LETTER LI.
WILLIAM to his MOTHER.
I mentioned to you that I expected to see some manufactories; yesterday Dr. Bartlett conducted us all, except Edward, who is gone for a short time to visit a relation, to several; and our curiosity was fully satisfied. I had seen some formerly, but without taking much notice of them: I viewed them all as something very common and rather mean; the case is altered now, I am taught to reason about them, and to admire the goodness of God displayed in the ingenuity of man. O, my dear mother, how wonderful are the ways of Providence! I must repeat an observation of Dr. Bartlett’s before I relate a conversation which passed between Emilia, Charles, and I, after we returned home.
The poor, said he, whilst they are earning their own bread, provide necessaries and superfluities for the rich; who, in return, often to aggrandize themselves, fight their battles, plan their laws, and enable the mechanics to send their work to foreign markets. The labourer also, who tills the ground, and anxiously turns the produce to a good account, that he may be able to pay his rent, is protected by the rich, and may reasonably expect to solace himself after his toil, under the shade of the trees his fathers have planted, or those he himself has reared. Thus does heaven bind us all together, and make our mutual wants the strong cement of society; and even the follies of individuals are so overruled as to produce good to the whole. Well, now for our conversation.
You do not complain, I hope, that you have taken the trouble to accompany us?
WILLIAM.
Complain, no, I should have been very sorry to have missed so pleasing and instructive a sight.
CHARLES.
I for my part, am very well pleased. What skilful, laborious men there are in the world; and how much of the comfort of our lives, depends on the exertions of our fellow-creatures; and must arise from the labours of those poor uneducated people, the rich are too apt to despise.
WILLIAM.
Yes, I have often seen that persons of high rank treat them as if they were not made of the same flesh and blood.—I have seen that they scarcely moved their hats to a mechanic, though he bows himself almost to the ground.
EMILIA.
That appears to me to be very wrong.
CHARLES.
It is indeed a very perverse pride, for with all their riches, they could not do without those useful men. O, thought I, when I saw the weaver, who sat sweating before his loom, this man exhausts his vigour to procure me a great comfort, linen. Without him, the flax, that valuable plant, which the earth produces for this purpose, would be useless. Every one will allow, that shoe-makers and taylors are necessary; in short, since I find that laborious people are so essential to the well-being of the world, I cannot imagine how men can treat them with so much contempt. As to myself I shall guard against such behaviour; in the use of those things, I shall endeavour always to remember the men who are the instruments to convey the blessings of heaven to me: and these considerations will make me esteem my fellow-members of society; and try to fulfil my part of the sociable compact.
WILLIAM.
I agree with my friend, and am ashamed that I should ever have looked on this class of my brethren with indifference.
EMILIA.
But I found nothing that excited my wonder more than the art of printing. How could it be possible to write so many books as there are in the world?
CHARLES.
That would not be possible. We should then have very few books; and all those great geniuses, from whose writings we reap so much instruction, would be to us as dead men,—now they live and are our friends. Your country, William, had the honour of giving birth to the inventor of this invaluable art.
WILLIAM.
Yes, and he has a statue erected to his memory before the house where he lived. His name was Laurence Koster.
CHARLES.
You wonder much at the letter press; but how many of the arts which we have not seen, would afford you equal matter for astonishment?
WILLIAM.
It is almost incomprehensible, how a common potter, out of a rough lump of clay, should be able to make such a variety of useful and ornamental things.
EMILIA.
Have not these poor people reason to complain that they work so hard for a piece of bread?
By no means. They have even comparative happiness. How disagreeable must be the miners’ employment to us, who have been brought up in a different style of life, and have opened our eyes to the beauties of nature? It is laborious, and they lose their health while they are secluded from the cheerful sight of the sun, which enlivens every other labour.
EMILIA.
They might let it alone, and do something else to earn a livelihood.
CHARLES.
And what then would become of us all? They dig the gold out of the bowels of the earth, of which we are so proud; it is true we could do without it, as any thing that would lie in a small compass, might pass in exchange as money: but iron we could not spare; we should do every thing in a very clumsy manner without iron tools.—Only think of the various comforts which accrue to society from this one metal: and men must procure it.
EMILIA.
That is true.—And if we rightly consider it, we may say with truth, that iron is more valuable than gold.
CHARLES.
It is not only more valuable, but our abode on the earth would be uncomfortable without it:—it is apparently a necessary; and the great instrument of civilization.
WILLIAM.
We see greater respect paid to a goldsmith than a common mechanic, though the first we could do without.
EMILIA.
Perhaps it is because that a goldsmith gains greater profit, and goes better clothed.
You have well observed, Emilia. We are very unreasonable when we are proud of dress. Where should we get the finery, if the hard hands of the diligent labourer did not provide the materials? A diamond is dug out of the earth without our assistance. Silk stuff, prepared by the industry of a worm, and in which we pride ourselves, is worked for us without our knowing how.—Yet, we are delighted with the praise we receive, as much as we could be had we invented the arts, or manufactured the product of the earth. We only wear what the skill and industry of others have procured for us.—What are we, when we recollect such foolish pride?—We who presume to arrogate merit to ourselves, which belongs to others; to the weavers and taylors—and even to the worms that contribute to adorn us. But you may say, such habits are a proof that we are rich, or born in a distinguished rank.—It is nothing!—We are, as I have just proved, indebted for the gold and silver to the poor miners, who, at the expence of health, dig it out of the mine—and we possess it by mere chance.—And our birth, of which we are apt to boast so much, is equally accidental.
EMILIA.
But we pay more respect to painters, and all those who exercise the fine arts, than we do to mechanics, though theirs are not useful employments.
CHARLES.
That is, because we involuntarily pay respect to an improved mind. Dr. Bartlett has taught me to make distinctions. Those employments, in which the mind is exercised more than the body, tend to cultivate the understanding, the noblest kind of superiority. Those artists afford food for the mind; pleasures that the man has not any conception of who is occupied in manual labour. We may choose our companions and friends; but all the labourers in the great field of life, are our brothers; and equally deserve the rights of humanity. And they are superior to their fellow men who are most extensively useful, not those who, in false state, exhibit diamonds and gold on their body, whilst their minds are, perhaps, inferior to those of the poor creatures, who, by a weak taper’s light, dug them out of their hidden place, to decorate folly, not ornament virtue; for virtue has inherent splendor.
Dear mother, I will never exalt myself on account of my birth again; but I will try to gain the noblest distinction, that of virtue. For with respect to understanding, I have often seen the witty applauded, when those you termed wise, were scarcely observed.—What, is not this admiring the dazzling and neglecting the useful? But, you say the generality are superficial, and only attend to the outside of things. I will try to remember, that the praise of one sensible person, is of more worth than the encomium of a crowd; because they consider before they speak.
WILLIAM.