py in any place in my
life. I must say that my friend was an ideal host, quiet, benevolent,
anxious that people should enjoy themselves in their own way, and yet
with a genial firmness of administration which is the greatest of all
luxuries if it co-exists with much liberty. He was not a great talker,
though he occasionally uttered a witty epigram, often of a somewhat
caustic kind; but the air of serene benevolence with which he used to
preside always set people at their ease. There was, too, another
friend, who was there less often, but who shared the expense of the
house, who was a singularly charming and stimulating talker, full of
acute observation and emotional appreciation of character. The
combination of the two was perfection.

It is pleasant to recollect the long, vague summer days there, the
mornings spent in reading in the verandah, the afternoons in a quiet
ramble; not less delightful were the short winter days, when the
twilight set in early, and the house was warm and softly lit. One
agreeable rule was that after dinner anyone who felt inclined should
read rather than talk; and we have often sate in an amiable silence,
with the fire rustling in the grate, and the leaves of books being
softly turned. The charm was the absence of constraint, and the feeling
that one could say exactly what came into one's mind without any danger
of being misunderstood. But for all that I cannot quite explain the
golden content that seems in retrospect to have overspread the whole
house. We were often frankly critical. We did not spare each other's
weaknesses; but no resentment, no dissatisfaction, no strife seems to
me ever to have clouded the sunny atmosphere.

It all came to an end some years ago; circumstances made it necessary
for my friends to give up the house; and one of the most beautiful
instances of the spirit of the place was on the occasion of our last
visit. We knew that the good days were over, and that our lives could
never be quite so pleasantly united again; but the place held us under
its spell; and I remember as I drove away through the woods, in a soft
moist dawn, I felt nothing but a deep and uncomplaining gratitude for
all the happiness that I had enjoyed there; the trees, the crags, the
embowered lawn with its smiling flowers, the verandah with its chairs
piled up for departure, the dismantled library, all seemed to say
farewell with the same tenderness with which they had always welcomed
us. It seeme