CHISWICK HOUSE 
pondered the matter, and with all the picturesque accretions and 
variations that the vivid fancy of youth chose to add, we discussed 
them in family conclave. 
Immediately the spirit of adventure rife in the boys, met the 
spirit of romance uppermost in the girls; and finally, without 
consulting our elders, or even telling them of our dreams, we 
resolved to make a real pilgrimage, in order to verify the truth of 
the rumours, and the accuracy of our own imaginings. 
When I think of it now, I remember that we did not even know 
in what direction the garden lay, and whether the golden gates 
were in the Moon, or in Middlesex. We asked nobody, for we had 
youth’s self-confidence, and if any well-meaning person had 
voluntarily told us that what we were seeking was actually within 
a mile or two of our own garden, it would not have shaken our 
faith in our distant objective, for we should not have believed 
him! We never doubted that sooner or later we should arrive 
at our goal. For Ghiberti’s famous bronze gates before referred to, 
the gates of the Baptistery at Florence, were not more real and 
beautiful in the eyes of Michael Angelo, when he pronounced them 
“worthy to be the gates of Paradise,”’ than, to our vivid fancy, was 
the undiscovered entrance to the mysterious undiscovered country 
we sought. 
Therefore, on several consecutive holiday afternoons, when, on 
the principle that there is safety in numbers, we were left to our 
own devices, we sallied forth, a joyous band of brothers, sisters, and 
school-mates, in search of the wonderful gates, and the Paradise 
to which they, like Ghiberti’s, were the fitting portal. But we never 
found them, for they lay close to home; and in our wanderings 
we had overshot the mark, and passed them by; and when at 
last, after four futile attempts—made all “‘ on our own,” we con- 
descended to ask the way—the way to the “Golden Gates ”— 
no one had ever heard of them ! 
And well might it be so, for the gates were the gates of Chiswick 
House, and they were not golden at all! but of wrought-iron, 
gilded. They are beautiful, nevertheless, and have an interesting 
history. Originally they were the gates of Heathfield House, 
Turnham Green, which, after changing hands more than once, 
was purchased by George Elliot, Lord Heathfield, the defender of 
Gibraltar, who died there in 1790. 
159 
