“It may sound so,” I answered, “but I fear there can be no doubt of it. The Board of Trade Returns would seem to prove it conclusively.” “Well, God be praised, we’ve found it out in time,” ejaculated Mrs. Wilkins piously. “It is a matter of congratulation,” I agreed; “the difficulty is that a good many other people say that far from being ruined, we are doing very well indeed, and are growing richer every year.” “But ’ow can they say that,” argued Mrs. Wilkins, “when, as you tell me, those Trade Returns prove just the opposite?” “Well, they say the same, Mrs. Wilkins, that the Board of Trade Returns prove just the opposite.” “Well, they can’t both be right,” said Mrs. Wilkins. “You would be surprised, Mrs. Wilkins,” I said, “how many things can be proved from Board of Trade Returns!” But I have not yet thought of that article for Pilson. SHALL WE BE RUINED BY CHINESE CHEAP LABOUR? “WHAT is all this talk I ’ear about the Chinese?” said Mrs. Wilkins to me the other morning. We generally indulge in a little chat while Mrs. Wilkins is laying the breakfast-table. Letters and newspapers do not arrive in my part of the Temple much before nine. From half-past eight to nine I am rather glad of Mrs. Wilkins. “They ’ave been up to some of their tricks again, ’aven’t they?” “The foreigner, Mrs. Wilkins,” I replied, “whether he be Chinee or any other he, is always up to tricks. Was not England specially prepared by an all-wise Providence to frustrate these knavish tricks? Which of such particular tricks may you be referring to at the moment, Mrs. Wilkins?” “Well, ’e’s comin’ over ’ere—isn’t he, sir? to take the work out of our mouths, as it were.” “Well, not exactly over here, to England, Mrs. Wilkins,” I explained. “He has been introduced into Africa to work in the mines there.” “It’s a funny thing,” said Mrs. Wilkins, “but to ’ear the way some of them talk in our block, you might run away with the notion—that is, if you didn’t know ’em—that work was their only joy. I said to one of ’em, the other evening—a man as calls ’isself a brass finisher, though, Lord knows, the only brass ’e ever finishes is what ’is poor wife earns and isn’t quick enough to ’ide away from ’im—well, whatever ’appens, I says, it will be clever of ’em if they take away much work from you. It made them all laugh, that did,” added Mrs. Wilkins, with a touch of pardonable pride.