CHAPTER III.

THE

QUALIFICATIONS FOR A

SHOPKEEPER-EARLY RISING-SELF-DENIAL INDUSTRY-ARRANGEMENT-CALCULATION-PUNCTUALITY-PERSEVERANCE

HEALTH-CHEERFULNESS, COURAGE, CIVILITY-GOOD ADDRESS-INTEGRITY—

ECONOMY.

THE preceding chapter requires very little sagacity in the reader to perceive which of the three modes of living is the safest, and consequently the wisest for him to adopt, provided that he has a regard for that kind of character, which, of all others in the mercantile world, stands in the most respectable and commanding position. Presuming, therefore, that he has determined to live within the means, it will now be our duty to show what are the qualifications necessary to enable him to do this, as well as to fulfil with honour and success the situation of a shopkeeper. In order to perform this as clearly as we can, we will devote a distinct paragraph or two to each of the virtues we have chosen to come under this category, and, where practicable, illustrate them by other authorities.

EARLY RISING.

"Counsels, like compliments," says Oliver Goldsmith, "are best conveyed in an indirect and oblique manner; and this renders biography as well as fable, a most convenient vehicle for instruction." The ingenious poet, essayist, novelist, and historian, might, with equal justice, have made the same observation in regard to anecdotes, as these are equally, if not more effective, in operating upon the human mind, when introduced à propos to the subject in hand. It is therefore our intention, wherever we can, to introduce these freely, as so many illustrative effects to the main topic which we are discussing, and which we hope therefrom will acquire an additional force and value, as the last touches of an artist are usually supposed to give a higher degree of finish to his picture. It is almost needless to say that early rising has been a theme of praise with the wisest and the best of men, in every civilized community; and it was an observation of Dean Swift, that he never knew any man come to greatness or eminence, who lay long in bed of a morning. Without, however, entirely subscribing to the truth of this opinion, it is undeniable that some of the most eminent characters who have lived were in the habit of rising early. The late Judge Mansfield, it is said, when in court, made a practice of inquiring into the habits of life of all the witnesses who had attained old age; and this curious inquirer invariably found that, however differing in other matters, they had all been early risers. The celebrated Dr. Cheyne, in his "Essay on Health and Long Life," gives it as his opinion, that "nothing can be more prejudicial to tender constitutions, studious and contemplative persons, than lying long in bed, lolling and soaking in sheets, after one is distinctly awake, or has slept a due and reasonable time. It necessarily (he says) thickens the juices, enervates

D

the solids, and weakens the constitution. A free open air is a kind of cold bath, especially after rising out of a warm bed, and consequently makes the circulation brisker and more complete, and braces up the solids, when lying in bed dissolves and soaks them in moisture. This is evident from the appetite and hunger which those who rise early feel beyond that which they get by lying long in bed." John Wesley, the founder of the Methodists, who had studied the art of healing, wrote a sermon on the advantages of early rising. He observes in it—"One common effect of either sleeping too long, or lying too long in bed, is weakness of sight, particularly that weakness which is of a nervous kind. When I was young, my sight was remarkably weak. Why, it is stronger now than it was forty years ago. I impute this principally to the blessing of God, who fits us to whatever he calls us; but undoubtedly the outward means which he has been pleased to bless was the rising early every morning.' Dr. Wilson Philip, in his "Treatise on Indigestion," says, "Although it is of consequence to the debilitated to go early to bed, there are few things more hurtful to them than remaining in it too long. Getting up an hour or two earlier often gives a degree of vigour which nothing else can procure. For those who are not much debilitated, and sleep well, the best rule is to get out of bed soon after awaking in the morning. Lying late is not only hurtful by the relaxation it occasions, but also by occupying that part of the day in which exercise is most beneficial." The Lord Chancellor More rose at four in the morning. Milton left his bed about the same hour; so did Bishop Burnet, the historian. Sir Matthew Hale, when a student, devoted sixteen out of twenty-four hours to study. Dr. Parkhurst rose at five o'clock all the year round and Archdeacon Paley, and Drs. Franklin and Priestley, all recommended and adopted the practice during the greatest portion of their lives.

If an obscure individual may be permitted to bring in his own experience after the names of the illustrious, the present writer has, from the hours of five to ten in the morning, and within the compass of four months, written a work, requiring a considerable exercise of ingenuity and thought, and equal in size to one of the novels of Sir Walter Scott. Even this eminent individual, notwithstanding his sociable habits, was an early riser, and wrote nearly the whole of his splendid fictions in his mornings before breakfast, A gentleman, also, curious in finding out the names of persons who, in different parts, had lived to above ninety years, reckoned eight hundred up to eighteen hundred and sixteen, and declared, that, however they differed as to their mode of living, they were all early risers, so far as he could discover.

In whatever respects we moderns have arisen in our habits over those of our ancestors in our larger towns, so far as early rising is concerned, we have woefully degenerated. In the fourteenth century, the shops in Paris were opened at four in the morning, whilst, at present, a shopkeeper is hardly awake at seven. During the reign of Henry VIII., fashionable people in England breakfasted at seven in the morning, and dined at ten or eleven in the forenoon, and now many of them breakfast at noon, and dine at eight or nine in the evening. In short, the whole system of town life is reversed--the goddess of fashion having completely gained the ascendancy over the God of Nature. This order of things is the natural result of the splendid discovery of gas, yielding to artificial life a light almost rivalling in brilliancy that of the sun itself, with the additional advantage of being indued with an extraordinary power of imparting a certain degree of deception upon every object upon

which it shines. Let us, however, return to nature as far as possible, and above all, let the shopkeeper, who would acquire a good name, be an early riser, as to him the advantages, even in a business point of view, will be found to be incalculable. Let him, above all men, not be like that lazy son, who, when asked by his father what made him lie in bed so long, replied, “I am busied in hearing counsel every morning; Industry advising me to get up; Sloth, to lie still; and so they give me twenty reasons for and against. It is my part to hear what is said on both sides; and by the time the cause is over dinner is ready." Let him not be like, or anything near like, this embodiment of laziness, but be an early riser, as the being so implies the possession of many other virtues, of which we now intend to speak.

SELF-DENIAL.

"There never did, and never will exist," says Sir Walter Scott, "anything permanently noble and excellent in a character which was or shall be a stranger to the exercise of resolute self-denial." Temperance, as to both eating and drinking, must always be regarded as a species of strong self-denial where great temptations are thrown in one's way. The frugality of Napoleon was such, that his taste gave the preference to the most simple and the least seasoned dishes; as œufs au miroir and haricots en salade. His breakfast was almost always composed of one of these dishes and a little Parmesan cheese. At dinner he ate little, rarely of ragouts, and always of wholesome things. "I have often heard him say," observes Bourienne, "that however little nourishment people took at dinner, they always took too much." Thus his head was always clear, and his labour easy, even when he rose from table.

The Duke of Wellington was pretty much of the same constitution, and as far as regarded self-denial in the good things of the table, exemplified an indifference equal to that of his great rival in warfare. When he was at Paris, as commander of the allied armies, he was invited to dine with Cambaceres, one of the most distinguished statesmen and gourmands of the time of Napoleon. In the course of the dinner, his host having helped him to some particular recherché dish, expressed a hope that he found it agreeable. "Very good," said the hero of Waterloo, "very good: but I really do not care what I eat." Cambaceres started back, and dropped his fork, quite frighted from his propriety. "Don't care what you eat! What did you come here for then?"

The danger, however, of over-eating is neither so glaring nor so great as that of over-drinking; nor can we consume in eating that valuable time which is more or less demanded from every day in the custom of drinking. To guard against this loathsome habit, is one of the very first points demanding the notice of the shopkeeper. This is the sea in which so many valuable stocks have been sunk, are sinking, and will continue to sink, where the utmost vigilance is not exercised, and where an extending connexion is courted by artificial usages. Be, therefore, self-denying in this; for that itself argues the capacity of being able to rise early, which is a great matter in the eyes of the public, who are never blind to virtue, however much they may be silent on the practice of vice.

The great evil in town life now-a-days is the propensity which most people have for evening, yea, even night, enjoyments. This, doubtless, has arisen out of the improved means of appetitive gratification which we possess over

the limited resources, in this respect, of our ancestors. In the days of Queen Elizabeth, the resources for night enjoyments were very circumscribed. Then even the rich were poor, when compared with our shop-keepers. They, to be sure, could enjoy a rush-covered floor and a flagon of ale, drunk under a light which we moderns would now feel to cast our spirits into the nearest approach to the shadow of death; but little else; consequently, they were constrained to bed early, and this enabled them to rise early. They had not, however, the art of self-denegation any more than many of we have. This misfortune they inherited from their original stock. The Gothic nations, as is well known, were famous of old, in Europe, for the quantities of food and drink which they consumed. The ancient Germans, and their Saxon descendants in England, were remarkable for their hearty meals. Gluttony and drunkenness were so very common, that those vices were not thought disgraceful; and Tacitus represents the former as capable of being as easily overcome by strong drink as by arms. Intemperance was so general and habitual, that no one was thought to be fit for serious business after dinner; and, under this persuasion, it was enacted in the laws, that judges should hear and determine causes fasting, and not after dinner. An Italian author, in his " Antiquities," plainly affirms that this regulation was framed for the purpose of avoiding the unsound decrees consequent upon intoxication; and Dr. Gilbert Stuart very patiently and ingeniously observes, in his "Historical Dissertation concerning the Antiquity of the British Constitution,” p. 238, that from this propensity of the older Britons to indulge excessively in eating and drinking, has proceeded the restriction upon jurors and jurymen, to refrain from meat and drink, and to be even held in custody, until they had agreed upon their verdict. The descendants of those nations who form the greater part of the population of England, the United States, and Australia, may feel a gratification in knowing the origin of this restraint upon juries.

Habits such as these are not calculated to advance the health, interest, or prosperity of shopkeeping. On the contrary, their tendency is absolutely immoral, as all violent appetitive indulgences will invariably be found to be. Nor are they calculated, with all their superabundance, to make home happy -a great point in the life of a shopkeeper. Nay, they are calculated rather to make it a scene of debauchery and riot; to fill it with every excess, and to plunge it into a state of impurity as opposite from true happiness as the light of day is to the darkness of night. Let you, then, who would prosper, be temperate as to what you eat and particularly so as to what you drink; let it be your object to endow with the means of rational enjoyment the little dominion which you call home; make it not only a dwelling of convenience and comfort, but of pleasure and peace. Consider it to be a duty, as far as circumstances will permit, to sweeten it within and without with all that is agreeable and attractive. Let it, in short, be a place too beautiful and fair ever to allow you to be drawn from it by the attractions of the tavern; so. shall you find happiness yourselves, and all around you must thrive.

INDUSTRY.

No man can be industrious without he is temperate; and as if Nature herself would continually keep a maxim of this kind before our eyes, she is unceasingly, day and night, building up and pulling down, yet never depart

66

an idle

ing from certain laws by which she is immutably governed. Her industry is perhaps her greatest wonder. She is ever at work; and this continuousness of labour in her visible workshop, ought to teach man the great moral of industry. There is an idea abroad amongst many young men connected with shopkeeping, that a life of labour is incompatible with happiness; but than this, there cannot be a greater delusion of the human mind. It is in the life of idleness that such incompatibility exists. It is there that the Devil is found hatching schemes of vicious pleasure, which, when carried into operation, will assuredly leave behind them a long day of sorrow and repentance. In all civilized countries idleness has been denounced as an unmitigated curse. Where it was habitual amongst the Athenians, the code of Draco punished it with death. The Areopagites, an assembly composed of the wisest, and therefore the purest, of men, considered it the cause of most other vices; and we ourselves have amongst us the old adage, that " brain is the devil's workshop." Solomon says, Study the ant, and be wise;" and we add, Study an idle man, and shun the cause of his miseries. There is a kind of industry in this world, however, that is almost as aimless in the object it pursues as idleness itself. It usually springs from the natural activity of a little mind engaged in a perpetual chase after trifles, as a butterfly is after the flower it only sips to seek another. These are the men of no permanency of character,-the incapables of thoughtful purpose; the busybodies of industrious activity moved by impulse without the dignity of a moment's reflection. Yet these are happy beyond all calculation, when compared with the idle. They run about in an atmosphere of small life; yet they have an aim, as insects have when gratifying their tiny existences within the boundaries of a rose-leaf. Be not like these. Have one aim, and work it out. At all events be not entirely destitute of any aim, for such an existence is one of the most strange and anomalous in creation. A writer, unknown to us, speaking of this very subject, exclaims; "Most miserable, worthy of most profound pity, is such a being! The most insignificant object in Nature becomes a source of envy; the birds warble on every spray, in ecstasy of joy; the tiny flower, hidden from all eyes, sends forth its fragrance of full happiness; the mountain stream dashes along with a sparkle and murmur of pure delight. The object of their creation is accomplished, and their life gushes forth in harmonic work. Oh, plant! oh, stream!-worthy of admiration, of worship, to the wretched idler! Here are powers ye never dreamed of,-faculties divine, eternal; a head to think, but nothing to concentrate the thoughts; a heart to love, but no object to bathe with the living tide of affection; a hand to do, but no work to be done; talents unexercised, capacities undeveloped; a human life thrown away,-wasted as water poured forth in the desert. Oh! birds and flowers, ye are gods to such a mockery of life! Who can describe the fearful void of such an existence, the yearning for an object, the self-reproach for wasted powers, the weariness of daily life, the loathing of pleasure, of frivolity, and the fearful consciousness of deadening life of a spiritual paralysis, which hinders all response to human interests-when enthusiasm ceases to arouse, and noble deeds no longer call forth the tear of joy; when the world becomes a blank, humanity a far-off sound, and no life is left but the heavy, benumbing weight of personal helplessness and desolation. Oh! happier far is the toiling drudge who coins body and soul into the few poor shillings that can only keep his family in a long starvation; he has a hope unceasingly to light him, a duty to perform, a