There is surely no air so keen and bracing as that which sweeps with such vigour across the fine open common of Blackheath. The houses that fringe the common have a quaint air of old fashion, somewhat sad coloured and of that dull “gamboge” tint which Elia spoke of, but they have a good snug appearance. Such is “Montpelier Terrace,” and “The Paragon,” which must have been considered a great effort in their day. The Paragon is a semicircular row of “desirable” mansions, built with some state and pretension--the pattern for a “Paragon” being usually two semi-detached houses joined by a low colonnade--while in front there is an oval inclosure. There are Paragons in most of the suburbs--as at Streatham--and one close to London, in the Kent Road, a dispiriting and decayed place. Close by the Paragon, and on the gentle descent that leads down into the little town of Blackheath, is a clump of umbrageous planting, with a little iron gate opening into pretty and well-sheltered grounds. Entering, for it is open to all, a walk leads us up to what is something of a surprise. Here we are confronted by a fine solid building of the Wren pattern, high roofed, deep gabled, and red bricked. Its many windows are set off with deep green “jalousies,” and in the middle there is a pediment and pavilion with the two statues of the founder and foundress, standing side by side, in their old-fashioned dress; below are carved flourishings and graceful garlands of stone flowers, with a deep and spreading archway, through which we see the interior of a square. This is Morden College, a retreat founded for reduced or comparatively genteel persons. The archway is lined with oak panelling and long oaken benches, acceptable in the summer, where the collegians mostly sit and gossip, and perhaps smoke. Within the square a pretty colonnade runs all round, convenient for pleasant walking in wet weather. There is the old sundial looking down, and a quaint clock-tower with a bell, lantern, and weather-cock. Altogether a drowsy, picturesque old place, dating from 1675. Few would suspect even the existence of this sequestered and interesting place, which is absolutely hidden in its umbrageous shelter. There is a dreamy poetical air over it, and though fully tenanted it seems a perfect solitude--occasionally a “collegian” may flit across the court. A chapel is on one side of the archway: on a Sunday, opening the door gently, you will see all the collegians assembled. The building itself, which seems sound, has mellowed with time into an harmonious red. [Illustration: Old Richmond Theatre.] CHAPTER XXXI. WILLIS’S ROOMS--THE PALACES.