I always enjoy my occasional visits to the country seats of the nobility, where the calm useful healthy life affords an agreeable change to me from the atmosphere of the palace, which seems always charged with mystery and intrigue. The genuine greeting of my host and the members of his family, the delightful blend of divine honours and of frank hospitality wherewith I am everywhere received, the pride shown in their farms and agricultural schemes, the general air of repose and safety, all tend to soothe a mind that has grown perplexed and wearied with the endless cares of an exalted but anomalous office. The conversation of these uneducated but well-bred persons is certainly not exciting, and might fairly be described as trivial, but really I do not think, from past experience, that it is more trifling or banal than the average talk of the British aristocracy which of recent years has elevated sport and money-making to be the prevalent topics of society (using that term in its narrow technical application). And though all these excellent folk in Meleager are of necessity quite illiterate in the sense that they cannot read and write, their memory is marvellous, so that often after the evening meal the different members of the household recite whole poems in the Meleagrian language, or else tell stories that are by no means devoid of wit and imagination. Often too there is singing to the native lute of sweet melodious songs, which are well rendered by the fresh voices of the young performers.