“‘We think it pleasant,’ said he, ‘sometimes to dispense with their attendance.’ “‘Exactly,’ sais I, ‘then dispense with sarvants at dinner, for when the wine is in, the wit is out.’ (I said that to compliment him, for the critter had no wit in at no time,) ‘and they hear all the talk. But at breakfast every one is only half awake, (especially when you rise so airly as you do in this country,’ sais I, but the old critter couldn’t see a joke, even if he felt it, and he didn’t know I was a funnin’.) ‘Folks are considerably sharp set at breakfast,’ sais I, ‘and not very talkat_ive_. That’s the right time to have sarvants to tend on you.’ “‘What an idea!’ said he, and he puckered up his pictur, and the way he stared was a caution to an owl. “Well, we sot and sot till I was tired, so thinks I, ‘what’s next?’ for it’s rainin’ agin as hard as ever.’ So I took a turn in the study to sarch for a book, but there was nothin’ there, but a Guide to the Sessions, Burn’s Justice, and a book of London club rules, and two or three novels. He said he got books from the sarkilatin’ library. “‘Lunch is ready.’ “‘What, eatin’ agin? My goody!’ thinks I, ‘if you are so fond of it, why the plague don’t you begin airly? If you’d a had it at five o’clock this morning, I’d a done justice to it; now I couldn’t touch it if I was to die.’ “There it was, though. Help yourself, and no thanks, for there is no sarvants agin. The rule here is, no talk no sarvants--and when it’s all talk, it’s all sarvants. “Thinks I to myself, ‘now, what shall I do till dinner-time, for it rains so there is no stirrin’ out?--Waiter, where is eldest son?--he and I will have a game of billiards, I guess.’ “‘He is laying down, sir.’ “‘Shows his sense,’ sais I, ‘I see, he is not the fool I took him to be. If I could sleep in the day, I’de turn in too. Where is second son?’ “‘Left this mornin’ in the close carriage, sir.’ “‘Oh cuss him, it was him then was it?’ “‘What, Sir?’ “‘That woke them confounded rooks up, out o’ their fust nap, and kick’t up such a bobbery. Where is the Parson?’ “‘Which one, Sir?’ “‘The one that’s so fond of fishing.’ “‘Ain’t up yet, Sir.’ “‘Well, the old boy, that wore breeches.’ “Out on a sick visit to one of the cottages, Sir.’ “When he comes in, send him to me, I’m shockin’ sick.’ “With that I goes to look arter the two pretty galls in the drawin’ room; and there was the ladies a chatterin’ away like any thing. The moment I came in it was as dumb as a quaker’s meetin’. They all hauled up at once, like a stage-coach to an inn-door, from a hand-gallop to a stock still stand. I seed men warn’t wanted there, it warn’t the custom so airly, so I polled out o’ that creek, starn first. They don’t like men in the mornin’, in England, do the ladies; they think ‘em in the way.