THE GROVE, HIGHGATE 
familiar dome or spire will detach itself, and as one gazes, there 
are various signs significant of life. Yonder thin column of smoke 
against the warm sky, rises straight up in the windless air from the 
slender shaft of a factory chimney—while nearer the horizon, a 
white moving streak follows the track of a railway, and the scream 
of a locomotive is faintly heard—all telling of the near neighbour- 
hood of working, enjoying, spending, suffering man. 
In Coleridge’s day, the outlook was wider, for there were ‘far 
fewer buildings to obstruct it, and the cloud of smoke that except 
on such clear days as that just described, often hides the prospect 
now—was then comparatively light. The denizen of London 
nowadays, must choose his hour to see it—but it is well worth while 
to do so; and my Highgate drawing will for ever be associated 
in my mind with that glimpse of glorified London so often vouch- 
safed to me on my homeward way. There was no monotony ; 
sometimes rolling cumulus clouds ahead (piled snow-white on 
each other) caught and reflected the glow from the sunset; or if 
fleecy cirri were about, they too caught it, and dyed the heavens 
to the zenith with rippling waves of rose-red. But always the 
glory was short-lived—the shadows crept up higher and descended 
—the spell of enchantment holding me on the hill-top, was broken, 
and everything was grey, and cold, and matter-of-fact, when at 
length I reached the neighbourhood of the ‘‘ Archway,” with its 
mundane noise and bustle, and entered the nether regions of the 
Hampstead and Highgate tube. station. 
The general features of the Grove—the name given to a row of 
large, comfortable-looking and dignified houses—early Georgian 
or older—standing in an old world corner of Highgate a little off 
the main road from London—remain much as they were in the 
days when Dr. James Gillman resided at No. 3—had a large and 
lucrative practice, and had attracted some attention among his 
professional brethren by the publication of a pamphlet on hydro- 
phobia. They speak now, as they did then, of the refinement and 
taste of well-to-do inhabitants. 
They were built when large cellar-kitchens were universal, 
and when hot and cold water laid on, were unheard-of luxuries. 
No doubt, added to the charm of a romantic situation, they have 
now domestic conveniences of which our forefathers knew nothing. 
They face east and west, and the old-fashioned, green-shuttered 
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