is the only important mansion, venerable for age and appearance, which is now to be found in the neighbourhood of London. There has been talk more than once of pulling it down; but every

The upper apartments of are on a level with the stone gallery of the dome of St. Paul's. Their front windows command a view of the Surrey hills; as those of the back do of Harrow, Hampstead, and Highgate.

When this interesting old mansion came into the possession of the present lord, seeing the masons at work, and finding one of the approaches to it stopped up, we trembled at what he might be going to do with it. That approach was called Nightingale Lane, and had long been a favourite with the Kensingtonians; for, besides enabling them to

The alarm, however, proved false. The house, externally, remained untouched; and when the stone piers, not very intelligible in their previous distance from one another, were found composing a gate at the side of it, and vases of geraniums made their appearance on the parapet wall, and orange trees came in front of the geraniums, and the shut-up lane was compounded for by a new one, which, though it led only by a side of the house, opened a more convenient passage to Notting Hill, and was furnished, moreover,

The aged look of the exterior of Holland House is the more precious to the antiquary, inasmuch as with the exception of a staircase or so, it is the only part of its antiquity remaining. The interior has long been so modernized, that a lover of old times is grieved to find not a single room in it which brings them before him. There is little which is older than the youth of the

The lodge, which the new lord has renovated and doubled, is in a style suitable to the mansion; with the exception, perhaps, of the two footway entrances, which look a little flimsy. The retention of the gilding on the iron gates may be objected to by some, as partaking of the same character; but we think otherwise. The gilding is but

" Let us all be unhappy together."

We are aware that there is a " harmony " in the spectacle; but it is a wretched harmony; and we think a little cheerful discord would be better. Nobody objects to a rainbow. Flowers, protected by verandahs in balconies, are welcome to the eyes in any weather. There are colours that suit darkness; and a good diffusion of them at such times would be a god-send. For our parts, we always feel grateful on a rainy day, when we see a market woman go by in a red cloak.

Of the lawn, or rather meadow, which lies in front of , there is a tradition that Cromwell and Ireton conferred in it, as a place in which they could not be overheard. From circumstances hereafter to be noticed, the tradition is probable. It shows that whatever the subject of the

The grounds at the back of the house are more extensive than might be supposed, and contain many fine old trees of various kinds, with spots of charming seclusion. The portion nearest the house presents an expanse of turf of the most luxurious description, with a most noble elm-tree upon it, and an alcove facing the west, in which there is a couplet that was put up by the late lord in honour of Mr. Rogers, and a copy of verses by Mr. Luttrell, expressing his

" Here Rogers sat, and here for ever dwell, To me, those pleasures that he sang so well." VLL. HD.

Inscriptions challenge comments; brief ones, it is thought, ought in particular to be faultless; seats in summer time, and loungings about on luxurious turfs (half an hour before dinner), beget the most exacting criticisms; and thus a nice question has arisen, whether the relative pronoun in this couplet ought to be that or which. Our first impression was in favour of that; but happening to repeat the lines next morning while in the act of walking, we involuntarily said which; upon which side of the question we are accordingly prepared to fight, with

Lord Holland's couplet is in the simple and tranquil taste which he had so much right to admire; Mr. Luttrell's verses, which are a score longer, would have been improved by compression. They are a sample of the difference which they themselves speak of, between natural and artificial writing, or that which is prompted by what is felt, and that which would emulate the expression of others. The old eighteenth century fashion of rhyming with its "heart and impart, rove, grove," &c., is here (literally) in all its glory. But see how pleasant and readable are one or two natural expressions:

"Well, now I am fairly installed in the bower, How lovely the scene ! how propitious the hour! The breeze is perfum'd, from the hawthorn it stirs, All is silent around me-but nothing occurs;

Not a thought, I protest, though I'm here and alone; Not a chance of a couplet that Rogers would own; Though my senses are raptur'd, my feelings in tune, And Holland's my host, and the season is June. So I rise, since the Muses continue to frown, No more of a poet than when I sat down."

Beyond this mossy lawn is the open undulating ground, terminated by the Uxbridge Road, with which the public have become acquainted by means of the Highland Pastimes; all round the grounds is a rustic lane, furnishing a long, leafy walk; on the western side of the house are small gardens, both in new and old styles, the work of the late Lady Holland, and the latter very properly retained, both as a variety from the former, and as a fitting accompaniment to the old house. It is also pleasant to fancy in what sort of way our grandmothers

The bust of is inscribed with a felicitous quotation from Homer:

"Which (says the person who is speaking on the passage in Mr. Faulkner's "History of Kensington," and whom we take to have been the late Lord Holland himself) I have seen somewhere translated thus:

" He is not dead; he breathes the air In lands beyond the deep ! Some distant sea-girt island, where Harsh men the hero keep."

The translation is probably his lordship's

The altar in memory of Lord Camelford was an ancient Roman one, erected on a modern base, and was inscribed with a propitiatory dedication to departed souls, or the gods who preside over places of the dead-a curious instance of classical " making as if "-of playing at Paganism on so serious an occasion. It was quite, however, in the taste of the last century, and was a local relief to the imagination.

" Hoc Diis Manibus Voto Discordiam Deprecamur." (Thus devoutly honouring the Dii Manes, we deprecate dissension.)

Lord Camelford's body, however, is not here. With the passion for going to extremes, which characterised him, he directed that it should be buried under a tree in a solitary spot in Switzerland, which had interested him during his travels. He was

But an old house is not perfect without a ghost, and has two. They do not indeed haunt it, and were very transient in their appearance; but they will serve to give a bit of ghostly interest to the spot, for those whose imaginations like to "catch a fearful joy" on such points. The account is in Aubrey's " Miscellanies," which were written in the reign of William the Third.

"The beautiful Lady Diana Rich, daughter to the Earl of Holland, as she was walking in her father's garden at , to take the fresh air before dinner, about

Aubrey, though his gossip is valuable to a lover of books, was credulous to excess. It is impossible, however, to say what visions may not be seen by people in bad states of health-what actual images the imagination, in certain morbid states of the brain, may not bring before the eye. Nicolai, the German bookseller, was in the habit of seeing spectral men and women pass through his room; and a sick young lady, just dressed for dinner, and full of thoughts of herself, sickly or otherwise, might as well see

The Lady Isabella Thynne, here mentioned, wife of one of the ancestors of the Marquis of Bath, is mentioned in another of Aubrey's books (the " Lives and Letters of Eminent Men ") as addicted to anything but ghostly communications. She and a friend of hers, he says, while on a visit to Oxford, used to come to morning prayers at Trinity College Chapel, "half-dressed, like angels." She would also make her entrance upon the college walks, with a "lute playing before her;" and must have been a great puzzle to the college ethics, for she is described as possessing all kinds of virtues but one. She is the " Lady Isabella" whose playing on the lute is recorded in a set of complimentary verses by Waller:

"The trembling strings about her fingers crowd, And tell their joy for every kiss aloud; Small force there needs to make them tremble so; Touch'd by that hand, who would not tremble, too ?"

We think we have read somewhere, but cannot call to mind in what book, that she suffered a good deal of affliction before she died.

So much for and its grounds, as the latter appear at present, and the former has continued to look for many generations. We now proceed to its interior, to its inmates, and to those who went before them in the possession of the estate; that is to say, the possessors of the older house which is now gone, as well as those which have occupied the one before us.

[1] The account of Holland House in Faulkner's book is written in a style wholly different from the rest of it; and instead of being used as the writer must have intended, betrays other evidences of having been clumsily taken into its pages in the lump.