delightful, in a beautiful situation, fine trees, fine valleys, and soft
verdure, even at this season: the library-drawing-room with low sofas,
plenty of movable tables, open bookcases, and all that speaks the habits
and affords the means of agreeable occupation. Easton Grey might be a
happy model of what an English country gentleman's house should be; and
Mrs. Smith's kind, well-bred manners, and Mr. Smith's literary and
sensible conversation, make this house one of the most agreeable I ever
saw.

At Bowood there was a happy mixture of sense and nonsense. Lord
Lansdowne was talking to me on the nice little sofa by the fire very
seriously of Windham's life and death, and of a journal which he wrote
to cure himself of indecision of character. Enter suddenly, with a great
burst of noise from the breakfast-room, a tribe of gentlemen neighing
like horses. You never saw a man look more surprised than Lord
Lansdowne.

Re-enter the same performers on all-fours, grunting like pigs.

Then a company of ladies and gentlemen in dumb-show, doing a country
visit, ending with asking for a frank, curtseying, bowing, and
exit.--"_Neighbour_."

Then enter all the gentlemen, some with their fingers on their eyes,
some delighted with themselves.--"_I_."

Then re-enter Lord Lansdowne, the two Mr. Smiths, Mr. Hallam, and Mr.
Fazakerley, each with little dolls made of their pocket handkerchiefs,
nursing and playing with them.--"_Doll_."