the snobbishness of the nineteenth century is practically apt to taint the younger branches when they read of garden-parties given by the royal princes or balls where duchesses and cabinet ministers are as plentiful as blackberries. Their great-grandmothers, it is true, were sometimes troubled with the same longings, for among the many proclamations against the residence in London of country gentlemen in unofficial positions is one of James I., noticing "those swarms of gentry, who, through the instigation of their wives, do neglect their country hospitality and cumber the city, a general nuisance to the kingdom;" and the royal Solomon elsewhere observes that "gentlemen resident on their estates are like ships in port--their value and magnitude are felt and acknowledged; but when at a distance, as their size seemeth insignificant, so their worth and importance are not duly estimated." There is a weak point in this simile, however; so, to cover it with a better and more unpretentious argument, I will quote a few lines from an old poem of Sir Richard Fanshawe on the subject of one of these proclamations: Nor let the gentry grudge to go Into those places whence they grew, But think them blest they may do so. Who would pursue The smoky glories of the town That may go till his native earth, And by the shining fire sit down On his own hearth? * * * * * Believe me, ladies, you will find In that sweet life more solid joys, More true contentment to the mind, Than all town toys. [Illustration: PORCH WITH BOW-WINDOW UNDER, OUTSIDE WARWICK GATES.]