In any case, let us hope that the spoiler will not be allowed to intrude. There are but few of this pattern in or near London, and none so interesting as this “Wandsworth Manor-house.” Another house is also interesting, not merely from its merits as a picturesque structure, but also from its associations. Half way up Highgate Hill, which leads us to a cluster of old houses and on to Hampstead, where there are many more, we come to a solid, impregnable-looking building, rising in its garden, and standing retired behind a low wall and surrounded by old trees. This is Cromwell’s House, which, the tradition runs, was inhabited by him, or by one of his generals--Ireton, most probably. This fine old building impresses us by its massive and picturesque air, its high roof and “shaggy” eaves, its heavy solid cupola, and its rich and beautiful carvings. The very wooden gates of the period have been retained, with their delicate carvings in low relief. The tone and colouring of the brickwork is of a mellow genial crimson, almost a raspberry tint, the mouldings are all delicate, yet bold and firm, a model for modern artists in brick; they are as sharp [Illustration: CROMWELL’S HOUSE, HIGHGATE.] as on the day they were wrought and will stand time and weather for a century to come. The doorway is heavy and massive. The whole aspect of this fine old mansion suggests that we are a hundred miles away from London. When we enter, we find nothing but deep-brown oak, heavily corniced doors, a hall all set off with the same material, sombre and mysterious. Beyond is the stair, which has a celebrity of its own: it is laid out in the always effective style of short flights of half a dozen steps, with then a turn at right angles, and a landing, as though our fathers, like Hamlet, were “short and scant of breath,” and liked to ascend leisurely. There are fine massive balustrades and--here is the curiosity of the thing--at intervals rise carved oak statuettes of the Parliamentary soldiers with singular and pleasing effect. It is astonishing that these _bizarre_ ornaments have escaped destruction hitherto, and that accident or design has not damaged or destroyed them. The old house is now a children’s hospital, and nurses and matrons pass up and down the Parliamentary staircase. But this occupancy suggests misgivings, as a hospital, once it begins to flourish, has a fashion of expanding or levelling regardless of antiquarian associations. The choice piece of ground, the gardens behind, and the fine healthy, stimulating air are tempting enough; and a few years may see the Cromwellian house levelled, and an imposing modern, but hideous pile reared in its place.