So unchanged is the character of the Mansion, that little effort of imagination will be required to people it with the gay courtiers and light dames of the reign of the second Charles, when the “House at Ham” was in its glory. Every object it contains is in keeping with the period; of modern furniture there is nothing; but all the tables, chairs, footstools, fire-dogs,--from things of curious and rare value down to the minutest matters of daily use,--are of an age gone by. This advantage is mainly attributable to the fact that since the Restoration the venerable dwelling has had but few occupants--two of them, the Duchess of Lauderdale and the late Countess of Dysart, having died there when their years numbered upwards of fourscore. According to Hume, James the Second was “ordered to retire to this house,” on the arrival of the Prince of Orange in London, but “thinking himself unsafe so near the Metropolis, he fled privately to France.” Subsequently the “Manor House at Ham” ceased to possess any public interest; fortunately there has been no wish on the part of its noble owners to effect “restorations” of any kind; it has been consequently suffered to retain its solemn aspect and somewhat gloomy character; and remains a striking and impressive monument of the period of its erection. [Illustration: From a drawing by F. W. Hulme. Day & Son, Lithʳˢ. to The Queen. LOSELY HOUSE, SURREY.] LOSELEY HOUSE, SURREY. Loseley House. This ancient Mansion--the residence of James More Molyneux, Esq., the lineal representative of two families, famous in old times--although sadly impaired by time and neglect--cannot fail, while one stone remains above another, to retain the interest that arises from venerable antiquity, in association with renowned names. It is situated about two miles south-west of Guildford. A long Avenue, perfectly bare of trees, leads from the public road to the House. The old Hall has been shorn of its proud and graceful proportions; repairs have been made by sloven hands; parts of the Moat have been filled up, but so coarsely, as to seem the result of accident rather than design. The principal approach is over a bridge between clumsy stables and storehouses. The odious face of a modern clock covers the antique Horologe, of which many of its old admirers make honourable mention; the Porch, which bears the date of 1812, over which is still inscribed, in Roman capital letters, the sentence-- “INVIDIÆ, CLAUDOR, PATEO SED SEMPER AMICO,” is of a nondescript character, utterly out of keeping with the structure; a deformity which--following absurdities of outhouses and unseemly patches--carries conviction that “Something ails the place.”