FULHAM PALACE 
centuries have probably blown down most of the elms that were 
actually planted by Bishop Compton about the year of the Revo- 
lution in the avenue of approach ; and the caprice of later prelates 
has no doubt considerably changed the plan of the gardens— 
though this to a less extent than at Lambeth—but they are still 
very beautiful; many of the trees are magnificent, whilst others 
are uncommon. 
But more than all at Fulham there is the human interest, and, 
possibly owing to the simple domestic character-of its architecture, 
nowhere, so far as I know, is this more strongly felt than here. 
It is the human interest that gives to every garden, lordly or simple, 
old or new—but more particularly to the old—its peculiar, haunting 
charm. It is a charm distinct from that of the wilderness, the 
lonely mountain side, and the restless, solitary sea, for it comes 
not only from the eye’s delight in nature’s loveliness, but also from 
the sense of the near neighbourhood of man, and of his controlling 
mind and will. It is exhaled from the tended flowers; it is felt 
as we tread the well-watered, smooth-shaven lawn ; it is discovered 
in the well-swept path; and, in so far as all these are the signs 
of the proximity of man, it belongs as much to the patch of soil 
whereon the cotter grows his scarlet-runners and potatoes, his 
Sweet Williams and his Canterbury Bells, as to the landscape- 
gardens of the ducal residence. The difference is of degree, not 
of kind ; because the consciousness of being in touch with humanity, 
‘wherever, as in a garden, there is evidence of the industry and 
design of man, is felt much more strongly when the building to 
which the garden is attached, has a history of supreme importance, 
as at Lambeth ; or picturesque features, added to historic interest, 
as at Fulham and Holland House; or where, without any pre- 
tensions to either of these, it was once the scene of the private life 
of some commanding personality, or imperial intellect. For example, 
a certain house at Chelsea, brown and shabby, has but little out- 
wardly to recommend it, and its garden is merely a back yard, 
or little better; yet both are eagerly visited by all and sundry, 
for here dwelt Thomas Carlyle. And there is an old house, and 
a rose-garden behind it, at Highgate, beautiful from its situation, 
and because the garden is well-tended and stocked. For many 
years a poet dwelt there, whose winged words had long before sped 
to the very ends of the earth and will echo down the centuries. 
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