‘You, my reverend cousin, have dissuaded us from educating Tom for your own profession; but that profession is still better than mine, for your benefice will benefit you to the end of life, while my fees are growing so steadily less that they will soon touch zero. You, Uncle John, draw a fearful picture of a non-litigious England; and I felt for you as you drew it. Yet my clients are still more pig-headed. Yours won’t go to law; mine won’t go to the doctor. Yes, I have at last reached the nethermost depth—the public will not sicken as it used to do. When I was walking the hospitals, zymotics were as regular as the tides; and all the year round, fevers and agues went their profitable course. Everybody had a bad cold at least once in the winter. Gout and rheumatism were solid annuities to most of us. Broken limbs were fairly common in most families. In short, as the proverb ran, “the doctor was never out of the house.” Alas, all that has gone! People take such ridiculous care of themselves; “sanitation” is the chatter of every nincompoop; and the fuss about clean cowsheds, pure water, pure air, and the rest, is cutting off the doctor’s income at the roots.—Have I said enough, dear friends, to prove to you that Tom cannot be a doctor?’ Tom’s father fell into his chair overcome with his own rhetoric; Tom’s mother furtively wiped two tributary tears from her eyes; the reverend cousin looked at the ceiling inquiringly; Uncle John frowned sardonically. Uncle Lucas, the farmer, who had listened in puzzled bewilderment to the recitals of his relatives, now got leisurely on to his feet, and broke in thus: ‘Well, well, it’s all over with gentlefolks, too, it seems to me. I thought that everybody was thriving but the poor farmers, and now I learn that our betters are no better off than ourselves! When our father made me a farmer against my inclination, I thought he was unfair. He had made you elder lads into gentlemen, and I felt slighted at being left among clodpolls in the village. But I begin to think I shall have the best of it after all. _I_ am in no trouble to find careers for my two lads and three lassies. Since the labourers have begun to skulk over their work and to ask twice as much wages, I have taken the lads to help me. Well, we’ve pulled through a troublesome and disheartening time; and what’s more, we’ve learned a lot. I tell you, we’ve found out how to make farming pay—by doing it ourselves, the lads in the fields, and the girls in the house and dairy. We’ve had to take hold of the rough end of the stick, truly. The girls had to give up many of the fal-lals that young ladies learn at boarding-school; and the boys had to wear corduroy and hobnailed shoes. But they are none the worse for the case-hardening they’ve got. Finer lads don’t live in the shire; and as to the girls, they’re as blithe as the birds; and that, I reckon, is as good a test of contentment as you can get.—Now, brother doctor, let me advise you what to do with your