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
modernised, 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 late
lord, and much that has been further
modernised by the present. The fact is, that
the house had become so neglected during
the nonage of the former, in consequence of
the reckless expenditures of the first lord and
his son Charles (the great Whig leader) that
there was talk of converting it into a workhouse.
Lord Holland, a respecter of old
associations, and of the pleasures of other
people, saved it; and this circumstance
should be counted among the claims to
respect of his own genial memory.

Of the lawn, or rather meadow, which lies
in front of Holland House, 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 conference
may have been, they could not have objected
to being seen; for there was no wall, nor
were there even trees, we believe, at that
time in front of the house, and we may
fancy royalists riding by, on their road to
Brentford, where the king's forces were
defeated, trembling to see the two grim
republicans laying their heads together.

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
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 inability to emulate
the poet. The couplet is as follows:—

"Here Rogers sat, and here for ever dwell
To me, those pleasures that he sang so well.
"V LL. H D."

Inscriptions challenge comments; brief
ones, it is thought, ought in particular to be
faultless; seats in summer time, and loungings
about on luxurious lawns (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 waking, we involuntarily said which;
upon which side of the question we are
accordingly prepared to fight, with all the
inveteracy of deserters from the other.

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. 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;
along its eastern side 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 proper, 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
and great-grandmothers, the Chloes
and Delias of the eighteenth century, enjoyed
their flower-beds. In one of these gardens
was raised the first specimen of that beautiful
flower the dahlia, which the late Lord
Holland is understood to have brought from
Spain; by another, on a pedestal, is a colossal
bust of Napoleon by a pupil of Canova;
further west, towards the Addison Road, are
the Moats; which (to say nothing of the
evidence furnished by an apocryphal bit of
brickwork that accompanies them) are looked
upon as the site of the older mansion belonging
to the De Veres; and further still,
a few years ago, was a classical altar, erected
by the same lord in memory of the fate
of Lord Camelford, a man half out of his
wits, who was killed on this spot in a duel
which he insisted on provoking. The altar
was an ancient Roman one, erected on a modern
base, and was inscribed with an expiatory
dedication to departed souls, or the gods
who preside over places of the dead—a
curious instance of classical "making belief"—or
playing at Paganism on a serious occasion.
Lord Camelford's body, however, was not
under the altar. 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 a Pitt, nephew
to the great Earl of Chatham, who wrote
him letters when a boy. The poor youth,
who came to his end before he was thirty,
was wildness itself in many respects, though
he was fond of serious studies. His manners
were perfect at times, but at others would
burst out into arrogance and insolence. He