I had, in a word, all the pride of a second son, a creature devoted to
carving his own way to fame and fortune. I will not say that my parents
wanted to console me for being a second son and for seeing my elder
brother inherit the estate and Sutton the beloved, for that was never
thought of or dreamt of by them, or by me. On the contrary, I was told
in all sincerity, and firmly believe now, as I did then, that though
somebody must keep the flame alight on the family altar, where it was
lighted so long ago, and though this duty fell to the eldest son, I need
not envy him. He was tied. I as a younger son was left free,
untrammelled, the world before me. If I was worthy of my fate, the ball
was at my feet. Such was the policy of younger sons, and so it was
handed on to me.

Again, I was fortunate in being brought up in the country, and not in
London or near some great town;--in being, that is, the inmate of "an
English country-house" in the accepted sense, a place to which a certain
definite way of life pertains, especially when the house is not bought,
but inherited, and is regarded with a peculiar veneration and admiration
by all who live in it.

The love of some old "house in the country" constitutes a family
freemasonry, of which those who have not actually experienced it can
form no conception. It unites those who differ in opinion, in age, in
outlook on life, and in circumstances. It is the password of the heart.

Call a dog-kennel Sutton, and I should love it. How much more so when it
stands beside its sheltering elms and limes, with its terraces looking
to the blue line of Mendip, its battlemented and flower-tufted fortress
wall, and its knightly Tower built for security and defence.