ADVICE TO YOUNG TRADESMEN.

Buy the beſt goods, cut the work out yourſelf: let the eye of the maſter be every where; employ the ſobereſt men; avoid all the low deceits of trade; never lower the credit of another to raiſe your own; make ſhort payments, keep exact accounts; avoid idle company, and be very ſtrict to your word.

For a ſhort time things went on ſwimmingly. Brown was merry and civil. The ſhop was well ſituated for goſſip; and every one who had ſome⯑thing to ſay and nothing to do was welcome. Every idle ſtory was firſt ſpread, and every idle ſong firſt ſung in Brown's ſhop. Every cuſtomer who came to be meaſured was promiſed that his ſhoes ſhould [8] be done firſt, But the misfortune was, if twenty came in a day the ſame promiſe was made to all; ſo that nineteen were diſappointed and of courſe affronted. He never ſaid No to any one. It is indeed a word which it requires ſome honeſty to pro⯑nounce. By all theſe falſe promiſes he was thought the moſt obliging fellow that ever made a ſhoe. And as he ſet out on the principle of underſelling, peo⯑ple took a mighty fancy to the Cheap Shop. And it was agreed among all the young and giddy, that he would beat Stock hollow, and that the old ſhop would be ſoon knocked up.

ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLISTENS.

After a few months however folks began to be not quite ſo fond of the Cheap Shop; one found out that the leather was bad, another that the work was ſlight. Thoſe who liked ſubſtantial goods went all of them to Stock's, for they ſaid Brown's heel taps did not laſt a week; his new boots let in water, and they believed he made his ſoles of brown paper. Beſides it was thought by moſt that his promiſing all, and keeping his word with none▪ hurt his buſineſs as much as any thing. Indeed I queſtion if lying ever anſwers in the long run.

Brown had what is commonly called a good heart; that is, he had a thoughtleſs good-nature, and a ſort of feeling for the moment which made him ſeem ſorry when others were in trouble. But he was [9] not apt to put himſelf to any inconvenience, nor go a ſtep out of his way, nor give up any pleaſure to ſerve the beſt friend he had. He loved fun; and thoſe who do ſhould always ſee that it be harm⯑leſs, and that they do not give up more for it than it is worth. I am not going to ſay a word againſt innocent merriment. I like it myſelf. But what the proverb ſays of gold, may be ſaid of mirth, "it may be bought too dear." If a young man finds that what he fancies is a good joke may poſ⯑ſibly offend GOD, hurt his neighbour, afflict his parent, or make a modeſt girl bluſh, let him then be aſſured it is not fun but wickedneſs, and he had better let it alone.

Jack Brown then, as good a heart as he had, did not know what it was to deny himſelf any thing. He was ſo good-natured indeed that he never in his life refuſed to make one of a jolly ſet; but he was not good-natured enough to conſider that thoſe men whom he kept up all night roaring and laugh⯑ing had wives and children at home, who had little to eat, and leſs to wear, becauſe they were keeping up the character of merry fellows at the public houſe.

THE MOUNTEBANK.

One day he ſaw his father's plow boy come gal⯑loping up to his door in great haſte. He brought Brown word that his mother was dangerouſly ill, [10] and that his father had ſent his own beſt bay mare Smiler, that his ſon might loſe no time, but ſet out directly to ſee his mother before ſhe died. Jack burſt into tears, lamented the danger of ſo fond a mother, and all the people in the ſhop ex⯑tolled his good heart.

He ſent back the boy directly, with a meſſage that he would follow him in half an hour, as ſoon as the mare had baited; for he well knew that his father would not thank him for any haſte he might make if Smiler was hurt.

Jack accordingly ſet off, and rode with ſuch ſpeed to the next town, that both himſelf and Smiler had a mind to another bait. They ſtopped at the Star, unluckily it was Fair day, and as he was walking about while Smiler was eating her oats, a bill was put into his hand ſetting forth, that on a ſtage oppoſite the Globe a Mountebank was ſhow⯑ing away, and his Andrew performing the fineſt tricks that ever were ſeen. He read—he ſtood ſtill—he went on—"It will not hinder me," ſays he; "Smiler muſt reſt, and I ſhall ſee my poor dear mother juſt as ſoon if I juſt take a peep, as if I ſit moping at the Star."

The tricks were ſo merry that the time ſeemed ſhort, and when they were over he could not for⯑bear going into the Globe and treating theſe choice ſpirits with a bowl of punch. Juſt as they were taking the laſt glaſs Jack happened to ſay that he was the beſt fives player in the country. "That is lucky," ſaid the Andrew, "for there is a famous [11] match now playing in the court, and you may never have ſuch an opportunity to ſhow your ſkill." Brown declared he could not ſtay, for that he had left his horſe at the Star, and muſt ſet off on urgent buſineſs. They now all pretended to call his ſkill in queſtion. This rouſed his pride, and he thought another half hour could break no ſquares. Smiler had now had a good feed of corn, and he would only have to puſh her on a little more; ſo to it he went.

He won the firſt game. This ſpurred him on: and he played till it was ſo dark they could not ſee a ball. Another bowl was called for from the win⯑ner. Wagers and betts now drained Brown not only of all the money he had won, but of all he had in his pocket, ſo that he was obliged to aſk leave to go to the houſe where his horſe was, to borrow enough to diſcharge his reckoning at the Globe.

All theſe loſſes brought his poor dear mother to his mind, and he marched off with rather a heavy heart to borrow the money, and to order Smiler out of the ſtable. The landlord expreſſed much ſurpriſe at ſeeing him, and the oſtler declared there was no Smiler there; that he had been rode off above two hours ago by the Merry Andrew, who ſaid he came by order of the owner Mr. Brown to fetch him to the Globe, and to pay for his feed. It was indeed one of the neateſt tricks the Andrew ever performed, for he had made ſuch a clean conveyance of Smiler, that neither Jack nor his father ever heard of her again.

[12] It was night. No one could tell what road the Andrew took, and it was another hour or two be⯑fore an advertiſement could be drawn up for ap⯑prehending the horſe-ſtealer. Jack had ſome doubts whether he ſhould go on or return back. He knew that though his father might fear his wife moſt, yet he loved Smiler beſt. At length he took that courage from a glaſs of brandy which he ought to have taken from a hearty repentance, and he reſolved to purſue his journey. He was obliged to leave his watch and ſilver buckles in pawn for a little old hack which was nothing but ſkin and bone, and would hardly trot three miles an hour.

He knocked at his father's door about five in the morning. The family were all up. He aſked the boy who opened the door how his mother was? "She is dead, "ſaid the boy, "ſhe died yeſter⯑day afternoon." Here Jack's heart ſmote him, and he cried aloud, partly from grief, but more from the reproaches of his own conſcience, for he found by computing the hours, that had he come ſtrait on, he ſhould have been in time to have received his mother's bleſſing.

The Farmer now called from within. "I hear Smiler's ſtep. Is Jack come?" Yes father," ſaid Jack in a low voice. Then," cried the Farmer, "run every man and boy of you and take care of the mare. Tom, do thou go and rub her down; Jem, run and get her a good feed of corn. Be ſure walk her about that ſhe may not catch cold." Young Brown came in. "Are you not an undu⯑tiful dog?" ſaid the father, "You might have [13] been here twelve hours ago. Your mother could not die in peace without ſeeing you. She ſaid it was a cruel return for all her fondneſs that you could not make a little haſte to ſee her; but it was always ſo, for ſhe had wronged her other chil⯑dren to help you, and this was her reward." Brown ſobbed out a few words, but his father replied, "Never cry Jack, for the boy told me that it was out of regard for Smiler that you were not here as ſoon as he was; and if 'twas your over care of her, why there's no great harm done. You could not have ſaved your poor mother, and you might have hurt the mare." Here Jack's double guilt flew into his face. He knew that his father was very covetous, and had lived on bad terms with his wife; and alſo that his own unkindneſs to her had been forgiven out of love to the horſe; but to break to him how he had loſt that horſe through his own ſolly and want of feeling was more than Jack had courage to do. The old man, how⯑ever, ſoon got at the truth, and no words can de⯑ſcribe his fury. Forgetting that his wife lay dead above ſtairs, he abuſed his ſon in a way not fit to be repeated; and though his covetouſneſs had juſt before found an excuſe for neglecting to viſit a dying parent, yet he now vented his rage againſt Jack as an unnatural brute, whom he would cut off with a ſhilling, and bade him never ſee his face again.

Jack was not allowed to attend his mother's funeral, which was a real grief to him; nor would h [...]s father advance even the little money which was needful to redeem his things at the Star. He had now no fond mother to aſſiſt him, and he ſet out on his [14] return home on his borrowed hack full of grief. He knew he had alſo loſt a little hoard of money which his mother had ſaved up for him.

When Brown got back to his own town he found that the ſtory of Smiler and the andrew had got thi⯑ther before him, and it was thought a very good joke at the Greyhound. He ſoon recovered his ſpirits as far as related to the horſe, but as to his behaviour to his dying mother it troubled him at times to the laſt day of his life, though he did all he could to forget it. He did not however go on at all better, nor did he engage in one frolic the leſs for what had paſſed at the Globe.

Jack began at length to feel the reverſe of that proverb, "Keep your ſhop and your ſhop will keep you." He had neglected his cuſtomers, and they forſook him. Quarter day came round; there was much to pay and little to receive. He owed two years rent. He was in arrears to his men for wages. He had a long account with his Currier. It was in vain to apply to his father. He had now no mother. Stock was the only true friend he had in the world, and had helped him out of many petty ſcrapes, but he knew Stock would advance no money in ſo hopleſs a caſe. Duns came faſt a⯑bout him. He named a ſpeedy day for payment, but as ſoon as they were out of the houſe, and the danger put off to a little diſtance, he forgot every promiſe, was as merry as ever, and run the ſame round of thoughtleſs gaiety. Whenever he was in trouble Stock did not ſhun him, becauſe that was the moment he thought to throw in a little good advice. He one day aſked him if he always intend⯑ed [15] to go on in this courſe? "No," ſaid he, "I am reſolved by-and-bye to reform, grow ſober, and go to church. Why I am but five and twenty, man, I am ſtout and healthy, and likely to live long, I can repent and grow melancholy and good at any time."

"Oh Jack," ſaid Stock, "don't cheat thyſelf with that falſe hope. What thou doſt intend to do, do quickly. Didſt thou never read about the heart growing hardened by long indulgence in ſin? Some folk, who pretend to mean well, ſhow that they mean nothing at all, by never beginning to put their good reſolutions into practice; which made a wife man once ſay, that "hell is paved with good intentions."

Michaelmas day was at hand. The Landlord declared he would be put off no longer, but would ſeize for Rent if it was not paid him on that day, as well as for a conſiderable ſum due to him for leather. Brown now began to be frightened. He applied to Stock to be bound for him. This Stock flatly refuſed. Brown now began to dread the horrors of a jail, and really ſeemed ſo very con⯑trite, and made ſo many vows and promiſes of amendment, that at length Stock was prevailed on, together with two or three of Brown's other friends, to advance each a ſmall ſum of money to quiet the Landlord, Brown promiſing to make over to them every part of his ſtock, and to be guided in future by their advice, that he would turn over a new leaf, and follow Mr. Stock's example, as well as his directions in every thing.

[16] Stock's good-nature was at laſt wrought upon, and he raiſed the money. The truth is, he did not know the worſt, nor how deeply Brown was in⯑volved, and Brown joyfully ſet out at the very quarter day to a town at ſome diſtance to carry his Landlord the money raiſed by the imprudent kindneſs of his friend. At his departure Stock put him in mind of the old ſtory of Smiler and the Merry Andrew, and he promiſed of his own head that he would not even call at a public houſe till he had paid the money.

He was as good as his word. He very trium⯑phantly paſſed by ſeveral. He ſtopped a little un⯑der the window of one where the ſounds of mer⯑riment and loud laughter caught his ear. At an⯑other he heard the enticing notes of a fiddle and the light heels of the merry dancers. Here his heart had well nigh failed him, but the dread of a jail on the one hand, and what he feared almoſt as much, Mr. Stock's anger on the other, ſpurred him on; and he valued himſelf not a little at hav⯑ing got the better of this temptation. He felt quite happy when he found he had reached the door of his landlord without having yielded to one idle inclination.

He knocked at the door. The maid who open⯑ed it ſaid her maſter was not at home. "I am ſorry for it," ſaid he ſtrutting about, and with a boaſt⯑ing air took out his money. "I want to pay him my rent: he need not have been afraid of me." The ſervant, who knew her maſter was very much afraid of him, deſired him to walk in, her maſter [17] would be at home in half an hour. "I will call again," ſaid he: "but no, let him call on me, and the ſooner the better: I ſhall be at the Blue-Poſts." While he had been talking he took care to open his black leather caſe, and to diſplay the Bank Bills to the ſervant, and then, in a ſwaggering way, he put up his money and marched off to the Blue Poſts.

He was by this time quite proud of his own reſolution, and having tendered the money, and being clear in his own mind that it was the land⯑lord's own fault that it was not paid, he went to refreſh himſelf at the Blue Poſts. In a barn belong⯑ing to this public houſe ſome ſtrollers were juſt going to perform ſome of that ſing-ſong ribaldry by which our villages are corrupted, the laws broken, and that money is drawn from the poor for pleaſure, which is wanted by their families for bread. The name of the laſt new ſong which made part of the entertainment, made him think himſelf in high luck, that he ſhould have juſt that half hour to ſpare. He went into the barn, but was too much delighted with the actor who ſung his favourite ſong to remain a quiet hearer. He leaped out of the pit, and got behind the two ragged blankets which ſerved for a curtain. He ſung ſo much better than the actors themſelves, that they praiſed and admired him to a degree which awakened all his vanity. He was ſo in⯑toxicated with their flattery, that he could do no leſs than invite them all to ſupper, an invitation which they were too hungry not to accept.

[18] He did not however quite forget his appoint⯑ment with his Landlord; but the half hour was long ſince paſt by "And ſo," ſays he, "as I know he is a mean curmudgeon, who goes to⯑bed I ſuppoſe by day light to ſave candle, it will be too late to ſpeak with him to night—beſides, let him call upon me; it is his buſineſs and not mine. I left word where I was to be found, the money is ready, and if I dont pay him to-night, I can do it before breakfaſt."

By the time theſe firm reſolutions were made ſupper was ready. There never was a more jolly evening. Ale and punch were as plenty as water. The actors ſaw what a vain fellow was feaſting them; and as they wanted victuals, and he want⯑ed flattery, the buſineſs was ſoon ſettled. They ate and Brown ſung. They pretended to be in raptures. Singing promoted drinking, and every freſh glaſs produced a ſong, or a ſtory ſtill more merry than the former. Before morning thoſe who were engaged to act in another barn a dozen miles oft ſtole away quietly. Brown having dropt aſleep they left him to finiſh his nap by himſelf: as to him his dreams were gay and pleaſant, and the houſe being quite ſtill, he ſlept comfortably till morning.

As ſoon as he had breakfaſted, the buſineſs of the night before popped into his head. He ſet off once more to his landlord's in high ſpirits, gaily ſinging all the way ſcraps of all the tunes he had picked up the night before from his new friends. The landlord opened the door himſelf, and re⯑proached [19] him with no ſmall ſurlineſs for not hav⯑ing kept his word with him the evening before, adding, that he ſuppoſed he was come now with ſome more of his ſhallow excuſes. Brown put on all that haughtineſs which is common to people who are generally in the wrong, when they catch themſelves doing a right action, and looked big, as ſome ſort of people do, when they have money to pay. "You need not have been ſo anxious about your money," ſaid he, "I was not going to break or run away." The Landlord knew this was the common language of thoſe who were ready to do both. Brown haughtily added,—"You ſhall ſee I am a man of my word; give me a receipt." The Landlord had it ready and gave it him.

Brown put his hand in his pocket for his black leather caſe where the bills were, he felt, he ſearched, he examined, firſt one pocket, then the other, then both waiſtcoat pockets, but no leather caſe could he find. He looked terrified. It was the face of real terror. The Landlord con⯑ceived it to be that of guilt, and abuſed him hear⯑tily for putting his old tricks upon him; he ſwore he would not be impoſed upon any longer, the money or a jail, there lay his choice.

Brown proteſted for once with great truth, that he had no intention to deceive; that he had ac⯑tually brought the money, and knew not what was become of it; but the thing was far too un⯑likely to gain credit. Brown now called to mind that he had fallen aſleep on the ſettle in the room [20] where they had ſupped. This raiſed his ſpirits. He had no doubt but the caſe had fallen out of his pocket, ſaid he would ſtep to the public-houſe and ſearch for it, and would be back directly. Not one word of all this did the landlord believe, ſo inconvenient is it to have a bad character. He ſwore Brown ſhould not ſtir out of his houſe with⯑out a conſtable, and made him wait while he ſent for one. Brown, guarded by the conſtable, went back to the Blue Poſts. The landlord charging the officer not to loſe ſight of the culprit. The caution was needleſs, Brown had not the leaſt de⯑ſign of running away, ſo firmly perſuaded was he that he ſhould find his leather caſe.

But who can paint his diſmay, when no tale or tidings of the leather caſe could be had. The maſ⯑ter, the miſtreſs, the boy, and the maid of the public houſe all proteſted they were innocent. His ſuſpicious ſoon fell on the ſtrollers with whom he had paſſed the night. And he now found out for the firſt time that a merry evening did not always produce a happy morning. He obtained a warrant, and proper officers were ſent in purſuit of the ſtrollers. No one however believed he had loſt any thing. And as he had not a ſhilling left to defray the expenſive treat he had given, the maſter of the inn agreed with the other landlord in thinking this ſtory was a trick to defraud both. Brown re⯑mained in cloſe cuſtody. At length the officer returned, who ſaid they had been obliged to let the ſtrollers go, as they could not fix the charge on any one, and they had all offered to ſwear before a juſtice that they had ſeen nothing of the [21] leather caſe. And it was agreed that as he had paſ⯑ſed the evening in a crowded barn, he had pro⯑bably been robbed there of it all; and among ſo many who could pretend to gueſs at the thief?

Brown raved like a madman, he cried and tore his hair, ſaid he was ruined for ever. The abu⯑ſive language of his old landlord, and his new cre⯑ditor at the Blue Poſts, did not lighten his ſorrow. His landlord would be put off no longer. Brown declared he could neither find bail nor raiſe another ſhilling, and as ſoon as the forms of law were made out, he was ſent to the county jail.

Here it might have been expected that hard liv⯑ing and much leiſure would have brought him to reflect a little on his paſt follies. But his heart was not truly touched. The chief thing which grieved him at firſt was, his having abuſed the kind⯑neſs of Stock, for to him he ſhould appear guilty of a real fraud, where he had indeed been only vain, idle, and imprudent. And it is worth while here to remark that vanity, idleneſs, and imprudence, often bring a man to ruin both ſoul and body, though ſilly people do not put them in the cata⯑logue of heavy ſins, and thoſe who indulge them are often reckoned good honeſt merry fellows.

I wiſh I had room to tell my readers what befel Jack in his preſent doleful habitation, and what became of him afterwards. I promiſe them how⯑ever, that they ſhall certainly know the firſt of next month, when I hope they will not forget to inquire for the Fourth Part of the Shoemakers, or Jack Brown in priſon.