GARDENS OF CELEBRITIES 
student to whom his advice would be of real service. Personally, 
I owe him much : though he was one of the busiest men in London 
—if I sought his counsel, he would find time to write, with his own 
hand, and make a studio appointment, usually for Sunday morn- 
ing. Unfortunately, I was not resident in London at the time: 
in spite of Leighton’s saying, “‘ You must be in London, and your 
friends should know it,’”’ circumstances unfortunately prevented 
me from being so. 
Those who have only seen Leighton House as it is at the present 
day—stripped of all the significant trifles that go to make up the 
domestic environment of every human being, man or woman— 
denuded of the pictures by other artists that once clothed the walls, 
of the bric-a-brac and curios, the rare tapestries and Oriental 
carpets that formerly filled it—can form but a faint conception of 
its aspect in the Master’s life-time. The Arab Hall—loveliest 
souvenir of the East in London, when the sun shines, a veritable 
dream of beauty—otherwise so strangely out of place in the foggy 
atmosphere of the Metropolis ; and the noble staircase, remain much 
as in other days; for the rest, to me—the place is a tomb—little 
more than the shell of a habitation, and bare of all save association. 
T can recall one of the first visits I ever paid there, when the Master 
himself showed me and a friend who accompanied me, all over his 
beautiful home ; and pointed out the things that he most prized. 
It is a long while ago—when I was quite young and still a student ; 
but I remember what a lovely June morning it was, and that the 
surrounding trees still wore their early summer dress of vivid green ; 
that the sun shining, illuminated the pictures in the drawing-room, 
where there were some fine examples of Corot, and an exquisite 
George Mason—a windy picture of calves, and a girl driving them. 
Also there was a Paris Bordone. Fresh from his own lessons in 
composition, I had the temerity to criticize the really faulty arrange- 
ment of line of the Venetian. Leighton smiled indulgently, and 
conceded the point ; ‘‘ but,”’ he said, ‘‘ we are not all great Colour- 
ists, like Paris Bordone,”’ and certainly the sumptuous colour of the 
picture atoned for the defective composition. 
I do not, on this occasion, recall much of the Studio, that occupies 
the entire upper story of the house, and is about 17 feet high, 
about 60 feet long by 25. I think I associate it more with later 
visits. Besides, since Lord Leighton’s death I have had to deliver 
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