“There I must beg your pardon, my good lad; I had often serious thoughts upon the subject, and I argued as follows:— What is the best profession in this world of ours?—That of a gentleman; for a gentleman does not work, he has liberty to go where he pleases, he is not controlled, and is his own master. Many a man considers himself a gentleman who has not the indispensables that must complete the profession. A clerk in the Treasury, or public offices, considers himself a gentleman; and so he is by birth, but not by profession; for he is not his own master, but is as much tied down to his desk as the clerk in a banker’s counting-house, or in a shop. A gentleman by profession must be his own master, and independent; and how few there are in this world who can say so! Soldiers and sailors are obliged to obey orders, and therefore I do not put them down as perfect gentlemen, according to my ideas of what a gentleman should be. I doubt whether the prime minister can be considered a gentleman until after he is turned out of office. Do you understand me, boy?”
“O yes, I understand what you mean by a gentleman; I recollect reading a story of a negro who came to this country, and who said that the pig was the only gentleman in the country, for he was the only living being who did not work.”
“The negro was not far wrong,” resumed the tinker. “Well, after thinking a long while, I came to the decision that, as I could not be a perfect gentleman, I would be the nearest thing to it that was possible; and I considered that the most enviable situation was that of a travelling tinker. I learned enough of the trade, saved money to purchase a knife-grinder’s wheel, and here I have been in this capacity for nearly ten years.”
“And do you hold to the opinion that you formed?”
“I do; for, look you, work I must; therefore, the only question was, to take up the work that was lightest, and paid best. I know no trade where you can gain so much with so little capital and so little labour. Then, I am not controlled by any living being; I have my liberty and independence: I go where I please, stop where I please, work when I please, and idle when I please; and never know what it is to want a night’s lodging. Show me any other profession which can say the same! I might be better clothed—I might be considered more respectable; but I am a philosopher, and despise all that; I earn as much as I want, and do very little work for it. I can grind knives and scissors and mend kettles enough in one day to provide for a whole week; for instance, I can grind a knife in two minutes, for which I receive twopence. Now, allowing that I work twelve hours in the day, at the rate of one penny per minute, I should earn 3 pounds per day, which, deducting Sundays, is 939 pounds a year. Put that against 40 pounds a year, as a drudge to a school, or confined to a desk, in a shop, or any other profession, and you see how lucrative mine is in proportion. Then I am under no control; not ordered here or there, like a general or admiral; not attacked in the House of Commons or Lords, like a prime minister; on the contrary, half a day’s work out of the seven is all I require; and I therefore assert, that my profession is nearer to that of a gentleman than any other that I know of.”
“It may be as you style it, but you don’t look much like one,” replied Joey, laughing.
“That’s prejudice; my clothes keep me as warm as if they were of the best materials, and quite new. I enjoy my victuals quite as much as a well-dressed gentleman does—perhaps more; I can indulge in my own thoughts; I have leisure to read all my favourite authors, and can afford to purchase new books. Besides, as I must work a little, it is pleasant to feel that I am always in request, and respected by those who employ me.”
“Respected! on what account?”
“Because I am always wanted, and therefore always welcome. It is the little things of this life which annoy, not the great and a kettle that won’t hold water, or a knife that won’t cut, are always objects of execration; and as people heap their anathemas upon the kettle and the knife, so do they long for my return; and when I come, they are glad to see me, glad to pay me, and glad to find that their knives are sharp, and their kettles, thrown on one side, are useful again, at a trifling charge. I add to people’s comforts; I become necessary to every poor person in the cottages; and therefore, they like me and respect me. And, indeed, if it is only considered how many oaths and execrations are used when a person is hacking and sawing away with a knife which will not cut, and how by my wheel I do away with the cause of crime, I think that a travelling tinker may be considered, as to his moral influence upon society, more important than any parson in his pulpit. You observe that I have not rendered the profession degrading by marriage, as many do.”
“How do you mean?”