And imagine the possessor of a noble estate coming down to receive his friends there. To a high and generous mind there must be something very delightful in it. When he enters his own neighbourhood, he enters his own kingdom. The very market-town through which he last passes, is, probably, totally or three-fourths of it his property. If he be a kind and liberal man, the respect which is there testified towards him, has in it the most cordial of flatteries. When he touches his own land, every thing acknowledges his absolute sway. On all sides he sees symptoms of welcome. Wherever he looks, they are the woods, the parks, the fields of his ancestors, and now his own, that meet his eyes. The freshness and greenness of the fields, the sombre grandeur of the woods, the peaceful elegance of his house, all the odours of flowers breathing through the rooms, and the sight of rich fruits on his walls and in his hothouses; after the heat, dust, crowding, noise, political contention, and turning night into day, of London, must be peculiarly grateful. Here he is sole lord and master; and from him, he feels, flow the good of his dependent people, and the pleasures of his distinguished guests. The same where Far to the south a mountain vale retires, Rich in its groves, and glens, and village spires; Its upland lawns, and cliffs with foliage hung, Its wizard stream, nor nameless nor unsung; And through the various year, the various day, Where scenes of glory burst and melt away.--_Rogers._ The hamlet, which shews its thatched roofs and lowly smoking chimneys near, is all his own; nay, the rustic church is part and parcel of the family estate. It was probably built and endowed by his ancestors. The living is in his gift, and is perhaps enjoyed by a relative, or college chum. The very churchyard, with its simple headstones, and green mounds, is separated often only by a sunk fence from his grounds. It blends into them, and the old grey tower lifts itself amongst trees which form one majestic mass with his own. The sabbath-bell rings, and he enters that old porch with his guests; he sees the banner of some brave ancestor float above his head, and the hatchments and memorial inscriptions of others on the walls. What can be more delicately flattering to all the feelings of a human creature; what lot can be more perfect?