share in the recreations of his guests, being much
engrossed by the various avocations which fall to the lot of a
country proprietor. After breakfast in the morning he will make it his
business to see that each gentleman is provided with such recreation
as he likes for the day. This man will shoot, that one will fish;
Brown will like to have a horse and go over to see some London friends
who are staying ten miles off; Jones has heaps of letters which
must be written in the morning, but will ride with the ladies in the
afternoon; and when all these arrangements are completed the squire
will drive off with his old confidential groom in the dog-cart, with
that fast-trotting bay, to attend the county meeting in the nearest
cathedral town or dispense justice from the bench at Pottleton;
and when eight o'clock brings all together at dinner an agreeable
diversity is given to conversation by each man's varied experiences
during the day.

Of course some houses are desperately dull, whilst others are always
agreeable. Haddo House, during the lifetime of Lord Aberdeen, the
prime minister, had an exceptional reputation for the former quality.
It was said to be the most silent house in England; and silence in
this instance was regarded as quite the reverse of golden. The family
scarcely ever spoke, and the guest, finding that his efforts brought
no response, became alarmed at the echoes of his own voice. Lord
Aberdeen and his son, Lord Haddo--an amiable but weak and eccentric
man, father of the young earl who dropped his title and was drowned
whilst working as mate of a merchantman--did not get on well together,
and saw very little of each other for some years. At length a
reconciliation was effected, and the son was invited to Haddo. Anxious
to be pleasant and conciliatory, he faltered out admiringly, "The
place looks nice, the trees are very green." "Did you expect to see
'em blue, then?" was the encouraging paternal rejoinder.

The degree of luxury in many of these great houses is less remarkable
than its completeness. Everything is in keeping, thus presenting a
remarkable contrast to most of our rich men's attempts at the same.
The dinner, cooked by a _cordon bleu_ of the cuisine [A]--whose
resources in the way of "hot plates" and other accessories for
furnishing a superlative dinner are unrivaled--is often served on
glittering plate, or china almost equally valuable, by men six
feet high, of splendid figure, and dressed with