HOLLAND HOUSE AND GARDENS 
. the western boundary of the estate. At other times, when the moon 
cast athwart the lawn, the shadows of the cedars, oaks, and 
cypresses, that Henry Fox, the first Lord Holland, had planted, 
and, rising higher and higher, threw every gable, and pinnacle, and 
arcade of the old house into strong relief, and the harper played 
beneath the trees—they would stay out of doors till long past mid- 
night—for guests were generally asked to “‘ take a bed ” at Holland 
House. Those whose duties prevented them from doing so, or 
who were too poor to afford a hackney coach to town, had—like 
Sydney Smith, when Canon of St. Paul’s—to bring their dress shoes 
with them and change them in the hall. 
Incidentally, the gardens are very frequently mentioned by 
Lady Holland in the “ Journal,’ when writing from Holland 
House. But a very large proportion of it is dated from abroad, 
whither the Hollands often went, since foreign travel brought 
some alleviation to his Lordship’s gout. 
At all times in their history the gardens seem to have been much 
used by the inmates of the house. As far back as the eighteenth 
century, they are mentioned as the scene of a weird ghost story. 
Lady Diana Rich, one of the daughters of the Earl of Warwick, 
when walking in her father’s park in the forenoon, was confronted 
by her own apparition, and died within a month, two of her 
sisters meeting with the same uncanny experience elsewhere. 
This is tradition, but it is a matter of history that the young King 
George III., when riding down to Kew, fell in love with the Lady 
Sarah Lennox, sister-in-law of Henry Fox, when, dressed up as a 
charming shepherdess, she was making hay on the lawn between 
the house and the high road, on the very spot where once Cromwell 
shouted in the ear of Ireton, and where, in later days, the statue 
of the great Lord Holland was placed. 
While fully appreciating the courtesy that extended to me the 
rare and coveted privilege of painting in these delectable gardens 
at a time when I had no thought of this book in my mind, I regretted 
that I was allowed to make but one drawing there. For they are 
so varied and picturesque, and at the present day still so extensive, 
that they offer subjects without end to painters—even to those to 
whom their historical associations may make no special appeal. 
I was simply saturated with the summer loveliness of the scene on 
that brilliant August day in 1918, when first I went there. The old 
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