We will not follow this singular specimen of human nature, spoilt by want of education and by evil example, through all the vagaries of his youth. Taking him up at four-and-twenty, after he had experienced considerable changes in religious feeling, and gathered some smatterings of knowledge from reading, we find him marrying, and beginning the world the next morning with one halfpenny. Yet he and his wife set cheerfully to work, he tells us; and by great industry and self-denial, they not only earned a living, but paid off a debt of forty shillings, which was somewhat summarily claimed by a friend of whom he had borrowed that sum. Trials very soon fell to his lot which tended to make him deeply thoughtful. His wife was ill for six months; and, at the end of that period, he was compelled to remove her from Bristol to Taunton, for her health’s sake. During two years and a half the poor woman was removed five times to and from Taunton without permanent recovery; and Lackington, despairing of an amendment of his circumstances under such discouragements, resolved to leave his native district. He therefore gave his wife all the money he had, except what he thought would suffice to bring him to London; and, mounting a stage coach, reached town with but half-a-crown in his pocket. He got work the next morning, saved enough in a month to bring up his wife, and she had tolerable health, and obtained “binding work” from his employer.
Lackington was now fairly entered on the path to prosperity. His partner was a pattern of self-denial and economy; they began to save money, bought clothes, and then household furniture, left lodgings, and had a house of their own. A friend, not long after, proposed that Lackington should take a little shop and parlour, which were “to let” in Featherstone-street, City-road, and commence master shoemaker. Lackington agreed, but also formed the resolution to sell old books. With his own scanty collection, a bagful of old volumes he purchased for a guinea, and his scraps of leather, altogether worth about 5l., he accordingly commenced master tradesman. He soon sold off, and increased his stock of books; and next borrowed 5l. of John Wesley’s people—“a sum of money kept on purpose to lend out for three months, without interest, to such of their society whose characters were good, and who wanted temporary relief.” Much to his shame he traduces the character of the philanthropic Wesley and of his brother religionists, in his “Confessions,” even while acknowledging that this benevolent loan was “of great service” to him. He afterwards endeavoured to make the amende honorable, but the mode in which it was made was as unadmirable as his ungrateful offence. But, to return to his narrative.
“In our new situation,” says he, “we lived in a very frugal manner, often dining on potatoes, and quenching our thirst with water, being determined, if possible, to make some provision for such dismal times as sickness and shortness of work, which had often been our lot, and might be again.” In six months he became worth five-and-twenty pounds in old book stock, removed into Chiswell-street, to a more commodious shop, though the street, he says, was then (in 1775) a dull street, gave up shoemaking, “turned his leather into books,” and soon began to have a great sale. Another series of reverses, during which his wife died, his shop was closed, while he himself was prostrate with fever, and was robbed by nurses, only served to sharpen his intents and strengthen his perseverance, when he recovered. His second marriage, with an intelligent woman, he found of immense advantage, since his new partner was a very efficient helpmate in the book-shop. Next, his friend Dennis became partaker in his business, and advanced a small capital, by which they “doubled stock,” and printed their first catalogue of 12,000 volumes. They took 20l. the first week, and Dennis then advanced 200l. more towards the trade; but, after two years, Lackington was left once more to himself, his friend being weary of the business. A resolution not to give credit gave him great difficulty, he says, for at least seven years, but he carried his plan at last, principally by selling at very small profits. His business premises were successively enlarged, and his sales likewise, until his trade and himself became wonders. At the age of fifty-two he went out of business, leaving his cousin head of the firm. He sold 100,000 volumes annually, during the latter years of his personal attention to trade, kept his carriage, purchased two estates, and built himself a genteel house. He once more became a professor of religion, on retiring from business, and built several chapels. He was, in the close of life, benevolent in visiting the sick and indigent, and in relieving the distressed.
“As the first king of Bohemia kept his country shoes by him to remind him from whence he was taken,” says the bookseller, in his “Confessions,” “so I have put a motto on the doors of my carriage, constantly to remind me to what I am indebted for my prosperity, viz. ‘Small profits do great things;’ and reflecting on the means by which I have been enabled to support a carriage, adds not a little to the pleasure of riding in it.” Alluding to the stories that were rife respecting his success, attributing it to his purchasing a “fortunate lottery-ticket,” or “finding bank-notes in an old book,” he says, very emphatically, “I found the whole that I am possessed of, in—small profits, bound by industry, and clasped by economy.”
CHAPTER VII.
PHILANTHROPISTS.
One conviction forms the basis of all correct admiration for the heroism and intrepidity of scientific discoverers, the marvellous inventions of mechanicians; the sublime enthusiasm of poets, artists, and musicians; the laborious devotion of scholars; and even of the intelligent industry of the accumulators of wealth: it is that all their efforts and achievements tend, by the law of our nature, to the amelioration of man’s condition. In every mind swayed by reflection, and not by impulse or prejudice, the world’s admiration for warriors is regarded as mistaken, because the deeds of the soldier are the infliction of suffering and destruction, spring from the most evil passions, and serve but to keep up the real hindrances of civilization and human happiness. Statues and columns erected in honour of conquerors, excellent as they may be for the display of art, serve, therefore, in every correct mind, for subjects of regretful rather than encouraging and satisfactory contemplation. The self-sacrificing enterprises of the philanthropist, on the contrary, create in every properly regulated mind, still purer admiration, still more profound and enduring esteem, than even the noblest and grandest efforts of the children of Mind and Imagination. The Divine Exemplar himself is at the head of their class; and they seem, of all the sons of men, most transcendently to reflect his image, because their deeds are direct acts of mercy and goodness, and misery and suffering flee at their approach. Harbingers of the benign reign of Human Brotherhood which the popular spirit of our age devoutly regards as the eventual destiny of the world, they will be venerated, and their memories cherished and loved, when laurelled conquerers are mentioned no more with praise, or are forgotten. Emulation is sometimes termed a motive of questionable morality; but to emulate the high and holy in enterprises of self-sacrificing beneficence can never be an unworthy passion; for half the value of a good man’s life would be lost, if his example did not serve to fill others with such a plenitude of love for his goodness, as to impel them to imitate him.
It is the example of the philanthropist, then, that we commend, above all other examples, to the imitation of all who are beginning life. We would say, scorn indolence, ignorance, and reckless imprudence that makes you dependent on others’ effort instead of your own; but, more than all, scorn selfishness and a life useless to man, your brother, cleave to knowledge, industry, and refinement; but, beyond all, cleave to goodness.
In a world where so much is wrong—where, for ages, the cupidity of some, and the ignorance and improvidence of a greater number—has increased the power of wrong, it need not be said how dauntless must be the soul of perseverance needed to overcome this wrong by the sole and only effectual efforts of gentleness and goodness. That wisdom—deeply calculating wisdom—not impulsive and indiscriminate “charity,” as it is falsely named—should also lend its calm but energetic guidance to him who aims to assist in removing the miseries of the world, must be equally evident. To understand to what morally resplendent deeds this dauntless spirit can conduct, when thus guided by wisdom, and armed with the sole power of gentleness, we need to fix our observance but on one name—the most worshipful soldier of humanity our honoured land has ever produced: the true champion of persevering goodness.