then moisten 'em, and lay hold of whatever tool you work with, and go at it with the thought strong on you that man had mind, hands, and power given him to work with; and though toil be hard sometimes, why, the rest after 's all the sweeter; while over even such poor fare as bread and cheese and an onion there's greater relish and enjoyment than the china vase gets over his _entrees_, which often want spice and _sauce-piquante_ to help them down. Man wasn't meant to be only ornamental; so don't grumble any more about being a yellow basin. But don't mistake me in what I mean; don't think I turn up my nose at china: it's right enough in it's way, and at times vastly superior to your common crockery. I honour and feel proud of the china pots which, having no occasion to work, throw aside idleness, and with the advantages of power and position, work, and work hard--work with their heads, and do great things--men who live not to eat, but eat to live and benefit their fellows in some way. Don't mistake my meaning, for I don't want to make a man look with contempt on those above him; but learn to see how that, whatever his position in life, he can do some good, and that he is of service; and above all things, learn to see that your yellow basin--your working man--is of quite as much value in this world of ours as the china ornaments of society, whose aim and end is often to--there I'm almost ashamed to say it--to kill time. "Thou saidst they was good crows, Tommy; and they was nobbut booblins," says the old Lincolnshire man who wanted a rook pie, and bought his rooks without seeing them, when they proved poor half-fledged birds; and what lots of us believes what others say,--takes things for granted; and after all only gets "booblins" for our dinner. If men would only judge for themselves--look before they leap--turn the china ornament up and look at the cracks and rivets, or, even if it is sound, consider how frail, fragile, and useless it is--they would be a little more satisfied with their own lot in life, and not be so given to grumbling. Things are precious hard sometimes, but that's no reason why we should make them harder by our own folly. We see and know enough of the misery of our great towns, and I mean to say that we have ourselves to thank for a good--no, I mean a bad--half of it. Now, just take away--I wish we could--just take away out of London all the dirt, all the drunkenness, and all the other vice, and how do you think it would look then, eh? You can't tell me; but I can tell you something: it would ruin half the doctors, half the undertakers, and three parts of the brewers, and gin-spinners, and publicans; and that being rather a strong dose for any man to digest at one sitting, I'll let you think it over without putting any more on that subject. I won't go on preaching about the everlasting pipe that men make a common tunnel or chimney to carry off all the sense