture to them belonging.” When the feast began the arrangements were perfect and we are able to imagine the scene. “Anon came up the second course, with so many dishes, subtleties, and curious devices, which were above a hundred in number, of so goodly proportion and costly that I suppose the Frenchmen never saw the like. The wonder was no less than it was worthy in deed. There were castles with images in the same: Paul’s Church and steeple, in proportion for the quantity as well counterfeited as the painter should have painted it upon a cloth or wall. There were beasts, birds, fowls of divers kinds, and personages, most lively made and counterfeit in dishes, some fighting as it were with swords, some with guns and crossbows, some vaulting and leaping, some dancing with ladies, some in complete harness, jousting with spears and with many more devices than I am able with my wit to describe. Among all, one I noted: there was a chess board subtilely made of spiced plate, with men to the same.” Cavendish goes on to mention the arrangements made for the guests at night, and the whole account reads like an Arabian Nights’ Entertainment.

Although the above festivities at Hampton Court were or exceptional grandeur, they were typical of the kind common throughout the land in Tudor times. The fine houses having been built, it was only natural that they should be filled with guests who would contribute to the gaieties of the place. The scenes of pomp and splendour which were enacted at many of the mansions illustrated in this book were duly recorded, and royal personages as often as not appeared in the pageants. It requires little effort of imagination to restore the glories of the past and to people these ancient buildings with those for whose glorification they were erected. The majority of the mansions themselves are but shadows of their former selves, but the illustrations by which such artists as Nash, Richardson, and Fairholt recorded their beauties enable us to conjure up the ghosts of the departed Englishmen who gave life to the structures. The remains of the buildings themselves are a heritage of which we should be and are proud, and no efforts should be spared to keep them from decay or destruction, whatever the difficulties. Illustrations made in different periods are useful and entertaining, but they are nothing compared with the pleasure given by the mansions themselves. It would be a calamity indeed if these objects of antiquity were to be swept away.

When Crewe Hall (illustrated here in Plates LIV, LV, and LVI) was burned to the ground in 1866, the late S. C. Hall recorded that since he had published his “Baronial Halls and Picturesque Edifices of England” no fewer than thirteen of those he had described had been destroyed by fire. Without attempting to complete these statistics it is certain that the list could be considerably extended, and as time goes on other accidents will rob the country of many more of its architectural attractions. The romance which is enshrined in these old buildings will never be forgotten, however, for the story of each structure has been told many times, and events of the day often cause us to refresh our memories. In 1913, for instance, the famous old Kirby Hall, Northamptonshire (Plate XIV), came into the market, as Quenby Hall, Leicestershire, had done also; and we were reminded then of their long histories. A nobleman sells one of his pictures for a large sum, and our thoughts immediately revert to the home which the painting has graced, perhaps for centuries. Then there are all kinds of incidents connected with the descendants of notable families, which bring forward once again the architectural background of social life. Even though in some cases these relics of the past have been razed to the ground, history has been made in them which can never be obliterated. It is the personal and sentimental interest which helps us to appreciate the work of the men who built or decorated the houses where family histories began. These architects, master-masons, and other workers skilled in invention and execution contributed in the most permanent and satisfying way to the distinction gained by their employers. If they themselves are unknown to fame, or are forgotten by all but students of building, their genius is imperishable. Later generations of architects and craftsmen have supplied the best of all epitaphs, that of emulation. Whether John Thorpe built this or that house, whether Inigo Jones did or did not design portions of famous buildings, the questions afford pleasant exercises in deduction and attribution. But the sum total of achievement is the main thing to be considered. So far as domestic architecture is concerned the lessons of the past have been put to good use in England.

One of the most ancient buildings illustrated in the present volume is Haddon Hall (Plate I), which dates from Plantagenet times, or earlier. Alterations and additions were made subsequently, and the building affords an almost unrivalled opportunity to study the ideals of various periods. It is of the castellated type and was evidently built for defence, but the later work is of equal importance. Sir George Vernon, known as the “King of the Peak” on account of his magnificent style of living, was responsible for considerable additions in the sixteenth century, while the Long Gallery and parts of the garden are to the credit of his daughter, Dorothy Vernon, who married Sir John Manners, second son of the first Earl of Rutland. This old house, situated so picturesquely on sloping ground, is associated with many legends, including the supposed courtship and elopement of the celebrated Dorothy, a pleasant fiction which is too generally believed to be exposed. Haddon would lose some of its attractions if the “Walk,” the “Door,” and other features associated with the popular heiress were removed, but even without them the building would be of romantic interest. Mr. Henry James, in one of his refreshing essays, has recognised “the inevitability of a Dorothy Vernon and a Lord John,” which sums up the prevailing sentiment of the place. It seems made for an elopement, and if in reality one did not take place, then it was the fault of the people and not of the house, which lent itself so admirably to such a purpose. Cattcrmole, like many other artists, loved to paint here and to conjure up delightful visions. Haddon was for a long time a favourite place or residence of the Earls of Rutland, but towards the end of the eighteenth century much of the movable furniture was taken to Belvoir. Since the days of general travel the tread of visitors, often on their way to Chatsworth, has been incessant, and if the chief interest has been popular and sentimental rather than architectural, it is not surprising under the circumstances.

To think of Haddon Hall without Hardwick Hall is impossible, for the two are among the greatest of many attractions in Derbyshire. Hardwick Hall (Plate XXV) dates from the year 1590 and adjoins the site of an even more princely structure. It owes its origin to the famous Elizabeth Hardwick, whose building activities were abnormal, partly because, so runs the legend, it was predicted that she would never die until she ceased to build; which prophecy was fulfilled, for her last day came at the time of a frost so severe that her labourers had to suspend operations. Bess of Hardwick survived four husbands—Robert Barley, Sir William Cavendish, Sir William St. Loe, and the Earl of Shrewsbury, who was custodian of Mary Queen of Scots. The history of her descendants is even longer than her own. She accumulated vast wealth and spent on building much of her annual income of £60,000, possibly for the reason that she believed in the prophecy concerning herself. A woman of extraordinary energy and accomplishments, she was responsible for the erection of Hardwick, Chatsworth, Oldcotes, and other places. Everyone knows the old saying,

which was applied to the first-named building for obvious reasons. In those Elizabethan days there was a growing desire to dissipate gloom and to reverse the old practice of building mainly for strength. If Bess of Hardwick exaggerated the advantage of window space at Hardwick Hall and gave it somewhat the appearance of a modern steel-framed structure, she provided us with compensations in the same house, for the state apartment, a corner of which is shown in the illustration by Lake Price (Plate XXV), possesses great beauty in conception. It is 65 feet long, about 30 feet wide, and 26 feet high. The state bed included in the drawing came from Chatsworth.

Horeham Hall, Essex (Plate XI), is an interesting example of early sixteenth-century work, retaining much of its original quality. The Princess Elizabeth found a refuge here while her half-sister was on the throne, and liked the place so much that she often revisited it after she succeeded to the Crown. The building, owing its origin to Sir John Cutt, shows a curious mixture of castle and mansion, not only as regards the exterior but in the planning. It was once surrounded by a moat, which was partially filled in about the middle of the nineteenth century. The stepped gables and ornamental battlements give picturesque irregularity to the elevation.

Essex possesses in Audley End (Plates XLII and XLIII) a special reminder of the past. This mansion was more imposing in size originally than it is now, so much so that James I is said to have remarked, “It is too much for a King, though it might do very well for a Lord Treasurer”; an observation matched by Queen Victoria, who on visiting Stafford House, now the London Museum, said to the Duchess of Sutherland, “I have come from my house to your palace.” Audley End takes its name from Sir Thomas Audley, afterwards Baron Audley of Walden, who was Lord Chancellor to Henry VIII in succession to Wolsey and More. The Manor of Walden had been granted by William the Conqueror to his famous follower, Geoffrey de Mandeville, first Earl of Essex, and in course of time had reverted to the Crown. Sir Thomas Audley acquired it in 1538, after the Dissolution of the Monasteries with which he had so much to do and by which he profited extremely. His elder daughter married first Lord Henry Dudley and afterwards the Duke of Norfolk, whose son, Lord Thomas Howard, created Earl of Suffolk and Baron Howard de Walden, built the magnificent home, named Audley End in memory of his mother’s father. Lord Thomas Howard, who was one of the heroes in the fight against the Armada, and became Lord Treasurer of England, made plans for a building of surpassing grandeur and spent something like £190,000 on the place, an enormous sum in those days. The work was begun in 1603 and was finished about 1616. Soon afterwards the fortunes of the owner changed and he found himself in the Tower. His successors were unable to maintain the establishment, and in 1666 the third Earl of Suffolk sold it to Charles II. It became a favourite place with the King, partly because it was on the road to Newmarket, and the mansion became alive with the festivities of the Court. Pepys records how having drunk the King’s health he played a flageolet solo in the enormous cellars, the echo pleasing him greatly. Evelyn described the mansion as “Indeede a cheerfull piece of Gotic building, or rather antico moderno,” conveying a hint of its Italian features. Audley End reverted to the Howard family in 1701, and in 1721 Vanbrugh took it in hand, demolishing three sides of the grand quadrangle and in other ways reducing its size to more homely proportions. At the end of the eighteenth century Lord Braybrooke restored the mansion at great expense and wrote its history.

Another Jacobean house associated with the Howard family was Charlton House, Wiltshire (Plate XXXII), the seat near Malmesbury of the present Earl of Suffolk. This building was “modernised” by Matthew Brettingham in the time of George III, but many of its original characteristics survived.

The other Charlton House (Plate XV) is in Kent. Sir S. P. Maryon Wilson, Bart., the present owner, is the fortunate possessor of a building of remarkable interest and perfection which has belonged to his family for generations. The house was built for Sir Adam Newton between 1607 and 1612, and it is possible that it was intended to be a Royal residence. The founder was tutor to the eldest son of James I, Prince Henry, who, however, died in 1612. Evelyn believed the house to have been built for the Prince of Wales, and as the royal arms were placed on the building this theory is tenable. Though the surroundings of Charlton House have changed during the three centuries it has existed, much of the original interest remains. It is one of those buildings, like Cobham Hall, a few miles from Gravesend, which, though on the verge of the newer civilisation, retain their historic significance.

Kent is rich in the architecture of other days, and many instances could be given of structures erected at different periods. They need not be enumerated, for they are mostly well-known, but reference may be made to those included among the illustrations. East Sutton Place (Plate XXXIX) and Little Charleton (Plate LVII) are neighbouring houses, both being associated with the Filmer family. The former is now the residence of Mr. Malcolm Aird. The Old Manor House, Hollingbourne (Plate XXXVI), was built in Elizabethan times for a member of the Culpeper family, and like many another old family residence it became a farmhouse. Hollingbourne is on the Pilgrim’s Way and has reverted to its original use, being now the home of Mr. J. H. Deacon. The old house at Maidstone (Plate XLVIII) is typical of many erected throughout the country in Jacobean times and finished with great elaboration. Its date is 1611.

Somewhat later than the house at Maidstone, and more than rivalling it in interest, is the old house at Ipswich (Plate XL). This was built in the reign of Charles I for Robert Sparrow, Bailiff of Ipswich, after whom the house was named. The four bay windows on the principal story are supported by a cornice and a series of richly decorated corbels. There are panels emblematical of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, and in the centre is a royal coat of arms. Figures appear again in the gables of the dormers. The exuberant fancy of the designer of this house was governed by a sense of proportion, otherwise the effect would have been far different.

For picturesqueness the half-timber houses are unequalled, and many examples remain in England to remind us of the successful conception of this type of house, originating, no doubt, in the supply of local materials. This style of architecture reached its zenith in the time of Elizabeth and was popular both for town and country buildings. The streets of Chester are a never-failing source of interest in this respect, and many houses in the neighbourhood enjoy well-deserved fame. One of them, Garden Hall, dating from the sixteenth century, was destroyed by fire in 1912, a regrettable calamity. Moreton Old Hall (Plate XXIII) is an exceptionally good example of a timbered house, presenting nearly its original appearance. As we have seen (p. 16), it dates from the middle of the sixteenth century, and although suffering a period of neglect, it has been restored to usefulness and beauty. It is now a farm and is still in the possession of the Moreton family, traditionally associated with it. Entering by the stone bridge over the moat, the view is quaint and attractive, the gatehouse and courtyard being most impressive. Of the rooms not one is so interesting as the ballroom or long gallery with its open timber roof.

Pitchford Hall (Plate XVI) is among the most striking buildings in Shropshire, and it is said to possess an unbroken record of tenancy since it was erected in the time of Henry VIII, never suffering from the changes which are almost inevitable during such a long period. The building is certainly in excellent preservation, and is maintained as a residence with due regard to its venerable appearance. The Princess Victoria and the Duchess of Kent stayed here in 1832. The drawing by F. W. Hulme shows more windows than exist at present, an indication that alterations have taken place—possibly restorations to a former and better state. The moat has been altered also. The view taken by the artist barely suggests the extent of the building, for only one wing is shown prominently. Also in Shropshire is Park Hall, near Oswestry (Plates XXVI, XXVII, and XXVIII), the residence of Mrs. Wynne Corrie. This house was erected about 1640, and Richardson’s almost photographic drawing represents the exterior as it stands at the present day. A notable building is the Oak House, West Bromwich (Plate VIII). The special feature is the timber turret rising from the centre of the roof and competing in effect with the series of chimney-stacks. It is now in the midst of the Black Country, with which it has little in common.

Among the best half-timber houses in Lancashire is Smithells Hall (Plate VI), where the bold quatrefoil work makes a variation in decorative effect. It is of very ancient foundation, but the existing work dates from the early sixteenth century. It passed into the Ainsworth family about a hundred years ago at a cost of £21,000, and has since been preserved as a family residence. Turton Tower (Plate VII) is also a few miles from Bolton. The embattled stone tower, built for defence, belongs to an earlier period than the wood-and-plaster portion and affords a remarkable contrast in style. In Bolton, and now belonging to the Corporation, is the interesting old building known as the “Hall i’ the Wood” (Plate V), a description which has lost its point as much as the original “Bolton-le-Moors.” Cotton-spinning accounted largely for the transformation, and it is appropriate enough that the Hall i’ the Wood should be a museum, reminding visitors of the history of a son of Bolton who revolutionised the local industry, namely Samuel Crompton. The picturesque old building, which once fitted so well into the open landscape, became dilapidated and was divided up into tenements at the end of the eighteenth century. Among those who lodged there in poverty was Crompton, then engaged in perfecting his machine. Bolton operatives did not look with favour on mechanical aids to labour, and Crompton had to hide his “mule” from rioters. At last he disclosed his secret, and the idea which helped to make Bolton rich gained immortality for the inventor, but little else. Indeed, but for a few friends who came to Crompton’s aid, poverty would have claimed another genius. As a Museum the Hall i’ the Wood will remain in perpetuity as the shrine of this remarkable man.

Another historic building to end its days as a museum is Aston Hall, Warwickshire (Plates IX and LI), which after a period of suspense came under the administration of the Birmingham Corporation. The majestic appearance of the building remains in spite of attacks by man and time. The central entrance leading to the hall is noteworthy as an innovation in planning. With its curved gables, towers, and chimneys, the exterior is picturesque, while the interior is attractive in many ways, not the least interesting feature being the oak staircase which was damaged by cannon-shot during the Civil War. Sir Thomas Holte, the first owner, was a Royalist and entertained Charles I at his “poor house of Aston” just before the battle of Edgehill, for which hospitality revenge was taken by the Parliamentary army. Aston Hall was once the residence of James Watt, son of the great engineer. In the middle of the nineteenth century it was saved from demolition, the mansion, together with its surrounding acres, being purchased for general use.

Although Hampton Court (Nash’s delightful drawing of which is reproduced in colours as a frontispiece to this volume) is the private property of the Crown, it is usually open for inspection, and its splendid past is always an inspiration. It was due to Queen Victoria that the Palace and grounds, long neglected, were made available for the public. A politician with a gift for phrase-making has described it aptly as a place of “pleasure, leisure, and treasure,” which is true, though its educational value need not have been overlooked. A reference to its association with Wolsey occurs on p. 18, and much more could be written in connection with its early history, the period which provided Joseph Nash with the subject of the drawing reproduced here. Since Hampton Court was first built its appearance has been changed considerably, notably by Wren’s addition of the beautiful Fountain Court and other portions. The building provides many chapters of romance, sometimes connected with the restoration of hidden features. Especial interest, for instance, is attached to the stone bridge over the moat, built in the time of Henry VIII, buried in after years, and not reinstated until a few years ago.

The glory of Kenilworth has departed, but its history lives. It is a long record, and if little remains of the structure which saw so many pageants in Tudor and earlier times, the ruins, including the Gatehouse (Plate LIII), are of exceptional interest. For all its poetic licence, Scott’s novel is one of the books to which we turn for vivid descriptions of the scenes which took place within its walls and in the neighbourhood. It was a glorious pile, and, in the words of the late Mr. C. E. Mallows, “in its perfect state, it must have been a complete museum of English architecture from Norman times to Leicester’s additions in the reign of Elizabeth.”

Crewe Hall, which suffered by fire in 1866, was rebuilt by Edward Barry after the old model, and the present building might be mistaken for the original structure, erected between the years 1615 and 1636 for Sir Randal Crewe (Plates LIV, LV, and LVI). The story is told that at the time of the fire Lord Crewe sent a telegram to his architect, saying, “Crewe is burning, come and build it up again,” an example of sangfroid suggested perhaps by the reply of Sheridan to a friend who asked the dramatist how he could sit complacently with a bottle of wine before him looking at the burning Drury Lane Theatre, which Sheridan practically owned at the time. “Surely,” was the reply, “a man may be allowed to take a glass of wine before his own fireside.” The noble old mansion known as Kirby Hall (Plate XIV) is the work of John Thorpe, who has recorded that he laid the first stone in 1570. Additions were made about 1638 by Inigo Jones. It was built for Sir

Humphrey Stafford and came into the possession of Sir Christopher Hatton, afterwards becoming one of the seats of the Finch-Hatton family. The mansion is rich in Elizabethan memories and is one of the most interesting architectural relics in the country. There is a story to the effect that it was intended to use the building in 1805 as a place of retirement for the Court in the event of an invasion by Napoleon. Kirby has suffered many vicissitudes. A visitor some seventy years ago wrote: “A farmer occupies a suite of rooms the decoration of which would excite astonishment and admiration in a London Club-house. Farm servants sleep surrounded by exquisite carving. One room, decorated with a fine old fireplace in which are the arms of Lord Chancellor Hatton, serves the purpose of a dog kennel.” In 1913, when the building was for sale by direction of the Earl of Winchilsea, it was stated that though it had been unoccupied for about sixty years it was capable of restoration.

Loseley House, Surrey (Plate XVII), dates from between 1562 and 1568. The seat of Sir William More, it has descended through the family to the present owner, Mrs. More-Molyneux-MCCowen. It was visited frequently by Queen Elizabeth, who stayed also at the neighbouring Sutton Place. In its best days Loseley was a stately stone building of more than ordinary significance in history, as recorded in “The Loseley Manuscripts,” by A. J. Kempe (1836). Structural alterations in the past did not tend to improve its original beauty.

A still earlier example of domestic architecture is the Manor House at East Barsham, Norfolk (Plate XXII), which was begun in the first few years of the sixteenth century. It was built of red brick with terra-cotta decorations, and it must have been a magnificent structure. It fell into a ruinous state and was used as a farmhouse early in the nineteenth century. Another East Anglian building which possessed importance in Tudor times was West Stow Hall, Suffolk (Plate XXI). The fine gatehouse shown in MÜller’s drawing dominated the rest of the building and survived in a habitable state long after the main edifice had become useless. In a decayed state the place was used for agricultural purposes.

Sawston Hall, Cambridgeshire (Plate IV), was for centuries the residence of the “Ayntient and Rightworthy Famylie of Hodlestone,” the building illustrated being erected about the year 1557. There is a tradition that Queen Mary took shelter in the mansion which preceded this one, and was conveyed thence on horseback to Framlingham. Her pursuers set fire to the building and the Queen said, “Let the house burn; I will build Huddleston a better.” It is now the seat of Mr. D. Lawlor-Huddleston.

Among the most notable buildings in England is Montacute, an interior of which is illustrated here (Plate XXXI). Its name, derived from mons acutus, explains that it is on a hilly site, from which it overlooks the picturesque village of Montacute. The castle was of Norman origin and was then owned by the Phelips family, the possessor of the present mansion being Mr. W. R. Phelips. Montacute was built at the end of the sixteenth century and gained a reputation for hospitality partly by the inscription over the entrance,

The place was sacked by Cromwell, who stayed there for a time. When Richardson visited the house it was in poor condition, “stripped in a great degree of its internal decorations and left to the mercy of time”; but restorations have been carried out. It is noteworthy that while the walls were richly panelled and decorated the ceilings throughout were kept plain, as indicated in the illustration.

Among other interesting stone buildings erected in Somersetshire may be mentioned Barrington Court (Plate XLI), built for the first Earl of Bridgewater in the time of James I. This gabled mansion, with its twisted chimneys and pinnacles, was once of great beauty, but it fell into disrepair, and in a dilapidated state was occupied by a farmer. In 1907 it was acquired by the National Trust for Places of Historic Interest or Natural Beauty, under whose directions restorations have been effected. The house at South Petherton, in the same county (Plate XXXVII), is an example of the use of tracery, now reserved for ecclesiastical buildings, but once common in domestic architecture.

Dorfold Hall, Cheshire (Plates XXIX and XXX), the residence of Mr. H. J. Tollemache, is a Jacobean mansion about a mile from Nantwich. It is a brick building with stone dressings, the interior being decorated in lavish style. The plaster-work of the ceiling in the Great Chamber was especially ornate, though not so overwhelming, probably, as it seems to be in Richardson’s drawing.

The illustrations of interiors which are included in this volume are typical of many productions which expressed the fancy of designers and decorators in olden times. Reference has been made to some of them already, and a few more notes may be given in connection with the others. Benthall Hall, Shropshire (Plate II), was built for William Benthallin 1535 on the site of a former house. It was unharmed during the Civil War, but was badly damaged by fire about a hundred years ago. The view of the dining-room, re-peopled by the artist with some of its former tenants, shows the oak fireplace extending to the enriched ceiling. Charlecote, Warwickshire (Plate XVIII), was built in 1558 for Thomas Lucy, who was knighted by Queen Elizabeth and whose portrait with his family is shown in the picture by Jansen over the fireplace. Charlecote is supposed to have been the scene of Shakespeare’s youthful escapade, which, perhaps, brought him into the very room depicted by J. G. Jackson. Coombe Abbey, near Coventry (Plate XIX), is of ancient foundation, the first structure being a Cistercian monastery. It came into lay hands in the time of Henry VIII and the place was rebuilt. Since then it has been altered several times, notably from designs by Captain Wynne, and in more recent times by Eden Nesfield. Coombe Abbey, the seat of the Earl of Craven, was the home of the Princess Elizabeth, only daughter of James I, through whose marriage with the Elector Palatine the House of Hanover came to the throne of England. Ford House, Devonshire (Plate XIII), was built for Sir Richard Reynell in 1610 and was the scene of much fighting during the Civil War. It has memories of Charles I and the Prince of Orange. Burton Agnes, Yorkshire (Plate XLVI), the ancient home of the Boyntons, is still in the possession of a member of the family, Mr. T. L. Wickham-Boynton. It is a most interesting Tudor house, both as regards the interior and exterior. Richardson’s view of the hall, with its semicircular arch leading to the staircase, is obtainable still, though pictures are now to be seen on the walls. Longford Castle, Wiltshire (Plate XLIX), the seat of the Earl of Radnor, is probably the work of John Thorpe. It was begun just before the advent of the Spanish Armada, and it is related that the cost of the foundations was so heavy that the purse of the client, Sir Thomas Gorges, was almost empty. Fortunately one of the Spanish galleons was wrecked near Hurst Castle, the Hampshire fortress of which Sir Thomas became Governor at the time of the threatened invasion. It was in Longford Castle that Holbein’s Ambassadors was to be seen for so many generations, before it was removed with other pictures to the National Gallery, London, about a quarter of a century ago.

Among the illustrations are several showing the panelling which once adorned, and in some cases still helps to furnish, the mansions erected in other days. Some of the woodwork was kept in its natural state, and some was gilt or otherwise embellished; but the craftsmanship was always of supreme interest. The panelling surrounding the drawing-room at Boughton Malherbe, Kent (page 7), was of various woods and was coloured. The marquetry work in the dining-room at Gilling Castle, Yorkshire (page 13), was very elaborate and beautiful in its own way, like the other decorations in this apartment, which measured 39 by 22 feet. Exceptionally fine work was also placed in the drawing-room at Stockton House, Wiltshire (Plate XXXV). The decorations of a room at Great Yarmouth provided Shaw with inspiration (page 19), and so did those at Blickling Hall, Norfolk (page 29). The latter name is associated with the Boleyn family, and with the early days of the unfortunate Queen. The residence of the Boleyns, however, must have been earlier than the present one. The property was purchased in Queen Elizabeth’s day by Sir Henry Hobart, whose descendant, the Marquis of Lothian, is now the owner. The existing Blickling Hall was built in Jacobean times, and it will be seen that the date on the chimney-piece is 1627.

Nothing less than a monograph on every one of the Old English Mansions would suffice to do justice to their historic and artistic glories. A great deal can be left unsaid, however, without minimising our appreciation, and such implied praise may be taken for granted in the present case. Imperfect though some of these old buildings may have been in several ways, they are among the classics in architecture and their appeal is continual. Generous in scale, well-built, decorated with high-spirited talent, and occupied from time to time by people who, if they do not always command our admiration, at least compel our interest, these houses have become a part of the national life. If in some cases they have suffered demolition or sacrilege, the fact should inspire us to spare no efforts to keep the remaining examples intact and to leave them as a heritage. They please because of their distant past, perhaps, but they also attract for what they possess in value at the present time. They are too precious to be sacrificed.

T. ALLOM