A rather surprising step which occasioned something of a scandalous sensation in the social world was resorted to some years ago at a country-house in Devonshire.  Two or three fast young ladies, finding the evening somewhat heavy, and lamenting a dearth of dancing men, rang the bell, and in five minutes the lady of the house, who was in another room, was aghast at seeing them whirling round in their Jeames’s arms.  It was understood that the ringleader in this enterprise, the daughter of an Irish earl, was not likely to be asked to repeat her visit.

About eleven wine and water and biscuits are brought into the drawing-room, and a few minutes later the ladies retire.  The wine and water, with the addition of other stimulants, are then transferred to the billiard- and smoking-rooms, to which the gentlemen adjourn so soon as they have changed their black coats for dressing-gowns or lounging suits, in which great latitude is given to the caprice of individual fancy.

The sittings in these apartments are protracted until any hour, as the servants usually go to bed when they have provided every one with his flat candle-stick—­that emblem of gentility which always so prominently recurred to the mind of Mrs. Micawber when recalling the happy days when she “lived at home with papa and mamma.”  In some fast houses pretty high play takes place at such times.

It not unfrequently happens that the master of the house takes but a very limited 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