CHISWICK HOUSE 
is some affectation in the picture, but in the ensemble the original 
looked very well. The Duke of Devonshire received me with the 
best possible manners. The scene was dignified by the presence 
of an immense elephant, who, under the charge of a groom, 
wandered up and down, giving an air of Asiatic pageantry to the 
entertainment. I was never more sensible,” continues the author 
of “ Waverley,” ‘of the dignity which largeness of size, and 
freedom of movement give to this otherwise very ugly animal.” 
This elephant occupied a paddock near the house, and his in- 
telligence, docility and affection were remarkable. 
Chiswick House, where in health Charles James Fox was a 
frequent visitor, was the scene of his end. In August, 1806, not six 
months after the death of his friend Georgiana, the great Whig 
statesman and orator, came there to die. He was unable to stand 
the fatigue of the journey to his own home of St. Anne’s Hill, 
and it was hoped that the change to the country—for Chiswick 
was in the country a hundred and twelve years ago—would do some- 
thing towards restoring him to health, and his nephew, Lord 
Holland, tells us that for a while the beauty of the gardens outside, 
and of the works of art within, did indeed revive and benefit him ; 
but only for a time; and a fortnight later, in September, 1806, 
he passed away, with the words: ‘‘ I die happy,” on his lips. 
Twenty-one years after the death of Fox, George Canning came 
to Chiswick, also to die. He had caught cold at the Duke of York’s 
funeral, and his health had already begun to give way, when, on 
the death of Lord Liverpool, he was called upon to form a ministry. 
The difficulty he found in doing so, the anxiety and strain he 
had undergone, proved too much for him. He came to Chiswick 
House to recuperate, but three weeks later, on the 8th of August, 
1827, he died. It is said, but of the truth of the statement I 
am doubtful, that he passed away in the same room in which 
Fox had breathed his last. 
With regard to Fox and the affection with which he was regarded 
by his associates, Sir George Trevelyan tells us that it was said 
in 1794: ‘‘ There are only forty of them, and any of them would 
be hanged for Fox.” 
Sir Robert Adair, British Minister at Vienna and Constantinople, 
who died in 1825, at the age of ninety-two, was actually the last 
survivor of Fox’s friends. Many years after the death of Fox, 
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