he rhododendrons, the cedar deodaras, the laurels, the
pampas grass, the 'carpet gardening' beds, and the glass of distant
hothouses glittering in the sun. A carriage and pair, being slowly driven
by a man in livery from the door down to the extensive stabling,
passes--clearly some of the family have just returned. On ringing, the
callers are shown through a spacious hall with a bronze or two on the
marble table, into a drawing-room, elegantly furnished. There is a short
iron grand open with a score carelessly left by the last player, a harp in
the corner, half hidden by the curtains, some pieces of Nankin china on
the side tables.

Where are the cow-sheds? Looking out of window a level lawn extends, and
on it two young gentlemen are playing tennis, in appropriate costume. The
laboured platitudes that had been prepared about shorthorns and bacon pigs
are quite forgotten, and the visitor is just about to ask the question if
his guide has not missed the farm-house and called at the squire's, when
Mr. X---- comes briskly in, and laughs all apology about intrusion to the
winds in his genial manner. He insists on his friends taking some
refreshment, will not take refusal; and such is the power of his vivacity,
that they find themselves sipping Madeira and are pressed to come and dine
in the evening, before one at least knows exactly where he is. 'Just a
homely spread, you know; pot-luck; a bit of fish and a glass of Moet; now
_do_ come.' This curious mixture of bluff cordiality, with unexpected
snatches of refinement, is Mr. X----'s great charm. 'Style of farming;
tell you with pleasure.' [Rings the bell.] 'John' (to the manservant),
'take this key and bring me account book No. 6 B, Copse Farm; that will be
the best way to begin.'

If the visitor knows anything of country life, he cannot help recollecting
that, if the old type of farmer was close and mysterious about anything,
it was his accounts. Not a word could be got out of him of profit or loss,
or revenue: he would barely tell you his rent per acre, and it was
doubtful if his very wife ever saw his pass-book. Opening account book No.
6 B, the explanation proceeds.

'My system of agriculture is simplicity itself, sir. It is all founded on
one beautiful commercial precept. Our friends round about here [with a
wave of the hand, indicating the country side]--our old folks--whenever
they got a guinea put it out of sight, made a hoard, hid it in a stocking,
or behind a bri