MY DEAR FATHER,--You and my dear mother will be pleased to hear that London continues very polite to me: that “arida nutrix leonum” enrolls me among the pet class of lions which ladies of fashion admit into the society of their lapdogs. It is somewhere about six years since I was allowed to gaze on this peep-show through the loopholes of Mr. Welby’s retreat. It appears to me, perhaps erroneously, that even within that short space of time the tone of “society” is perceptibly changed. That the change is for the better is an assertion I leave to those who belong to the _progressista_ party. I don’t think nearly so many young ladies six years ago painted their eyelids and dyed their hair: a few of them there might be, imitators of the slang invented by schoolboys and circulated through the medium of small novelists; they might use such expressions as “stunning,” “cheek,” “awfully jolly,” etc. But now I find a great many who have advanced to a slang beyond that of verbal expressions,--a slang of mind, a slang of sentiment, a slang in which very little seems left of the woman and nothing at all of the lady. Newspaper essayists assert that the young men of the day are to blame for this; that the young men like it; and the fair husband-anglers dress their flies in the colours most likely to attract a nibble. Whether this excuse be the true one I cannot pretend to judge; but it strikes me that the men about my own age who affect to be fast are a more languid race than the men from ten to twenty years older, whom they regard as _slow_. The habit of dram-drinking in the morning is a very new idea, an idea greatly in fashion at the moment. Adonis calls for a “pick-me-up” before he has strength enough to answer a _billet-doux_ from Venus. Adonis has not the strength to get nobly drunk, but his delicate constitution requires stimulants, and he is always tippling. The men of high birth or renown for social success belonging, my dear father, to your time, are still distinguished by an air of good breeding, by a style of conversation more or less polished and not without evidences of literary culture, from men of the same rank in my generation, who appear to pride themselves on respecting nobody and knowing nothing, not even grammar. Still we are assured that the world goes on steadily improving. _That_ new idea is in full vigour.