The subject was changed by his asking me what I thought of the grounds. I praised everything. I had made up my mind to reverse the Horatian precept, and do nothing but admire. However, the grounds really deserved my admiration. They were richly wooded, lavishly stocked, covering altogether not less than fifteen acres. My uncle was very communicative and affectionate, held my arm as we wandered, and gave me a long account of his early life, his prejudices, tastes, and present love of seclusion. He had but very few neighbours, which, he said, was one great reason for his purchasing the property. “I have outlived my love of society,” he remarked. “The friends I cared for are gone, and I have neglected Johnson’s advice to keep friendship in repair by forming new attachments. Dinner parties and balls are no treats to me. The tone of society has changed wonderfully within the last twenty years. There is little or no conversation, no friendly rivalries of wit, none of that heartiness which used to make our old social gatherings so enjoyable. However, I have little to complain of. No man can be alone who has his books. Do you remember what Macaulay says of them? ‘These are the old friends who are never seen with new faces, who are the same in wealth and in poverty, in glory and obscurity. With the dead there is no rivalry. In the dead there is no change.’” “But doesn’t your daughter care for society?” “No. If she did she should have it.” “How does she pass the time?” “In sewing, and reading and writing: and latterly in shooting. You smile! Well, shooting does seem a queer pastime for a young lady to indulge in, but I really don’t see why a girl shouldn’t amuse herself with a pistol if she has the courage. My objection is not a conventional one. I fear that she will one day injure herself. But for that, I can discover no reason why a girl living in the country shouldn’t shoot at a mark, as girls frequently in town amuse themselves by shooting in saloons erected for that purpose.” “Is the revolver her own that I saw in her hand?” “No, it is mine. She took it out of my bed-room, and has kept it ever since.” “Is she as fond as you of books?” “She is a great reader,” he answered with a smile that seemed like an admission of my peculiar right to make these enquiries. “I am sometimes quite astonished by the information she possesses in directions which even professed students find too dry and uninviting to pursue.” “Good gracious!” I thought, “what a delusion he is labouring under! I would bet a hundred pounds Theresa couldn’t write a dozen lines that shouldn’t contain half as many blunders.” Thus conversing, we reached the stables, where I found three fine horses, one of which he pointed out as his daughter’s. This supplied him with a text for a long discourse on the subject of breeding horses; he then branched off into topics connected with the Stock Exchange, and finally, after an absence of nearly an hour, reconducted me to the house.