LETTER VIII.

TRADES.

Non possidentem multa vocaveris

Recte beatum: rectius occupat

Nomen Beati, qui Deorum

Muneribus sapienter uti,

Duramque callet pauperiem pati.

Hor. lib. iv. od. 9 [vv. 45-9].

Non uxor salvum te vult, non filius: omnes

Vicini oderunt; noti, pueri atque puellæ.

Miraris, cum tu argento post omnia ponas,

Si nemo præstet, quem non merearis, amorem?

Hor. Sat. lib. 1. [Sat. 1. vv. 84-7].

Non propter vitam faciunt patrimonia quidam,

Sed vitio cæci propter patrimonia vivunt.

Juvenal. Sat. 12. [vv. 50-1].

No extensive Manufactories in the Borough: yet considerable Fortunes made there—Ill Judgment of Parents in disposing of their Sons—The best educated not the most likely to succeed—Instance—Want of Success compensated by the lenient Power of some Avocations—The Naturalist—The Weaver an Entomologist, &c.—A Prize-Flower—Story of Walter and William.

LETTER VIII.

TRADES.

Of manufactures, trade, inventions rare,

Steam-towers and looms, you'd know our Borough's share—

'Tis small: we boast not these rich subjects here,

Who hazard thrice ten thousand pounds a year,

We've no huge buildings, where incessant noise

Is made by springs and spindles, girls and boys;

Where, 'mid such thundering sounds, the maiden's song

Is "Harmony in Uproar"[53] all day long.

Still, common minds with us, in common trade,

Have gain'd more wealth than ever student made;

And yet a merchant, when he gives his son

His college-learning, thinks his duty done;

A way to wealth he leaves his boy to find,

Just when he's made for the discovery blind.

Jones and his wife perceived their elder boy

Took to his learning, and it gave them joy;

This they encouraged, and were bless'd to see

Their son a Fellow with a high degree;

A living fell, he married, and his sire

Declared 'twas all a father could require;

Children then bless'd them, and when letters came,

The parents proudly told each grandchild's name.

Meantime the sons at home in trade were placed,

Money their object—just the father's taste;

Saving he lived and long, and when he died,

He gave them all his fortune to divide.

"Martin," said he, "at vast expense was taught;

He gain'd his wish, and has the ease he sought."

Thus the good priest (the Christian-scholar!) finds

What estimate is made by vulgar minds;

He sees his brothers, who had every gift

Of thriving, now assisted in their thrift;

While he whom learning, habits, all prevent,

Is largely mulct for each impediment.

Yet, let us own that trade has much of chance:

Not all the careful by their care advance;

With the same parts and prospects, one a seat

Builds for himself; one finds it in the Fleet.

Then, to the wealthy you will see denied

Comforts and joys that with the poor abide:

There are who labour through the year, and yet

No more have gain'd than—not to be in debt;

Who still maintain the same laborious course,

Yet pleasure hails them from some favourite source;

And health, amusements, children, wife or friend,

With life's dull views their consolations blend.

Nor these alone possess the lenient power

Of soothing life in the desponding hour;

Some favourite studies, some delightful care,

The mind with trouble and distresses share;

And by a coin, a flower, a verse, a boat,

The stagnant spirits have been set afloat;

They pleased at first, and then the habit grew,

Till the fond heart no higher pleasure knew;

Till, from all cares and other comforts freed,

Th' important nothing took in life the lead.

With all his phlegm, it broke a Dutchman's heart,

At a vast price with one loved root to part;

And toys like these fill many a British mind,

Although their hearts are found of firmer kind.

Oft have I smiled the happy pride to see

Of humble tradesmen, in their evening glee;

When, of some pleasing, fancied good possess'd,

Each grew alert, was busy, and was bless'd;

Whether the call-bird yield the hour's delight,

Or, magnified in microscope, the mite;

Or whether tumblers, croppers, carriers seize

The gentle mind, they rule it and they please.

There is my friend the Weaver; strong desires

Reign in his breast; 'tis beauty he admires:

See! to the shady grove he wings his way,

And feels in hope the raptures of the day—

}

Eager he looks; and soon, to glad his eyes,

}

From the sweet bower, by nature form'd, arise

}

Bright troops of virgin moths and fresh-born butterflies;

Who broke that morning from their half-year's sleep,

To fly o'er flow'rs where they were wont to creep.

Above the sovereign oak a sovereign skims,

The purple Emp'ror, strong in wing and limbs:

There fair Camilla takes her flight serene,

Adonis blue, and Paphia, silver-queen;

With every filmy fly from mead or bower,

And hungry Sphinx, who threads the honey'd flower;

She o'er the Larkspur's bed, where sweets abound,

Views ev'ry bell, and hums th' approving sound;

Poised on her busy plumes, with feeling nice

She draws from every flower, nor tries a floret twice.

He fears no bailiff's wrath, no baron's blame,

His is untax'd and undisputed game;

Nor less the place of curious plant he knows[54];

He both his Flora and his Fauna shows;

For him is blooming in its rich array

The glorious flower which bore the palm away;

In vain a rival tried his utmost art,

His was the prize, and joy o'erflow'd his heart.

"This, this is beauty! cast, I pray, your eyes

On this my glory! see the grace! the size!

Was ever stem so tall, so stout, so strong,

Exact in breadth, in just proportion, long!

100

These brilliant hues are all distinct and clean,

No kindred tint, no blending streaks between;

This is no shaded, run-off[55], pin-eyed[56] thing,

A king of flowers, a flower for England's king:

I own my pride, and thank the favouring star,

Which shed such beauty on my fair Bizarre[57]."

Thus may the poor the cheap indulgence seize,

While the most wealthy pine and pray for ease;

Content not always waits upon success,

And more may he enjoy who profits less.

110

Walter and William took (their father dead)

Jointly the trade to which they both were bred;

When fix'd, they married, and they quickly found

With due success their honest labours crown'd:

Few were their losses, but, although a few,

Walter was vex'd, and somewhat peevish grew:

"You put your trust in every pleading fool,"

Said he to William, and grew strange and cool.

"Brother, forbear," he answer'd; "take your due,

Nor let my lack of caution injure you."

120

Half friends they parted,—better so to close,

Than longer wait to part entirely foes.

Walter had knowledge, prudence, jealous care;

He let no idle views his bosom share;

He never thought nor felt for other men—

"Let one mind one, and all are minded then."

Friends he respected, and believed them just;

But they were men, and he would no man trust;

He tried and watch'd his people day and night,—

The good it harm'd not; for the bad 'twas right:

130

He could their humours bear, nay disrespect,

But he could yield no pardon to neglect;

That all about him were of him afraid,

"Was right," he said—"so should we be obey'd."

}

These merchant-maxims, much good-fortune too,

}

And ever keeping one grand point in view,

}

To vast amount his once small portion drew.

William was kind and easy; he complied

With all requests, or grieved when he denied;

To please his wife he made a costly trip,

140

To please his child he let a bargain slip;

}

Prone to compassion, mild with the distress'd,

}

He bore with all who poverty profess'd,

}

And some would he assist, nor one would he arrest.

}

He had some loss at sea, bad debts at land,

}

His clerk absconded with some bills in hand,

}

And plans so often fail'd that he no longer plann'd.

To a small house (his brother's) he withdrew,

At easy rent—the man was not a Jew;

And there his losses and his cares he bore,

150

Nor found that want of wealth could make him poor.

No, he in fact was rich; nor could he move,

But he was follow'd by the looks of love;

All he had suffer'd, every former grief,

Made those around more studious in relief;

He saw a cheerful smile in every face,

And lost all thoughts of error and disgrace.

Pleasant it was to see them in their walk

Round their small garden, and to hear them talk;

Free are their children, but their love refrains

160

From all offence—none murmurs, none complains;

Whether a book amused them, speech or play,

Their looks were lively, and their hearts were gay;

There no forced efforts for delight were made,

Joy came with prudence, and without parade;

Their common comforts they had all in view,

Light were their troubles, and their wishes few;

Thrift made them easy for the coming day;

Religion took the dread of death away;

A cheerful spirit still insured content,

170

And love smiled round them wheresoe'er they went.

Walter, meantime, with all his wealth's increase,

Gain'd many points, but could not purchase peace;

When he withdrew from business for an hour,

Some fled his presence, all confess'd his power;

He sought affection, but received instead

Fear undisguised, and love-repelling dread;

He look'd around him—"Harriet, dost thou love?"—

"I do my duty," said the timid dove;—

"Good Heav'n, your duty! prithee, tell me now—

180

To love and honour—was not that your vow?

Come, my good Harriet, I would gladly seek

Your inmost thought—Why can't the woman speak?

Have you not all things?"—"Sir, do I complain?"—

"No, that's my part, which I perform in vain;

I want a simple answer, and direct—

But you evade; yes! 'tis as I suspect.

Come then, my children! Watt! upon your knees

Vow that you love me."—"Yes, sir, if you please."—

"Again! by Heav'n, it mads me; I require

190

Love, and they'll do whatever I desire.

Thus too my people shun me; I would spend

A thousand pounds to get a single friend;

I would be happy—I have means to pay

For love and friendship, and you run away;

Ungrateful creatures! why, you seem to dread

My very looks; I know you wish me dead.

Come hither, Nancy! you must hold me dear;

Hither, I say; why! what have you to fear?

You see I'm gentle—Come, you trifler, come;

200

My God! she trembles! Idiot, leave the room!

Madam! your children hate me; I suppose

They know their cue; you make them all my foes;

I've not a friend in all the world—not one:

I'd be a bankrupt sooner; nay, 'tis done;

In every better hope of life I fail;

You're all tormentors, and my house a jail;

Out of my sight! I'll sit and make my will—

What, glad to go? stay, devils, and be still;

'Tis to your uncle's cot you wish to run,

210

To learn to live at ease and be undone;

Him you can love, who lost his whole estate,

And I, who gain you fortunes, have your hate;

'Tis in my absence you yourselves enjoy:

Tom! are you glad to lose me? tell me, boy:

'Yes!' does he answer?"—"'Yes!' upon my soul;"

"No awe, no fear, no duty, no control!

Away! away! ten thousand devils seize

All I possess, and plunder where they please!

What's wealth to me?—yes, yes! it gives me sway,

220

And you shall feel it—Go! begone, I say."

NOTES TO LETTER VIII.

[53] Note 1, page 358, line 8.

Is "Harmony in Uproar" all day long.

The title of a short piece of humour by Arbuthnot.

[54] Note 2, page 360, line 90.

Nor less the place of curious plant he knows.

In botanical language, "the habitat," the favourite soil or situation of the more scarce species.

[55] Note 3, page 360, line 102.

This is no shaded, run-off, pin-eyed thing.

This, it must be acknowledged, is contrary to the opinion of Thomson, and I believe of some other poets, who, in describing the varying hues of our most beautiful flowers, have considered them as lost and blended with each other; whereas their beauty, in the eye of a florist (and I conceive in that of the uninitiated also), depends upon the distinctness of their colours: the stronger the bounding line, and the less they break into the neighbouring tint, so much the richer and more valuable is the flower esteemed.

[56] Note 4, page 360, line 102.

Pin-eyed.

An auricula, or any other single flower, is so called when the stigma (the part which arises from the seed-vessel) is protruded beyond the tube of the flower, and becomes visible.

[57] Note 5, page 360, line 105.

Which shed such beauty on my faire Bizarre.

This word, so far as it relates to flowers, means those variegated with three or more colours irregularly and indeterminately.