That gentleman, as I had surmised, was a trifle astonished at our appearance. But I told him that my friends were a couple of French artists, who had been spending a few weeks in London 'doing the lions' there, and who had heard of the charming scenery around Oatlands, and wished to view it, and possibly make a few sketches. And, at the same time, a solicitor's recommendation being of some value, since it might mean a good many future customers, I handed the manager one of Wareham's cards. There was, I remember, some little difficulty at first in obtaining rooms, for the hotel was nearly full; but everything ended satisfactorily. I may mention, perhaps, that in describing Messrs. Zola and Desmoulin as French artists, I had at least told half the truth. M. Fernand Desmoulin is, of course, well known in the French art world; and, moreover, he had already spoken to me of purchasing a water-colour outfit for the very purpose of sketching, as I had stated. Then, too, M. Zola first distinguished himself in literature as an art critic, the defender of Manet, the champion of the school of the 'open air.' And if he made no sketches whilst he remained at Oatlands he at least took several photographs. Sapient critics will stop me here with the oft-repeated dictum that photography is not art. But however that may be, so many painters nowadays have recourse to the assistance of photography that M. Zola's 'snap-shotting' largely helped to bear out the account which I had given of him at the hotel. Oatlands Park is a large pile standing on the site of a magnificent palace built by Henry VIII. Anne of Denmark, wife of James I., resided there, and Henrietta Maria there gave birth to the Duke of Gloucester, the brother of our second Charles and second James. The palace was almost entirely destroyed during the Civil Wars, and subsequently the property passed in turn to Jermyn, Earl of St. Albans; Herbert, the admiral, first Earl of Torrington; and Henry, seventh Earl of Lincoln. A descendant of the last-named sold the estate to Frederick, Duke of York, the son of George III. and Commander-in-Chief of the British army. Soon afterwards the house at Oatlands was destroyed by fire, and the prince erected a new building, some portions of which are incorporated in the present hostelry. A pathetic interest attaches to those remains of York House. Within those walls were spent many of the honeymoon hours of a fair and virtuous princess, one whose early death plunged England into the deepest grief it had known for centuries; there she conceived the child who in the ordinary course of nature might have become King of Great Britain. But the babe, so anxiously awaited by the whole nation (there was no Princess Victoria at that time) proved stillborn; and of the unhappy 'mother of the moment,' Byron wrote in immortal lines: