SION 
possibly represent the laying out of the grounds by Protector 
Somerset, but, be this as it may, the whole was swept away by 
‘“‘ Capability ’ Brown, probably about the time when Adam 
made the alterations inside the house. 
The estate altogether, as it appears at present to one privileged 
for a time to wander-over it and sketch, is undoubtedly beautiful 
—particularly when one remembers its nearness to London. Owing, 
no doubt, to the neighbourhood of the river, and the artificial 
waters fed by it, it is astonishingly verdant, and the grounds are 
well kept; but there is an entire and rather singular absence of 
life about Sion. No doubt it is animated enough when the Duke of 
Northumberland is in residence ; at other times it is a little lone- 
some, the great house shows no sign of activity; and sequestered 
and charming as the grounds are, one misses the peacocks and 
the water-fowl, and even the bold grey rabbits that scud across 
the lawns at Chiswick House—soon to be described—in places 
where, of course, they have no business to be! 
Therefore one welcomes, as the only relief from the immobility 
of the scene, the gentle movements of the cattle on the green 
sward lying between the flower gardens and the river, and hails 
the appearance, even in the distance, of gardeners or woodmen 
—and I jumped up eagerly from my work one sunshiny day in 
September, 1914, when one of the former, with considerable excite- 
ment, called my attention to the then unusual sight of a vast cigar- 
shaped airship, flying so low that it appeared to be little above the 
dome of the conservatory. There were three or four men in it, 
clearly seen, and it flew the British ensign at its stern, as any ship 
at sea might do; but its ocean, the air, was very calm and still, 
and the sky serenely blue. It was an incident charged with 
undue excitement and importance, because it happened at the 
very outbreak of war, when the attributes and powers of Zeppelins 
and airships were comparatively unknown. As a rule one may 
walk for an hour at Sion, or paint undisturbedly, with nothing 
whatever to remind one that the dirtiest hamlet in Middlesex 
is at its very gates, and that the trams to Hampton Court pass 
them every few minutes. 
I do not know with what authority a writer, quoted by Walford, 
suggested that Capability Brown’s work at Sion, was in its turn 
also “‘ swept away.” He says, “ the extensive pleasure-grounds 
109 
