New Monthly Magazine, and Universal Register

[We gladly, as may be readily imagined, introduce to the readers of the New Monthly Magazine, a new series of papers from the pen of so great a favourite of the public as the author of "Paul Pry," which, from the wellknown reputation of the writer, as a shrewd observer of human nature, an able delineater of character, and a humourist of acknowledged power, will, we doubt not, prove one among the most attractive productions ever presented to them, in this now so very popular department of literature.—ED.]

CHAP. I.

SHEER INDUSTRY A SUSPICIOUS TERM-THE ADVANTAGES OF BEGINNING THE WORLD WITH NOTHING

INTRODUCTION OF THE HERO

AT HIS START IN LIFE HE HAS THE RARE GOOD FORTUNE TO BE POSSESSED OF NOTHING BY WHAT MEANS HE CONVERTS THAT PROPERTY INTO SOMETHING.—A FRIEND TO THE NEEDY, HIS VIRTUE IS REWARDED- TRUE SHEER INDUSTRY, AND ITS RESULTS EXEMPLIFIED BY A BRIEF HISTORY OF A WORTHY SCOT, HIS MASTER.

PHINEAS QUIDDY began the world with Nothing: by dint of Sheer Industry, as he always boasted, he became possessed of upwards of one hundred thousand pounds.

We do not cite this as a rare instance of the important advantage of entering upon business with Nothing on the contrary, we could mention many others; so many, indeed, that in spite of Shakspeare, who tells us that "nothing can come of nothing," it would seem that Nothing is the prolific seed from which some of the largest fortunes in Sept.-VOL. LXIII. NO. CCXLIX.

London have been grown. One man walks all the way from Leith to London, and, at his journey's end, finds himself with only three farthings in his pocket: a few years elapse, and he has converted each farthing into a plum! He proudly boasts that his fortune was achieved by sheer industry. A second begins by doling out halfpenny-worths of hazel-nuts from a basket slung across his shoulders: by-and-by he starts forth upon the astonished world lord mayor of London! Sheer industry again. A third

Now, Nothing is a term sufficiently intelligible: were it otherwise, there be thousands and thousands who could explain it, with Johnsonian precision, by simply turning their pockets inside out. But we apprehend that Sheer Industry is one of not so definite a signification, and that (at least in the cases we have mentioned) it must mean industry— and something more. As to what that something more may be, we may perhaps be somewhat enlightened by using the career of Phineas Quiddy as our lexicon.

Phineas Quiddy was the son of a poor labourer at the London Docks, and when about twelve years old, was placed with one Sandy Sanderson, a worthy Scot, who kept a snuff-shop, of the humblest pretensions in Cow-lane, Shoreditch. Here his duties were to sweep the shop, go errands, assist or relieve his master in serving the customers (for Sandy was waxing old), and do whatever else might be required of him; for all which he received lodging and food, and sixpence a-week.

A stipendiary in the enjoyment of fifty-two sixpences per annum, Master Phineas thought himself a prosperous gentleman; but as out of his income he had to provide himself with clothes, he found at the end of the year, that, although his tradesmen's bills had not been numerous, they had, nevertheless, left him in possession of that which we have already noticed as the surest foundation for future fortune-nothing. But, somehow, the consequence of his youth and inexperience, perhaps,-little Phineas did not properly appreciate the advantages of his position: he did not reflect upon the number of aldermen and lord mayors who, by the magic of sheer industry, had converted precisely the same amount of capital as his own into Indiastock and Consols; and he set himself about thinking how he might, by the end of the next year, have acquired something rather more palpable.

It happened that the greater portion of Mr. Sanderson's customers were artizans and poor labourers, who frequently, towards the end of the week, would come empty-handed for their modicums of snuff or tobacco, entreating to be supplied, and promising to pay on Saturday night. But Sandy was a strict man, and as he never took credit, so was he obdurate in refusing it. He was also a rigidly honest man, and in the adjustment of his scales a very Portia-never allowing them to turn" but in the estimation of a hair." Upon these two points, the following were his instructions to his assistant: " Firstly never, upon any account, give credit, boy: selling upon credit may lead to ruin, and buying upon credit often brings poor folks into trouble. Next: see that the beam of your scales be even a turn above weight is a loss to me; a turn below, a wrong to the customer: Mony a little maks a

mickle,' and a grain too much given many times a day, will amount to pounds' weight at the year's end."

To these instructions had little Quiddy hitherto most scrupulously adhered; but it now occurred to him that, from a slight evasion of one of them, he might derive profit to himself without doing the smallest injury either to his master or his master's customers. But in order to carry his scheme into execution capital was requisite; he waited therefore till the savings of his weekly wages had placed several shillings at his command. And now behold the young financier unmoved, as usual, by the most artful persuasion to part with his master's goods upon trust, kindly offering to lend the supplicant money to supply his wants-only requiring the deposit of some article or other as security for its return on the Saturday evening, and just taking one farthing upon each penny advanced, simply because (as he always said upon those occasions) "In this world nobody can't be expected to do nothing for nobody else for nothing"-a principle from which, throughout his life, he never departed. These financial operations (carried on, we need scarcely say, without the knowledge of old Sandy) were so frequently repeated, that, at the end of next year, Phineas Quiddy found himself a gainer by them of nearly five pounds-the first-fruits of his boasted sheer industry.

His sheer industry served him again in another way connected with these transactions: for if the deposits, which he always took care should be worth much more than the sums advanced upon them, were not redeemed at the stipulated hour, he declared them forfeit, and exacted a fee for their restoration.

In proportion as his means to serve his friends increased, so did his own little private business; till, at the age of twenty, Mr. Quiddy had the pleasure of finding that he had accumulated nearly two hundred pounds. Such is the reward of sheer industry!

The infirmities of old Sanderson had, for some time past, compelled him to intrust the entire management of his shop to Quiddy, who still received but small wages. With such, however, he was satisfied, as, at the age of twenty-one he was to be admitted as a partner in the business his own little private trade, moreover, being a thriving onewhen, lo! just at this time poor old Sandy died, bequeathing all his earthly possessions to his widow. Now let us see what were those earthly possessions, the reward of sheer industry in the case of poor old Sandy Sanderson.

During the forty years that Sandy had kept the little snuff-shop at Shoreditch, he had never, for a single day, been absent from the receipt of custom, except when compelled by illness: never was he enticed from it by pleasure or amusement. So long as health and strength remained he required no assistance in his work, but with his own hands laboured to supply his own wants. He was frugal in his habits, and, as we have shown, strictly just in his dealings. He bought his little commodities at fair prices, of fair traders, and sold them at reasonable profits.

But though frugal, Sandy was no churl: he loved such of the good things of this world as are usually within the reach of persons of his class; and as he acquired by his own industry the means of procuring them,

he wisely and truly considered that he might occasionally, and in moderation, partake of them. His favourite meal was supper; for, the shop being shut, and the labour of the day at an end, he could sit down with his old woman-for so, from the first day of his marriage, he had always called his wife-to the uninterrupted enjoyment of it. Now and then, though seldom, a Scotch friend or neighbour would be invited to his humble board, and the evening would be wound up (as, indeed, with Sandy it always was) with a pipe, and a tumbler of comfortable, hot, whisky-toddy. Sunday was his only holiday, and this he enjoyed with intense delight; for, after church, which was succeeded by an early dinner, he would tuck his wife under his arm, and (weather permitting) devote the remainder of the day to a pleasant ramble, for air and exercise, about the picturesque brick-fields of Hackney or Holloway.

But there was one trait in the character of Sandy Sanderson too creditable to him to be omitted: he was charitable to the extent of his limited means; and though deaf to the appeals of common beggary, a poor, if a deserving, Scot-for Sandy, not having much to give away, confined his charities almost exclusively to his own countrymen-never sought his assistance in vain. But these donations, of a shilling, or, haply, a little more, according to the necessities of the case, were always accompanied with a gentle admonition to the applicant not to come again upon a similar errand to one who had so little to spare, "unless," would Sandy say, "unless you find you canna just help yoursel, and then," (adding with a sigh)" Ech, guid Lord! it's a hard world for the best o' us, mon."

It would sometimes happen that, in addition to the donation, the applicant would request (and a very moderate request it will seem) a few pinches of snuff in a twist of paper; but this was always met by a direct refusal.

"Gi'e awa' my snuff, mon! where the de'il will Sandy Sanderson find a spare shilling for a puir countryman, if he is to gi'e awa' the commodities he lives by? Nae, nae; an' ye want snuff ye maun just buy it, and as weel lay out your money wi' me as wi' anither."

And hereupon would Sandy, with the same scrupulous accuracy as in other cases, weigh out a halfpenny-worth of snuff, and take payment for it out of the shilling which he had just before given-congratulating himself upon this addition to his day's profits.

Well; Sandy Sanderson dying, left behind him about five hundred pounds, the savings of forty years of sheer industry (in the strict sense of the term) fair trading and frugality; together with his furniture and stock in trade, which were barely worth three hundred-a charming little figure of a Highlander, with his fingers to his nostrils, which decorated one side of his shop-door, and a glossy jet-black boy, the other, being taken into the valuation.

Now let us return to the career of Mr. Sheer-industry Quiddy.

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New Monthly Magazine, and Universal Register, Том 63