It is not generally known that an entirely
new principle has begun to obtain in legislation,
and is gaining wider and broader recognition
every day. I allude to the profoundly
wise principle of legislating with a constant
reference and deference to the worst members
of society, and almost excluding from
consideration the comfort and convenience of the
best. The question, "what do the decent
mechanic and his family want, or deserve?"
always yields, under this enlightened pressure,
to the question, "what will the vagabond
idler, drunkard, or jail-bird, turn to bad
account?" As if there were anything in the
wide world which the dregs of humanity will
turn to good account! And as if the shadow
of the convict-ship and Newgate drop had
any business, in the plainest sense or justice,
to be cast, from January to December, on
honest hardworking, steady Job Smith's
family fireside!

Yet Job Smith suffers heavily, at every turn
of his life, and at every inch of its straight
course too, from the determined ruffianism in
which he has no more part than he has in the
blood Royal. Six days of Job's week are
of hard, monotonous, exhausting work.
Upon the seventh, Job thinks that he, his old
woman, and the children, could find it in their
hearts to walk in a garden if they might, or
to look at a picture, or a plant, or a beast of
the forest, or even a colossal toy made in
imitation of some of the wonders of the world.
Most people would be apt to think Job
reasonable in this. But, up starts Britannia,
tearing her hair and crying, "Never, never!
Here is Sloggins with the broken nose, the:
black eye, and the bulldog. What Job Smith
uses, Sloggins will abuse. Therefore, Job
Smith must not use." So, Job sits down again
in a killing atmosphere, a little weary and
out of humour, or leans against a post all
Sunday long.

It is not generally known that this accursed
Sloggins is the evil genius of Job's life. Job
never had in his possession at any one time, a
little cask of beer, or a bottle of spirits. What
he and his family drink in that way, is fetched,
in very small portions indeed, from the public
house. However difficult the Westminster
Club-gentlemen may find it to realize such an
existence, Job has realized it through many a
long year; and he knows, infinitely better than
the whole Club can tell him, at what hour he
wants his "drop of beer," and how it best
suits his means and convenience to get it.
Against which practical conviction of Job's,
Britannia, tearing her hair again, shrieks
tenderly, "Sloggins! Sloggins with the broken
nose, the black eye, and the bulldog, will go
to ruin,"—as if he were ever going anywhere
else!—"if Job Smith has his beer when he
wants it." So, Job gets it when Britannia
thinks it good for Sloggins to let him have it,
and marvels greatly.

But, perhaps he marvels most, when, being
invited in immense type, to go and hear the
Evangelist of Eloquence, or the Apostle of
Purity (I have noticed in such invitations,
rather lofty, not to say audacious titles), he
strays in at an open door, and finds a
personage on a stage, crying aloud to him,
"Behold me! I, too, am Sloggins!! I
likewise had a broken nose, a black eye, and a
bulldog. Survey me well. Straight is my
nose, white is my eye, deceased is my bulldog.
I, formerly Sloggins, now Evangelist (or
Apostle, as the case may be), cry aloud in the
wilderness unto you Job Smith, that in respect
that I was formerly Sloggins and am now
Saintly, therefore you Job Smith (who were
never Sloggins, or in the least like him), shall, by
force of law, accept what I accept, deny what I
deny, take upon yourself My shape, and follow
Me." Now, it is not generally known that
poor Job, though blest with an average
understanding, and thinking any putting out of the
way of that ubiquitous Sloggins a meritorious
action highly to be commended, never can
understand the application of all this to
himself, who never had anything in common with
Sloggins, but always abominated and abjured
him.

It is not generally known that Job Smith
is fond of music. But, he is; he has a
decided natural liking for it. The Italian
Opera being rather dear (Sloggins would
disturb the performance if he were let in
cheap), Job's taste is not highly cultivated;
still, music pleases him and softens him, and
he takes such recreation in the way of hearing
it as his small means can buy. Job is fond
of a play, also. He is not without the
universal taste implanted in the child and the
savage, and surviving in the educated mind;
and a representation by men and women, of
the joys and sorrows, crimes and virtues,
sufferings and triumphs, of this mortal life,
has a strong charm for him. Job is not
much of a dancer, but he likes well enough
to see dancing, and his eldest boy is up to it,
and he himself can shake a leg in a good
plain figure on occasion. For all these
reasons, Job now and then, in his rare holidays,
is to be found at a cheap concert, a cheap
theatre, or a cheap dance. And here one
might suppose he would be left in peace to
take his money's worth if he can find it.

It is not generally known, however, that
against these poor amusements, an army rises
periodically and terrifies the inoffensive Job to
death. It is not generally known why. On
account of Sloggins. Five and twenty prison
chaplains, good men and true, have each got
Sloggins hard and fast, and converted him.
Sloggins, in five and twenty solitary cells at
once, has told the five and twenty chaplains
all about it. Child of evil as he is, with
every drop of blood in his body circulating
lies all through him, night and day these five-
and twenty years, Sloggins is nevertheless
become the embodied spirit of Truth. Sloggins
has declared "that Amusements done it."
Sloggins has made manifest that "Harmony