A fire without heat, a nailer of a fair complexion, or one who despises the tankard, are equally rare among them. His whole system of faith may be comprised in one article--That the slender two-penny mug, used in a public house, _is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked_.
While the master reaps the harvest of plenty, the workman submits to the scanty gleanings of penury, a thin habit, an early old age, and a figure bending towards the earth. Plenty comes not near his dwelling, except of rags, and of children. But few recruits arise from his nail-shop, except for the army. His hammer is worn into deep hollows, fitting the fingers of a dark and plump hand, hard as the timber it wears. His face, like the moon, is often seen through a cloud.
BELLOWS.
Man first catches the profession; the profession afterwards moulds the man.
In whatever profession we engage, we a.s.sume its character, become a part of it, vindicate its honor, its eminence, its antiquity; or feel a wound through its sides.
Though there may be no more pride in a minister of state, who opens a budget, than in a tinker who carries one, yet they equally contend for the honor of their trade.
Every man, from the attorney"s clerk to the butcher"s apprentice, feels his own honor, with that of his profession, wounded by travelling on foot. To be caught on his feet, is nearly the same as to be caught in a crime. The man who has gathered up his limbs, and hung them on a horse, looks _down_ with dignity on him who has not; while the man on foot offers his humble bow, afraid to look up--If providence favours us with feet, is it a disgrace to use them?--I could instance a person who condescended to quit London, that center of trick, lace, and equipage; and in 1761, open a draper"s shop in Birmingham: but his feet, or his _pride_, were so much hurt by walking, that he could scarcely travel ten doors from his own without a post-chaise--the result was, he became such an adept in riding, that in a few months, he rode triumphant into the Gazette. Being quickly scoured bright by the ill-judged laws of bankruptcy, he rode, for the last time, _out_ of Birmingham, where he had so often rode _in_: but his injured creditors were obliged to _walk_ after the slender dividend of eighteen pence in the pound. The man who _can_ use his feet, is envied by him who _cannot_; and he, in turn, envies him who _will_ not. Our health and our feet, in a double sense, go together. The human body has been justly compared to a musical instrument; I add, this instrument was never perfectly in tune, without a due portion of exercise.
The man of military character, puts on, with his scarlet, that martial air, which tells us, "he has formed a resolution to kill:" and we naturally ask, "Which s.e.x?"
Some "_pert and affected author_" with anxiety on his brow, will be apt to step forward, and say, "Will you celebrate the man of the sword, who transfers the blush of his face to his back, and neglect the man of the quill, who, like the pelican, portions out his vitals to feed others?
Which is preferable, he who lights up the mental powers, or he who puts them out? the man who stores the head with knowledge, or he who stores it with a bullet?"
The antiquarian supports his dignity with a solemn aspect; he treats a sin and a smile as synonimous; one half of which has been discarded from his childhood. If a smile in the house of religion, or of mourning, be absurd, is there any reason to expel it from those places where it is not? A tale will generally allow of two ingredients, _information_ and _amus.e.m.e.nt_: but the historian and the antiquarian have, from time immemorial, used but _one_. Every smile, except that of contempt, is beneficial to the const.i.tution; they tend to promote long life, and pleasure while that life lasts. Much may be said in favour of tears of joy, but more on joy without tears. I wonder the lively fancy of Hogarth never sketched the _dull_ historian, in the figure of an a.s.s, plodding to market under his panniers, laden with the fruits of antiquity, and old time driving up the _rear_, with his scythe converted into an hedge-stake.
The bellows-maker proclaims the _honor_ of his art, by observing, he alone produces that instrument which commands the winds; his soft breeze, like that of the south, counter-acts the chill blasts of winter: by his efforts, like those of the sun, the world receives light: he creates when he pleases, and gives _breath_ when he creates. In his caverns the winds deep at pleasure; and by his _orders_ they set Europe in flames.
He pretends, that a gentle puff in the eyes of a _reviewer_, from a pair of his bellows, would tend to clear the sight, and enable him to distinguish between a smile and a serious face: that his circular board, like a ferula, applied by the handle to an inferior part, would induce him to peruse the _whole treatise_, and not partially p.r.o.nounce from the preface.
He farther pretends, that the _antiquity_ of his occupation will appear from the plenty of elm, once in the neighbourhood, but long cut up for his use: that the leather-market in Birmingham, for many ages, furnished him with sides; and though the manufacture of iron is allowed to be extremely ancient, yet the smith could not procure his heat without a blast, nor could that blast be raised without the bellows.
Two inferences arise from these remarks, that the antiquarian will frown on this little history; and that bellows-making is one of the oldest trades in Birmingham.
THREAD.
We, who reside in the interior parts of the kingdom, may observe the first traces of a river issue from its fountain; the current so extremely small, that if a bottle of liquor, distilled through the urinary vessels, was discharged into its course, it would manifestly augment the water, and quicken the stream: the reviving bottle, having added spirits to the man, seems to add spirits to the river.--If we pursue this river, winding through one hundred and thirty miles, we shall observe it collect strength as it runs, expand its borders, swell into consequence, employ mult.i.tudes of people, carry wealth in its bosom, and exactly resemble _thread-making_ in Birmingham.
If we represent to our idea, a man able to employ three or four people, himself in an ap.r.o.n, one of the number; but being _unable_ to write his name, shows his attachment to the christian religion, by signing the _cross_ to receipts; whose method of book-keeping, like that of the publican, is _a door and a lump of chalk;_ producing a book which none can peruse but himself: who, having manufactured 40lb. weight of thread, of divers colours, and rammed it into a pair of leather bags, something larger than a pair of boots, which we might deem the arms of his trade _empaled_; flung them on a horse, and placed himself on the top, by way of a _crest_; visits an adjacent market, to starve with his goods at a stall, or retail them to the mercer, nor return without the money--we shall see a thread-maker of 1652.
If we pursue this occupation, winding through the mazes of one hundred and thirty _years_, we shall see it enlarge its boundaries, multiply its people, increase its consequence and wealth, till 1782, when we behold the matter in possession of correct accounts, the ap.r.o.n thrown aside, the stall kicked over, the bags tossed into the garret, and the mercer overlooked in the grand prospect of exportation. We farther behold him take the lead in provincial concerns, step into his own carriage, and hold the king"s commission as a magistrate.
PRINTING,
By JOHN BASKERVILLE.
The pen of an historian rejoices in the actions of the great; the fame of the deserving, like an oak tree, is of sluggish growth; and, like the man himself, they are not matured in a day. The present generation becomes debtor to him who excels, but the future will discharge that debt with more than simple interest. The still voice of fame may warble in his ears towards the close of life, but her trumpet seldom sounds in full clarion, till those ears are stopped with the finger of death.
This son of genius was born at Wolverley, in the county of Worcester, in 1706; heir to a paternal estate of 60_l_. per annum, which, fifty years after, while in his own possession, had increased to 90_l_. He was trained to no occupation; but, in 1726, became a writing-matter in Birmingham.--In 1737, he taught school in the Bull-ring, and is said to have written an excellent hand.
As painting suited his talents, he entered into the lucrative branch of j.a.panning, and resided at No. 22, in Moor-street.
He took, in 1745, a building lease of eight acres, two furlongs north west of the town, to which he gave the name of _Easy-hill_, converted it into a little Eden, and built a house in the center: but the town, as if conscious of his merit, followed his retreat, and surrounded it with buildings.--Here he continued the business of a j.a.panner for life: his carriage, each pannel of which was a distinct picture, might be considered _the pattern-card of his trade_, and was drawn by a beautiful pair of cream-coloured horses.
His inclination for letters induced him, in 1750, to turn his thoughts towards the press. He spent many years in the uncertain pursuit; sunk 600_l_. before he could produce one letter to please himself, and some thousands before the shallow stream of profit began to flow.
His first attempt, in 1756, was a quarto edition of Virgil, price one guinea, now worth several.--He afterwards printed Paradise Lost, the Bible, Common Prayer, Roman and English Cla.s.sics, etc. in various sizes, with more satisfaction to the literary world than emolument to himself.
In 1765, he applied to his friend, Dr. Franklin, then at Paris, and now Amba.s.sador from America, to sound the literati, respecting the purchase of his types; but received for answer, "That the French, reduced by the war of 1756, were so far from pursuing schemes of taste, that they were unable to repair their public buildings, but suffered the scaffolding to rot before them."
In private life he was a humorist; idle in the extreme; but his invention was of the true Birmingham model, active. He could well design, but procured others to execute; wherever he found merit he caressed it: he was remarkably polite to the stranger; fond of show: a figure rather of the smaller size, and delighted to adorn that figure with gold lace.--Although constructed with the light timbers of a frigate, his movement was solemn as a ship of the line.
During the twenty-five years I knew him, though in the decline of life, he retained the singular traces of a handsome man. If he exhibited a peevish temper, we may consider good-nature and intense thinking are not always found together.
Taste accompanied him through the different walks of agriculture, architecture, and the finer arts. Whatever pa.s.sed through his fingers, bore the lively marks of John Baskerville.
His aversion to christianity would not suffer him to lie among christians; he therefore erected a mausoleum in his own grounds for his remains, and died without issue, in 1775, at the age of 69.--Many efforts were used after his death, to dispose of the types; but, to the lading discredit of the British nation, no purchaser could be found in the whole commonwealth of letters. The universities coldly rejected the offer. The London booksellers understood no science like that of profit.
The valuable property, therefore, lay a dead weight, till purchased by a literary society at Paris, in 1779, for 3700_l_.
It is an old remark, that no country abounds with genius so much as this island; and it is a remark nearly as old, that genius is no where so little rewarded; how else came Dryden, Goldsmith, and Chatterton to want bread? Is merit, like a flower of the field, too common to attract notice? or is the use of money beneath the care of exalted talents?
Invention seldom pays the inventor. If you ask, what fortune Baskerville ought to have been rewarded with? "The _most_ which can be comprised in five figures." If you farther ask, what he possessed? "The _least_;" but none of it squeezed from the press. What will the shade of this great man think, if capable of thinking, that he has spent a fortune of opulence, and a life of genius, in carrying to perfection the greatest of all human inventions; and his productions, slighted by his country, were hawked over Europe, in quest of a bidder?
We must _revere_, if we do not _imitate_, the taste and economy of the French nation, who, brought by the British arms, in 1762, to the verge of ruin, rising above distress, were able, in 17 years, to purchase Baskerville"s elegant types, refused by his own country, and expend an hundred thousand pounds in printing the works of Voltaire!
BRa.s.s FOUNDRY.
The curious art before us is perhaps less ancient than profitable, and less healthful than either. I shall not enquire whose grandfather was the first bra.s.s-founder here, but shall leave their grandsons to settle that important point with my successor who shall next write the History of Birmingham. Whoever was the first, I believe he figured in the reign of King William; but, though he sold his productions at an excessive price, he did not, like the moderns, possess the art of acquiring a fortune: but now the master knows the way to affluence, and the servant to liquor.
To enumerate the great variety of occupations amongst us, would be as useless, and as unentertaining to the reader, perhaps to the writer, as to count the pebbles in the street.
Having therefore visited a few, by way of specimen, I shall desist from farther pursuit, and wheel off in a
HACKNEY COACH.
Wherever the view of profit opens, the eyes of a Birmingham man are open to see it.
In 1775, a person was determined to try if a Hackney Coach would take with the inhabitants. He had not mounted the box many times before he inadvertently dropped the expression, "Thirty shillings a day!" The word was attended with all the powers of magic, for instantly a second rolled into the circus.
And these elevated sons of the lash are now augmented to fifteen, whom we may justly denominate a club of tippling deities, who preside over weddings, christenings, and pleasurable excursions.
It would give satisfaction to the curious calculator, could any mode be found of discovering the returns of trade, made by the united inhabitants. But the question is complicated. It only admits of surmise.
From comparing many instances in various ranks of life among us, I have been led to suppose, that the weekly returns exceed the annual rent of the buildings. And as these rents are nearly ascertained, perhaps, we may conclude, that those returns are about 80,000. If we deduct for four weeks holidays, the annual returns will be--3,840,000_l_.
Now we have entered the visionary regions of fancy, let us pursue the thought a stage farther; and consider Birmingham as one great family, possessed of a capital of Eight Millions. Her annual returns in trade as above, from which we will deduct for the purchase of