“When I was at school, uncle, we had a copy text to the effect that ‘Self-praise was no recommendation,’” remarked Bessie; at which speech some of the younger Dudleys tittered audibly—a proceeding that caused Arthur to declare he did not know what the house was coming to.
“It is a very charming house,” interposed Mrs. Black, who really, Heather felt, was a perfect blessing to society. “I do not know a house like it anywhere. Every one amongst my friends has heard of Berrie Down Hollow. I always say it seems to me the very abode of peace,—the true cottage of contentment.”
“I would very gladly exchange it for your house in town,” answered Arthur.
“Or for the same acreage in town,” added Mr. Black. “By Jove, if a man had only one of your fields anywhere about Threadneedle Street or Cornhill, he might snap his fingers at the world.”
“Yes; because in that case he would be so rich he could afford to live anywhere,” ventured Heather, to whom such remarks were by no means new; “but, as the land is not in London, why need we think about impossibilities? It is a choice with us between a small income in town and a small income in the country; and you know, Mr. Black, how much farther a small income goes in the country than in town.”
“Now that is just the point on which you are so much deceived,” replied Mr. Black. “There is no place on earth where a small income can be made go so far as in London. Do you want meat? You can have what you want, cut as you like, sent home on the instant. Now here, I suppose, your butcher lives five miles off; everything is at least five miles off in the country. For rich and poor alike, London is the place. What is there a man can’t get there?”
“Green fields,” answered Mrs. Black.
“Green fields! nonsense,” returned her husband. “Have not you the parks? What can a human being desire better than St. James’s Park, or Regent’s Park, or even Victoria? Is not there grass enough in them to content you? Is Hampstead Heath not big enough for you to walk over? Have not you the squares? Have not you trees? Even in the City there is not a street but you may see a tree in it. Do you want amusement? There is not a night but you may go to a dozen places of amusement, if you like. Do you want society? You can have as much as you please. Do you want books? They lie ready to your hand. Everything is next door in London. We have not to send a dozen miles for a lemon there, ma’am, as Mr. What-ever-you-may-call-him, that parson fellow, said he had to do. From grapes at thirty shillings a pound to a farthing’s worth of tea-dust, you can be accommodated in London. There is no place like it on earth, Mrs. Dudley, take my word.”
Poor Mrs. Dudley sighed, and answered “that, for her part, she liked the pure country air.”
“There never was a more mistaken idea than that,” said Mr. Black. “Country air is not pure. How should it be, with its decomposing vegetation, with its damp fields, with its ditches filled with grass and dead leaves, with its arable land covered with natural and artificial manures, with its imperfect drainage, with its impure water? Read the Registrar-General’s returns, and you will soon change your opinion about the healthfulness of the country.”