be never so intelligent and
keenly wrought, a suburb will soon enfeeble her, and take the fine edge
off her spirit. Left to the sole society of nursemaids and cooks in
her own house for many hours a day; to the companionship of women
outside her house, whose conversation is mainly gossip about household
difficulties; to the tame diversions of shopping at the nearest
emporium; what power of interest in the larger things of life can be
expected of her? The suburb is her cloister, and she the dedicated
bride of littleness.

This seems a hard saying, but it can easily be verified by observation.
I have myself known women, rich enough to keep a carriage, who had
never been so far as Hyde Park, never visited the National Gallery, and
never sought any finer music than could be furnished by a local
concert. For them, London as an entity did not exist. This
parochialism of suburban life is its most surprising feature. There is
after all some excuse for Mr. Grant Allen's description of London as an
aggregation of villages, when we find that so vast a number of
Londoners really live the life of villagers. But it is not patriotism
that binds them to the soil, nor local pride, as is the case with
genuine villagers; it is rather sheer inertia. Such pride, if it
existed, might do much for the regeneration of great cities, by
creating a series of eager and intelligent communities, which would vie
with one another in civic self-improvement; but this is just the kind
of pride which does not exist. No one cares how his suburb is
misgoverned, so long as rates are not too exorbitant. A suburb will
wake into momentary life to curb the liberal programmes of the
school-board, or to vote against the establishment of a free library; a
gross self-interest being thus the only variation of its apathy. It
soon falls asleep again, dulled into torpor by the fumes of its own
intolerant smugness. For much of this the element of family separation
in suburban life is answerable. The men pay their rates and house-rent
at Surbiton, but they live their real lives within hearing of the bell
of St. Paul's; how should they take any interest in Surbiton? After
all, Surbiton is to them but a vast caravansary, where they are lodged
and fed at night; and one does not inquire too closely into the
internal amenities of his hotel so long as the food is tolerable, and
the bed clean.

Suburbanism is, however, but a branch, though an important branch, of