doctors in the place, each of whom manages
to make a decent living out of us. The first of
these is Dr. Hull: without whose assistance
no proper-minded woman belonging to the
aristocracy of our suburban village would think of
going through her confinement. He is not a
young man, Dr. Hull, being some two or three
years over threescore. But he is very judicious,
and has built up a solid reputation on allowing
Nature to take her own course, merely
attempting to regulate the diet of his patients.
Our suburban village is, on the whole, a healthy
place; but hot suppers tell sooner or later on
the constitution of most men, and we have
to call in the doctor occasionally, and Dr. Hull
is the one who enjoys the best reputation for
putting men on their legs when so laid up.
Although of the old school in manners, Dr.
Hull is of the newest school as to his treatment.
He has great faith in pure air, good drainage,
cold sponge baths, and generous but temperate
diet; the consequence is, he makes many cures
where less judicious men would kill.

Next to Dr. Hull in medical reputation is
Mr. Spargel, a gentleman whose speciality is
more in surgery than in medicine. Mr. Spargel
has been in the army, has some independent
means, and does not seek practice, leaving
it more to seek him. He is not very popular
with the inhabitants of our suburban village,
being rather inclined to look down upon us,
and call all who are in business tradesmen.
But whenever a serious accident happens, he
is sure to be called in, and on such occasions
he no doubt does his utmost to give any
sufferer relief. He and Dr. Hull are pretty
good friends when they happen to meet, which
is, however, but seldom, as their practice does
not jar, and they mix with different sets of
people. Mr. Spargel is a supporter of Mr.
Chasuble's high-church views, and is one of
the leading persons in that gentleman's
congregation. He is fiery and hot tempered, though
as good hearted a man as could be found.
Mr. Spargel declares that if Mr. Chasuble's
church were shut up, he would rather go and
worship in Father Lomax's little chapel than
sit and hear Mr. MacSnorter preach. But
when Mr. MacSnorter's eldest boy fell out
a-window, and broke his leg in two places, the
doctor who attended him was Mr. Spargel;
and although for eight weeks and more he visited
his young patient twice a day, he would not
take anything in the way of remuneration.

The third doctor in our suburban village may
be termed a dissenter from the rules of the
profession; he is a homoeopathic practitioner, and
professes to cure all maladies with invisible
globules and tasteless essences. None of us
believe in this gentleman's system, though we
are forced to confess that he has certainly
wrought cures, some of which are—to say the
least of them—very extraordinary. The name
of this practitioner is Zeller. He is a German,
and a very firm believer in the theories of
the apostle of homoeopathy. But, to fill up his
time, and to keep his pocket from being empty,
he has set up a home for orphans, which is
maintained by public subscription, and of which he
has constituted himself secretary, medical
attendant, surgeon, superintendent, and all the
various officers of such an institution, rolled into
one. Not that his emoluments are very large.
When everything is told, his combined salaries
are under, rather than over, three hundred a
year.

The amusements to be met with in our
suburban village, are not many. We are too far
from London to go to any of the theatres, unless
we are at the expense of a Brougham, or a fly, for
the whole evening, and don't mind
paying—with driver, baiting the horse, and such
like—a matter of twenty-five or thirty shillings for
our conveyance to and from town. Our last
train from town leaves London at midnight; so
if any one wants to get home at that time,
he must leave the theatre not later than
eleven o'clock, unless he will risk a block of
cabs, carts, or vans, to arrive at the station
after the train has left, and find himself
obliged to seek a bed for the night at some
London hotel, where they look on you with
suspicion for arriving without luggage, and take
great care that you don't go near the door in
the morning before you have paid your bill.
Moreover, as we have all to be up early every
morning, it behoves us to be in bed at a
comparatively early hour every evening, and this is
an additional reason why our amusements, such
as they are, are sought nearer home. There is a
lecture-hall in our suburban village, and here,
from time to time, some second or third-rate
lecturer, or ventriloquist, or conjuror, pitches
his tent for two or three nights, when most of us
go to hear or see him. The Reverend Mr.
MacSnorter, too, from time to time, gives us a
series of lectures upon the errors of popery,
which I have no doubt do us a great deal of
good. Balls we have none. In the first place,
our houses are too small; then, again, the
expense of a ball and supper would be more
than most of us could well afford; lastly, the
influence of Mr. MacSnorter is earnestly and
persistently thrown into the scale against
ill and every kind of assemblies where dancing
is permitted. In the summer, during the long
evenings which intervene between our getting
home from London and dark, we go about
from one garden to another, and talk over the
progress our plants are making; for we are all
more or less given to gardening in our suburban
village. In the winter-time we give hot suppers
to each other, after having spent a couple of
hours at whist, playing for sixpenny points and
a shilling on the rubber. But we are generally
too tired after our day's work, and too anxious
to be up and doing next morning, to indulge
much in any evening amusements. By eleven
o'clock, or very soon after, all the business men
who live in our suburban village are in bed.

In the matter of shops and tradesmen
generally, we try very hard in our suburban village
to believe that we are well off; but we cannot
succeed. Somehow or other, everybody pretends