expressed it, "Thank God! they had always been able to get
along." 
 
In the rush and tumult of the world it is likely that the summum
bonum of nine-tenths of mankind is embraced in that purely
negative happiness--to get along.  Not to perish: to open eyes,
however wearily, on a new morning: to satisfy with something, no 
matter what, a craving appetite: to close eyes at night under
some shadow or shelter: or, it may be, in certain ranks to walk 
another day free from bankruptcy or arrest: Thank Heaven, they
are just able to get along! 
 
Convinced that another infant straw would break his back, Ginx
calmly proposed to disconcert physical, moral, and legal
relations by drowning the straw Mrs. Ginx clinging to Number
Twelve listened aghast.  If a mother can forget her sucking child
she was not that mother.  The stream of her affections, though
divided into twelve rills, would not have been exhausted in
twenty-four, and her soul, forecasting its sorrow, yearned after
that nonentity Number Thirteen.  She pictured to herself the
hapless strangeling borne away from her bosom by those strong
arms, and--in fact she sobbed so that Ginx grew ashamed, and
sought to comfort her by the suggestion that she could not have
any more. But she knew better. 
 
VI.--The Antagonism of Law and Necessity. 
 
In eighteen months, notwithstanding resolves, menaces, and
prophecies, GINX'S BABY was born.  The mother hid the impending
event long, from the father.  When he came to know it, he fixed
his determination by much thought and a little extra drinking. 
He argued thus: "He wouldn't go on the parish.  He couldn't keep
another youngster to save his life.  He had never taken charity
and never would.  There was nothink to do with it but drown it!" 
Female friends of Mrs. Ginx bruited his intentions about the
neighborhood, so that her "time" was watched for with interest. 
At last it came.  One afternoon Ginx, lounging home, saw signs of
excitement around his door in Rosemary Street.  A knot of women
and children awaited his coming.  Passing through them he soon
learned what had happened.  Poor Mrs. Ginx!  Without staying to
think or argue, he took up the little stranger and bore it from
the room----  
 
"O, O, O, Ginx! Ginx!!" 
 
She would have risen, but a strong power called weakness pulled
her back. 
 
 * * * * 
 
The man meanwhile had reached the street. 
 
"Here he comes!  There's the baby!  He's going to do it, sure
enough!" shrieked the women.  The children stood agape.  He
stopped to consider.  It is very well to talk about drowning your
baby, but to do it you need two things, water and opportunity. 
Vauxhall Bridge was the nearest way to the former, and towards it
Ginx turned. 
 
"Stop him!" 
 
"Murder!" 
 
"Take the child from him!' 
 
The crowd grew larger, and impeded the man's progress.  Some of
his fellow-workmen stood by regarding the fun.   
 
"Leave us aloan, naabors," shouted Ginx; "this is my own baby,
and I'll do wot I likes with it.  I kent keep it; an' if I've got
anythin' I kent keep, it's best to get rid of it, ain't it?  This
child's goin' over Wauxhall Bridge." 
 
But the women clung to his arms and coattails. 
 
"Hallo! What's all this about?" said a sharp, strong man,
well-dressed, and in good condition, coming up to the crowd;
"anothe r foundling!  Confound the place, the very stones produce
babies. Where was it found?" 
 
CHORUS (recognizing a deputy-relieving officer).  It warn't found
at all; it's Ginx's baby. 
 
OFFICER.  Ginx's baby?  Who's Ginx? 
 
GINX.  I am. 
 
OFFICER.  Well? 
 
GINX.  Well!   
 
CHORUS.  He's goin' to drown it. 
 
OFFICER.  Going to drown it?  Nonsense. 
 
GINX.  I am. 
 
OFFICER.  But, bless my heart, that's murder! 
 
GINX.  No 'tain't.  I've twelve already at home.  Starvashon's
sure to kill this 'un.  Best save it the trouble. 
 
CHORUS.  Take it away, Mr. Smug, he'll kill it if you don't. 
 
OFFICER.  Stuff and nonsense!  Quite contrary to law!  Why, man,
you're bound to support your child.  You can't throw it off in
that way;--nor on the parish neither.  Give me your name.  I must
get a magistrate's order.  The act of parliament is as clear as
daylight.  I had a man up under it last week.  "Whosoever shall
unlawfully abandon or expose any child, being under the age of
two years whereby the life of such child shall be endangered or
the health of such child shall have been or shall be likely to be
permanently injured (drowning comes under that I think) shall be
GUILTY OF a MISDEMEANOR and being convicted thereof shall be
liable at the discretion of the court to be KEPT IN PENAL
SERVITUDE for the term of three years or to be imprisoned for any
term not exceeding two years with or without hard labor." 
 
Mr. Smug, the officer, rolled out this section in a sonorous
monotone, without stops, like a clerk of the court.  It was his
pride to know by heart all the acts relating to his department,
and to bring them down upon any obstinate head that he wished to
crush.  Ginx's head, however, was impervious to an act of
parliament.  In his then temper, the  Commination Service or St.
Ernulphus's curse would have been feathers to him.  The only
feeling aroused in his mind by the words of the legislature was
one of resentment.  To him they seemed unjust, because they were
hard and fast, and made no allowance for circumstances.  So he
said: 
 
GINX.  D---- the act of parliament! What's the use of saying I
shan't abandon the child, when I can't keep it alive? 
 
OFFICER.  But you're bound by law to keep it alive. 
 
GINX.  Bound to keep it alive?  How am I to do it?  There's the
rest on 'em there (nodding towards his house) little better nor
alive now.  If that's an act of Parleyment, why don't the act of
Parleyment provide for 'em?  You know what wages is, and I can't
get more than is going.   
 
CHORUS.  Yes.  Why don't Parleyment provide for 'em?  You take
the child, Mr. Smug. 
 
OFFICER (regardless of grammar).  ME take the child!  The parish
has enough to do to take care of foundlings and children whose
parents can't or don't work.  You don't suppose we will look
after the children of those who can? 
 
GINX.  Jest so.  You'll bring up bastards and beggars' pups, but
you won't help an honest man to keep his head above water.  This
child's head is goin' under water anyhow!" --and he prepared to
bolt, amid fresh screams from the Chorus. 
 
VII.--Malthus and Man. 
 
Two gentlemen, who had been observing the excitement, here came
forward.   
 
FIRST GENTLEMAN.  This is our problem again, Mr. Philosopher. 
 
Mr. PHILOSOPHER (to Ginx).  You don't know what to do with your
infant, my friend, and you think the State ought to provide for
it?  I understand you to say this is your thirteenth child.  How
came you to have so many? 
 
This question, though put with profound and even melancholy
gravity, disconcerted Ginx, Officer, and Chorus, who united in a
hearty outburst of laughter. 
 
GINX.  Haw, Haw, Haw!  How came I to have so many?  Why my old
woman's a good un and---- 
 
In fact, after searching his mind for some clever way of putting
a comical rejoinder, Ginx laughed boisterously.  There are two
aspects of a question.   
 
PHILOSOPHER.  I am serious, my friend.  Did it never occur to you
that you had no right to bring children into the world unless you
could feed and clothe and educate them? 
 
CHORUS.  Laws a' mercy! 
 
GINX.  I'd like to know how I could help it, naabor.  I'm a
married man. 
 
PHILOSOPHER.  Well, I will go further and say you ought not to
have married without a fair prospect of being able to provide for
any contingent increase of family. 
 
CHORUS.  Laws a' mercy! 
 
PHILOSOPHER (waxing warm).  What right had you to marry a poor
woman, and then both of you, with as little forethought as
two--a--dogs, or other brutes--to produce between you such a
multitudinous progeny-- 
 
GINX.  Civil words, naabor; don't call my family hard names.   
 
PHILOSOPHER.  Then let me say, such a monstrous number of