owhere do we feel so much at home, and though it may have none of
the imposing magnificence of the great house, it is often far more
charming.

Five flunkeys can not do more towards a guest's comfort than to take his
hat and stick and to show him the way to the drawing-room. A very smart
young New Yorker who is also something of a wag, says that when going to
a very magnificent house, he always tries to wear sufficient articles so
that he shall have one to bestow upon each footman. Some one saw him, upon
entering a palace that is a counterpart of the Worldlys,' quite solemnly
hand his hat to the first footman, his stick to the second, his coat to
the third, his muffler to the fourth, his gloves to the fifth, and his
name to the sixth, as he entered the drawing-room. Needless to say he did
this as a matter of pure amusement to himself. Of course six men servants,
or more, do add to the impressiveness of a house that is a palace and are
a fitting part of the picture. And yet a neat maid servant at the door can
divest a guest of his hat and coat, and lead the way to the sitting-room,
with equal facility.

Having several times mentioned Golden Hall, the palatial country house of
the Gildings, suppose we join the guests and see what the last word in
luxury and lavish hospitality is.

Golden Hall is not an imaginary place, except in name. It exists within a
hundred miles of New York. The house is a palace, the grounds are a park.
There is not only a long wing of magnificent guest rooms in the house,
occupied by young girls or important older people, but there is also a
guest annex, a separate building designed and run like the most luxurious
country club. The second floor has nothing but bedrooms, with bath for
each. The third floor has bachelor rooms, and rooms for visiting valets.
Visiting maids are put in a separate third floor wing. On the ground floor
there is a small breakfast room; a large living-room filled with books,
magazines, a billiard and pool table; beyond the living-room is a fully
equipped gymnasium; and beyond that a huge, white marble, glass-walled
natatorium. The swimming pool is fifty feet by one hundred; on three sides
is just a narrow shelf-like walkway, but the fourth is wide and is
furnished as a room with lounging chairs upholstered in white oilcloth.
Opening out of this are perfectly equipped Turkish and Russian baths in
charge of the best Swedish masseur and masseuse procurable.

In the same bui