An excuse will be sought for in the plea that the exercise of hospitality is a duty performed by the rich with some success. If the hospitality of the rich is ever truly successful it is here again the man, and not his money, that brings this about. Crowds of guests at country houses or dinner parties who regard their host and hostess as nothing more than innkeepers or restaurant proprietors are common enough, and it is a well-known expedient for those who are busy “climbing” (and their name is Legion) to use hospitality as a means of getting hold of the “right people.” But the small gathering met together in a common interest and mutual regard to enjoy the warming intercourse of friendship does not require the accompaniment of a ten-course dinner nor the surroundings of a vast establishment, and is, happily, as easily within the reach of the poorer sections of the community as of the rich. Money, therefore, does not facilitate or elevate hospitality. It manifestly tends to lower its quality and depreciate its value. It may be argued further in connection with large establishments and hospitality that certain noble traditions founded on an excusable pride of family or race are to be found attached to the great historic establishments of the nobility. There is no great harm in this sentiment and from the archæological point of view it has a certain attractive interest. But it is too much for the high nobility to expect that they can continue to carry on these traditions throughout all time, preserving the habits and customs of past ages in a world that has changed and will continue to change. No one will quarrel with them if they ask that their lineage and family history should be respected, but money will not help them now, and when they consider themselves entitled to administer autocratically their millions in order to preserve their princely dignities, they are asking for privileges which the modern economic State and the growth of democracy are every year showing more and more to be inconsistent with good government and the healthy life of the people. And often by their riches they only succeed in reproducing a somewhat vulgar travesty of the splendour and distinction of their ancestors in bygone ages. The typical instance we are examining has been described as a landlord who owns villages and keeps his cottages carefully repaired (this, we may note in passing, is not by any means the invariable practice). He dispenses charity to the villagers with open-handed generosity, providing thoughtfully the sack of coals in winter, the occasional pound of tea, the knitted waistcoats for the little boys, the scarves and hoods for the little girls, and what could be more idyllic than to see the children bobbing curtsies and touching their caps to the people from the great house?