Blogs and book

This was at afternoon tea in the library, where the brass-wired
bookcases, filled with mighty folios and handsome octavos in old
bindings, looked as if they had not been opened for a century. The
literature of past ages furnished the room, and made a delightful
background. The literature of the present lay about on the tables, and
testified that the highest intellectual flight of the inhabitants of
Rood Hall was a dip into the _Contemporary_ or the _Nineteenth Century_,
or the perusal of the last new scandal in the shape of Reminiscences or
Autobiography. One large round table was consecrated to Mudie, another
to Rolandi. On the one side you had Mrs. Oliphant, on the other Zola,
exemplifying the genius of the two nations.
After tea Mr. Smithson's visitors, most of whom had arrived in Sir
George's drag, explored the grounds. These were lovely beyond expression
in the low afternoon light. Cedars of Lebanon spread their broad shadows
on the velvet lawn, yews and Wellingtonias of mighty growth made an
atmosphere of gloom in some parts of the grounds.


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