IN describing the mansions of Old England, the difficulty that first occurs is to decide with which to begin, where so many claim foremost attention. Here is one, to which I could point, where the same family has dwelt, generation after generation, for six hundred years; and there another whose quaint Gothic architecture demands and receives our admiration. This is approached by a stately avenue of ancient elms, the cunabula gentis of the cawing rooks, so well in keeping with all around; that exhibits in front a dazzling labyrinth of the most gorgeous-coloured flowers. Here is one, the novelty of whose structure arrests the eye; and there another, the remarkable seclusion of whose situation at once engages our interest. Again we see one the vastness of whose size asserts for itself a hold on our notice on that account; and yet again another, the present desolation- of which, and decay of its former grandeur, ask a place in our sympathy for its owners in their fallen fortunes, and regret for its own mouldering state. This stands on the very margin of a glassy clear translucent lake; that overhangs the sheer cliff at whose foot the ocean has ceaselessly beat age after age. Yet another, whose staunch old walls have withstood the brunt of siege, and bear witness still to the valour with which the family it belonged to fought for the king; and one again wherein deeds have been done the chronicle of which even yet makes the blood curdle and run cold. Or, again, one more whose extreme and hoar antiquity seems sufficient of itself to engross our thoughts ; or one so new and perfect that it calls us to remember that all were once equally so, and makes us almost wish that it could ever continue in the same perfection of workmanship and colour. Yonder is one whose foundations have been laid in the midst of a smiling landscape, to whose beauty wood and water, hill and dale con-tribute; and here another that stands out from its nook in the heart of scenery of the wildest and grandest character. One abuts on the rock that overhangs the bend of a winding river; another stands on a wooded islet in the middle of an inland lake. This looks out from the brow of a hill over the boundless sea, and that is placed in the middle of a low plain, and its time-worn walls, and the lofty trees that surround it, give it even there a character and beauty of its own. Another is guarded by an ancient moat, and approached by the drawbridge over it, bringing to the mind thoughts of those who tenanted the place in times long gone by; and one more rises up in solitary loneliness in its hollow in the centre of the ranges of hills which encircle it on every side. In a word, these are the mansions of our country, each and all suited to their various situations, and each and all characteristic of the favoured country in which we have such deep cause for thankfulness that our lot has been cast.