you ever
have a child yourself?

GINX (contemplating the Philosopher's physique). HE have a youngster! He
couldn't.

CHORUS. Ha! Ha! Ha!

STONEMASON. I don't believe in yer humbuggin' notions. They lead to
lust and crime;--I'm told they do in France. If you yourself haven't the
human natur in you to know it, I'll tell you, and we can all tell you
that as a rule if the healthy desires of natur ain't satisfied in a
honest way, they will be in another. You can't stop eating by passin' an
act of Parleyment to stop it. And as for yer eddication and cultivation,
that makes no difference. We know something here about yer eddicated
men;--more than they think. Who is it we meet about the streets late at
night, goin' to the gay houses? Some of 'em stand near as high as you,
but that don't alter their natur. They have their passions like other
men; and eddication don't keep 'em down. Well, if that's the case, how
can you ask people of our sort to put on the curb, or make us do it?
Are we to live more like beasts than we are now, or do what's worse
than murder? I don't see no other way. Among us I tell you, sir,
three-fourths of our eddication, is eddication of the heart. We have
to learn to be human, kind, self-denyin', and I think this makes better
men, as a rule, than head-larnin'; tho' I don't despise that, neither.
But you don't suppose head-citizens would fight for their country like
men with wives and children behind 'em; why they don't even at home work
for daily food like a man with wife and babies to provide for!

The stonemason was above his class--one of those shrewd men that "the
people called Methodists" get hold of, and use among the lower orders,
under the name of "local preachers;" men who learn to think and speak
better than their fellows. The Philosopher testified some admiration by
listening attentively, and was about to reply, but the Chorus was tired,
and the women would not hear him.

CHORUS. Best get out o' this. We don't want any o' yer filhosophy. Go
and get childer' of yer own, &c., &c.

The Philosopher and his friend departed, carrying with them unsolved the
problem they had brought.

VIII.--The Baby's First Translation.

The stonemason had been the hero of the moment; now attention centred
on our own hero. Ginx hurried off again, but as the crowd opened
before him, he was met, and his mad career stayed, by a slight figure,
feminine, draped in black to the feet, wearing a curiously framed