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 the most scrupulous neatness and cleanliness.  Gloves are never worn by servants in first-rate English houses, but they carry a tiny napkin in their hands which they place between their fingers and the plates.  Nearly all country gentlemen are hospitable, and it very rarely happens that guests are not staying in the house.  A county ball or some other such gathering fills it from garret to cellar.

[Footnote A:  Frenchmen say that the best English dinners are now the best in the world, because they combine the finest French entrees and entremets with pieces de resistance of unrivaled excellence.]

The best guest-rooms are always reserved for the married:  bachelors are stowed away comparatively “anywhere.”  In winter fires are always lit in the bedrooms about five o’clock, so that they may be warm at dressing-time; and shortly before the dressing-bell rings the servant deputed to attend upon a guest who does not bring a valet with him goes to his room, lays out his evening-toilette, puts shirt, socks, etc. to air before the fire, places a capacious pitcher of boiling water on the washing-stand, and having lit the candles, drawn the easy-chair to the fire, just ready on provocation to burst into a blaze, lights the wax candles on the dressing-table and withdraws.

In winter the guest is asked whether he likes a fire to get up by, and in that event a housemaid enters early with as little noise as possible and lights it.  On rising in the morning you find all your clothes carefully brushed and put in order, and every appliance for ample ablutions at hand.

A guest gives the servant who attends him a tip of from a dollar and a quarter to five dollars, according to the length of his stay.  If he shoots, a couple of sovereigns for a week’s sport is a usual fee to a keeper.  Some people give absurdly large sums, but the habit of giving them has long been on the decline.  The keeper supplies powder and shot, and sends in an account for them.  Immense expense