that there is no need to go to London for
anything. But, at the same time, we all purchase
in London, on the sly, whatever we wish to
have really good, though we don't confess
distrust of the shops in our suburban village,
and even when talking among ourselves do keep
up the pretence of praising everything that
belongs to the locality. Some of those who
are loudest in praising the shops and tradesmen
of the place, are more than suspected of
bringing down from town with them even their
butcher's meat; and in the matter of groceries,
there is no doubt we all get everything we
require from the City. And why should, we
not? If the truth must be told, the shops
of our suburban village are fifty per cent dearer,
the goods sold in them are a hundred per cent
worse, and the owners of the shops are three
hundred per cent less civil than in any part of
London.

Our suburban village is by no means the only
place of its kind near London. On the contrary,
similar villages are to be met north and south,
and west, of our huge overbuilt Babylon.
They have their disadvantages. We business
men are in a perpetual flurry, ever running
a race against time, and mostly losing it. On
the other hand, the health must be greatly
promoted by sleeping every night in fresh, or
comparatively fresh, air. Nor should the
inestimable advantages which children—especially
the very young—derive from living in these
semi-country places be overlooked. If all business
London were to live in the business parts
of London—supposing for a moment that the
latter could contain a tenth part of them—our
metropolis would soon become the most
unhealthy city in the world.

        CHESTERFIELD JUNIOR.
  A SON'S ADVICE TO HIS FATHER.

MY DEAR FATHER. Yes, dear sir, you are
right in your conjecture. There is something
going on between Miss Baskerville and myself.
A good deal going on, in fact. And now, having
stated this openly, let me proceed to answer
the remarks on this young lady's character
contained in your letter, just received; first,
however, thanking you very cordially for its expressions
of good will towards myself.

You begin by saying that you fear, from what
you know of her parentage and education,
Miss Baskerville may have contracted opinions
of—what you call—a worldly sort. You think
it likely that she may attach great importance
to all kinds of worldly distinction and honour.
You knew her father, Sir John Baskerville, and
her mother; and it always appeared to you, as
you tell me, that both the one and the other held
the above-named worldly distinctions in too
great respect, setting the highest value on
the same, and placing them above all other
considerations. You think it probable that
the daughter has been brought up to
believe in this creed which her parents
professed; that she may be strongly imbued with
their opinions; and you fear that her character
may have become somewhat cold and
calculating, as you phrase it, in consequence. You
add, that you would like to see a larger amount
of simplicity and spontaneousness in a young
lady ot Miss Baskerville's age, even though a
smaller degree of self-possession, and a less
perfect manner, were the consequence.

My esteemed parent, I am well aware that,
as you say in your letter, you are influenced in
what you say by a desire for my happiness. I
give you the fullest credit for such desire,
though, as to "happiness," I hardly know what
to say. It is a curious expression. I am not
sure that people go in for it, in these times. To
get through life successfully, creditably, and
pleasantly, is one's object, you know; as to
happiness—well, the word has rather a romantic
sound, hasn't it? At all events, you wish me
to prosper and be comfortable, to enjoy life, in
short, and for that desire I give you, as I have
said, the fullest credit. But, dear sir, if I am
to enjoy life, you will admit that I must enjoy it
in my own way. Perhaps we look upon this
question of the enjoyment of life, or, as you call
it, "happiness," from different points of view.

I have not the slightest objection to explain
to you what this same enjoyment of life consists
in, from my point of view; and when I have
expounded this to you very briefly, I think you
will be able to see that Miss Baskerville is a
young lady in every way capable of assisting
me in attaining the objects I have in view,
and on the attainment of which this "happiness"
of mine depends. My views, dear sir, are
very simple. I do not hold you responsible for
them. Modern institutions have developed them.
They are the natural result of a good education,
and of some few years passed, since the
termination of that education, in decent society.

What does a man want in this world?
Chiefly, I think, a good social position. A
good social position which he can enjoy during
his lifetime, and transmit along with his
earthly goods, to his children. The acquiring
of this very desirable object, however,
implies a good deal, and the keeping of it,
when acquired, perhaps even more. As to the
first part of the business, the acquirement of a
good position, thanks to you, sir, in the first
instance, and perhaps a little to my own
exertions in the second, that is already done.
As a bachelor, my position is a good one.
But, I must tell you, that when a man gets
married, he in a certain way begins his social
life afresh. He is no longer in the eye of the
world the same man that he was before, but
altogether another. Nor is this at all unreasonable.
He is no longer a single man, but a
double man. There is twice as much of him as
there was before, and naturally it remains to be
seen whether the world will approve the new
half of him as much as it did the old.

I hardly know how, my esteemed sir, to put
this before you in strong enough terms. Let
me, however, entreat you to place yourself for