The new works were opened in 1853, when a grand banquet took place, at which members of parliament, mayors, and magistrates were present, besides between 2,000 and 3,000 of Mr. Salt’s workpeople, who had marched in procession from smoky Bradford to the fair country he had chosen for their future labours.
Sir Titus was made a baronet in 1869, and some years previously he held the position of president of the Bradford Chamber of Commerce. He has also been chief constable, magistrate, and parliamentary member for the Bradford borough, the inhabitants of which have shown their appreciation of his services and generosity by erecting a handsome statue to him.
ACURIOUSromance adds one more instructive fact to point the moral of a miser’s life, and of “the love of money.” For many years past an old man might have been seen carrying an old bag on his shoulders, scraping up odds and ends from the gutter, and garbage from the streets. This man’s home was in a London suburb, a wretched room filled with rubbish—old pieces of iron and brass, bits of string, &c. Around the room were tin deed-boxes, which some of his friends half suspected must be possessed of properties of more or less value. The wretched man lived on what he chanced to pick up by the way, or what was given to him by the charitable, who thought him to be a beggar. He used to attend one of our metropolitan hospitals as an out-patient, receiving advice and medicine gratis. This man died in the midst of squalid wretchedness and apparent want. His friends at once proceeded to ransack the place in search for his money; the deed-boxes proved to be “dummies,” containing only strings and tapes, and for some time the search proved fruitless. At last, however, the old chair in which he used to sit was found to contain, in the worn-out cushion, a bundle of most valuable securities, amounting to £60,000, and a will. This will, after leaving £100 each to his executors, devised all the residue of his property to two institutions—one moiety to the Royal Free Hospital, Gray’s-inn-road, in which institution he used to obtain advice and medicine gratis, as above; and the other half to the Royal National Lifeboat Association. So that these two useful institutions will receive £30,000 each, and possibly more, as the result of this “miser’s” wealth! Search is being made for further documents amid the heaps of rubbish that have been allowed toaccumulate in the wretched man’s attic. The case constitutes a sad and melancholy illustration of this fallen nature of ours, in one of its most afflicting forms of eccentricity and madness.
In the case of the Dancers, we have it recorded that their money-grubbing propensity was prominent in three generations of the family. The grandfather, the father, and the children, were all misers—the lot of them, Daniel Dancer, Esq., appears to have been the most distinguished. He lived on the Weald of Harrow, where he had a little estate of about eighty acres of rich meadow-land, with some of the finest oak timber in the kingdom on it. Besides, there was a good farm belonging to him, worth at that time, if properly cultivated, more than £200 a-year. One day, coming to London to invest £2,000 in the funds, a gentleman, who met him near the Exchange, mistaking him for a beggar, put a penny in his hand—an affront which, it is needless to say, the beggar pocketed. In spite of the fact that his wretched abode was often broken into, he made a great deal of money by his penurious habits. It took many weeks to explore the contents of his dwelling. As much as £2,500 were found on the dung-heap in the cow-house; and in an old jacket, carefully tied and strongly nailed to the manger, was the sum of £500 in gold and bank-notes; £200 were found in the chimney, and an old teapot contained bank-notes to the value of £500. Lady Tempest and Captain Holmes, his heirs, were benefited by the old miser’s savings to the extent of about £3,000 a-year.
Money is sometimes strangely made. For instance, there is the case of Gully, who was M.P. for Pontefract in 1832. “He was taken out of prison,” writes Mr. Charles Greville, “twenty-five or thirty years ago by a gentleman to fight Pierce, surnamed the Game Chicken. He afterwards fought Belcher (I believe), and Gregson twice, and left the prize-ring with the reputation of being the best man in it. He then took to the turf, was successful in establishing himself at Newmarket, where he kept ‘a hell,’ and began a system of corruption of trainers, jockeys, and boys, which put the secrets of all Newmarket at his disposal, and in a few years made him rich. At the same time he connected himself with Mr. Watt, in the north, by betting for him; and this being at the time when Watt’s stable was very successful, he won large sums ofmoney by his horses. Having become rich, he embarked in a great coal speculation, which answered beyond his hopes, and his shares soon yielded immense profits. His wife, who was a coarse, vulgar woman, in the meantime died, and he afterwards married the daughter of an innkeeper, who proved as gentlewoman-like as the other was the reverse, and who was very pretty besides. He now gradually withdrew from the betting-ring as a regular blackleg, still keeping horses, and betting occasionally in large sums. He ultimately bought an estate near Pontefract, and settled down as a gentleman of fortune.”
Of the beggarly race of misers, the most notorious was Thomas Cooke, born in the year 1726, at Clewer, a village near Windsor. His father, an itinerant fiddler, got his living by playing in alehouses and fairs, but dying while Thomas was an infant, his grandmother, who lived near Norwich, took care of him till he was able to provide for himself, at which time he obtained employment in a manufactory where there were a number of other boys who were paid according to the work they did. These boys always clubbed some money from their weekly earnings for the establishment of a mess; young Cooke, however, resolved to live cheaper, and when the other boys went to dinner he retired to the side of a brook, and made his breakfast and dinner at one meal upon an halfpenny loaf, an apple, and a draught of water from the running stream, taken up in the brim of his hat. With the money thus saved, he paid a youth, who was usher to a village schoolmaster, to instruct him in reading, writing, and arithmetic. Arrived at years of maturity, Cooke found employment at a Norwich warehouse as a porter. There his sobriety and industry caused his master to make him a journeyman, and raise his wages. Further, his master finding that he wished for an appointment as an exciseman, procured a situation for him near London, and he came to the capital by the Norwich waggon with only eight shillings in his pocket; but that is of little consequence. It is not money that makes a man succeed in life, but the want of it. In the world, a man who begins with money generally ends by losing it.
Being appointed to a district, Cooke found there was great delay, and some expense, before he could act as an exciseman; he therefore took the situation of porter to a sugar-baker,and, in course of time, became a journeyman. Here he did not neglect his appointment to the excise, but reserved sufficient time to himself to give it every necessary attention. By attending on the superior of the district in which he was to act, and by the money he saved while in the service of the sugar-baker, Cooke was at length enabled to assume the dignity to which he had so long aspired. Being appointed to inspect the exciseable concerns of a paper-mill and manufactory near Tottenham, Cooke was exceedingly well pleased; for, being already versed in some parts of the trade from the knowledge he had acquired at Norwich, he was desirous of learning those secrets in the trade to which he was still a stranger. During the time he was officially employed in this concern, the master of the paper-mills and manufactory died. The widow, however, by the advice of her friends, carried on the business with the assistance of the foreman. Cooke’s knowledge of the business, but particularly the regularity with which he rendered his accounts to the Board of Excise, induced the commissioners to continue him in the employ. In the meantime he took a regular and exact account of sundry infractions of the laws, which, either from design or inadvertence, were daily committed in this paper manufactory. Having calculated the value of the concern, and the several thousand pounds the penalties incurred by frauds on the revenue would amount to, he seized the opportunity of privately informing the widow, that the penalties, if levied, would amount to more than double the value of all her property, and expose her to beggary and the King’s Bench. He assured her that the frauds which had been at different times committed were only known to himself, and suddenly proposed marriage to her as the only means of insuring his secrecy. The widow, no doubt, convinced of the truth of the statement, and seeing in Cooke a man of comely countenance and of good figure, gave him a favourable answer, but suggested the propriety of deferring the marriage till the time allotted to the mourning for her first husband had expired. Cooke agreed to this delay, having taken care to obtain her consent and promise on parchment. At length his marriage with this lady took place, and Cooke became possessed of all her property, which was very large, and particularly of the mills at Tottenham, which were on a lease to her former husband. On the expiration of the lease, heapplied to the proprietors for a renewal of it; but, in consequence of a previous treaty, the premises were, to his great mortification, let to another person. He next purchased a large sugar concern in Puddle Dock, and, as he knew something of the business, flattered himself that he would he able to add rapidly to his already large fortune. Here he carried his former habits of parsimony and abstemiousness to the utmost extent.
At this time his artfulness and meanness seem to have quite gained the upper hand. One of his plans was to have his table well supplied by the generosity of other people. His colloquial powers were admirable. In his latter days it was his practice, when he had marked out any one for his prey, to find his way, by some means or other, into the house, by pretending to fall down in a fit, or asking permission to enter and sit down, in order to prevent its coming on. No humane person could well refuse admission to a man in apparent distress, of respectable appearance, whose well-powdered wig and long ruffles induced a belief that he was some decayed citizen of better days. The host would soon learn that this was the rich Mr. Cooke, the sugar-baker, worth £100,000; and this would lead to an introduction to the family, all of whom the artful sugar-baker would pretend to admire, asking the fond mamma particularly for their names all in writing. The parents, of course, considered that there could be but one motive for asking such a question, and the consequence was, as he pursued the plan with a score or two of people, that so great was the quantity of poultry, game, vegetables, and provisions of every kind which used to be sent him, that it did not cost him in housekeeping, for himself and his domestics, more than fifteen-pence a-day on an average; but it was considered as great extravagance when the expenses of a day amounted to as much as two shillings.
Alas! however, in spite of all his parsimony, the sugar-baking business did not pay. At the end of twelve months he found himself considerably the poorer. This would never do; and in order to discover the secrets of the trade to which he had been a stranger, he was induced to invite several sugar-bakers to dine with him, and, after plying them with plenty of wine, he put questions to some of the younger and more unguarded of the trade, who, in a state of intoxication, made the desirable discoveries. His wife, astonished at his being so unusuallygenerous, expressed her apprehensions about the expenses of the wine, but he told her he would suck as much of the brains—his usual phrase—of some of the fools as would amply repay him. His wife was as much a victim as any one else. She died of a broken heart. After he had retired from business, Cooke went to reside in Winchester Street, Pentonville, where he cultivated his own cabbages on a plot of ground which had been originally laid out for a garden. To get manure for his cabbages he would sally out on moonlight nights, with a little shovel and a basket, and take up the horse-dung that had been dropped in the course of the day in the City Road. He seldom passed by a pump without taking a hearty drink. In his daily visits to the Bank, he regaled himself at the pump near the Royal Exchange. He was in the constant habit of pocketing the Bank paper, as he never bought anything if he could get it for nothing.
Notwithstanding Cooke’s inordinate love of money, he was fond of amusement. It was said of Gilpin’s wife, that—
“Though on pleasure she was bent,She had a frugal mind.”
“Though on pleasure she was bent,She had a frugal mind.”
It seems the same could be said of Cooke. For instance, he was very fond of going to Epsom races. But these excursions never cost him anything, for he always took care to fasten himself upon some of those people whom he used to buoy up with assurances of making them his heirs. Thus he had his ride to Epsom in his friend’s gig and back to town, his bed during the time of the races, his meals, and every other accommodation at the expense of his fellow-traveller, to whom, for all this treating, he never had the generosity to offer so much as a bottle of wine in return.
Cooke died as he had lived, a pauper in heart. To the last he cheated everybody. In 1811, he took to his bed, and sent for several medical men in the hope of obtaining some relief; but all knew him so well that not one would attend, except Mr. Aldridge, who resided close by. Cooke permitted this gentleman to send some medicine. On his last visit the old man very earnestly entreated him to say candidly how long he thought he might live. Mr. Aldridge answered that he might last six days. Cooke collected as much of his exhausted strength as he could, raised himself in his bed, and, darting a look of keenest indignation at the surgeon, exclaimed,“And are not you a dishonest man, a rogue, a robber to serve me so?” “How, sir?” asked the doctor, with surprise. “Why, sir, you are no better than a pickpocket to rob me of my gold by sending two draughts a-day to a man that all your physic will not keep alive for above six days. Get out of my house, and never come near me again.” During the last days of his existence he was extremely weak, and employed his few remaining hours in arranging matters with his creditors. Some short time before his death, one of his executors observed to him that he had omitted to remember his two servants in his will; the one who had served him as his housekeeper and nurse faithfully for upwards of ten years; the other who used to lead him about the streets, particularly to the Exchange Pump, to regale himself, and who was also a good nurse during the time she lived with him; but Cooke answered, “Let them be paid their wages to the day of my death—nothing more.” On the gentleman remonstrating on the very great injustice it would be not to leave them something, all he could obtain was twenty-five pounds for one and ten pounds for the other, and even from that twenty-five, after his friend had left the room, he took the will and struck out the word five. He treated Dr. Lettisom quite as shabbily. In order to evince his gratitude, he told the doctor that he would make an ample donation to any public charity which he should recommend. After the doctor had taken the pains to explain to him the objects of different charitable institutions, Cooke fixed upon the Humane Society for the Recovery of the Apparently Dead, intimating, at the same time, the extent of his fortune, and confirming it by bringing his will in his pocket, which he submitted to the doctor’s inspection. About three weeks before his decease, he confidently assured Dr. Lettisom that, besides the ample provision he had made for his numerous relatives and friends, and his two maid-servants, and still more ample bequests to almshouses, he was in possession of a surplus fund of £40,000 unappropriated, and desired the doctor to specify such hospitals and dispensaries as he deemed most in want of funds their support. The doctor gave himself an immense of trouble in the matter, but all to no purpose, the will was read, it was found that he had left but pounds to the Royal Humane Society, and to the doctor, for all the trouble and plague he had given him, a plain gold ring.
“Thus lived and died,” writes his biographer, “unpitied and unlamented, in the eighty-sixth year of his age, and possessed of a property of £127,205 Three per Cent. Consolidated Bank Annuities, a man whose life was chequered with as few good actions as ever fell to the share of any person that has lived to an advanced age.”
It is not often that money is made by gambling; yet now and then this is the case. General Scott, the father-in-law of George Canning and the Duke of Portland, was known to have won at White’s £200,000, thanks to his notorious sobriety and knowledge of the game of whist. The general possessed a great advantage over his companions by avoiding those indulgences at the table which used to muddle other men’s brains. He confined himself to dining off a boiled chicken, with toast-and-water. By such a regimen he came to the whist-table with a clear head, and possessing, as he did, a remarkable memory, with great coolness of judgment, he was enabled honestly to win the sum of £200,000. If the general was not an eccentric money-getter, he evidently got his money in an eccentric way.
Equally successful was the millionaire Crockford, who was originally a fishmonger, keeping a shop near Temple Bar. His fortune was all made at his gambling-house in fifteen or sixteen years. A vast sum, perhaps half a million, was sometimes due to him; but as he won all his debtors were able to raise, and gave credit, it was hard for men of fashion, fond of play, to keep out of his lures. He retired in 1840, much as an Indian chief retires from a hunting country when there is not game enough left for his tribe; and the club, which bore his name, tottered to its fall. It really seems that at that time there were no more very high players visiting the place. It was said that there were persons of rank and station who had never paid their debts to Crockford up to 1844.
Morissey, the well-known American gambler, has passed away. At one time he kept a small drinking-saloon of the lowest character. So disreputable was the place that it was closed by the authorities. Morissey was also a prize-fighter. Drunken, brutal, without friends or money, he came from Troy to New York to see what would turn up. At that time an election was in progress; and elections were carried by brute force. There was no registry law; and theinjunction to vote early and vote often was literally obeyed. In such a city, and at such a time, Morissey was in his element. Having acquired a little money, he opened a place for play. He became thoroughly temperate. He resolved to behave well, to be sober, and not gamble. Those resolutions he carried out. His house in New York was the most elegantly furnished of any of the kind in the State; the table, the attendants, and the cooking, were of the first order. He followed his patrons to Saratoga, and opened there what was called a club-house; judges, senators, merchants, bankers, millionaires, became his guests: the disguise was soon thrown off, and the club-house assumed the form of a first-class gambling-house at the Springs. Horse-racing and attendant games followed, all bringing custom and profit to Morissey’s establishment; and thus he amassed a large fortune, and died in the odour of respectability which wealth confers. Morissey, as Congress man, was not exactly a working member. When he first went to Washington, Mr. Colfax hardly knew on which of the committees of the House it would be best to put him; so he said, in a very apologetic tone, “Well, Mr. Morissey, I should be very glad to oblige in regard to a great many old members, and all the best places belong by right to them. Still, I will see what I can do for you.” “Well, Mr. Speaker,” said the new member, “I am pretty particular; but 1 will, at any rate, tell you what I want. If there is a committee that has no committee-room, never has any business sent to it, and never meets, I should like to be put on the tail-end of that committee. How does it strike you?” “You relieve me wonderfully,” said Mr. Colfax. “I will put you on the Committee of Revolutionary Pensions.”
Another case of that rarity, a successful gambler, is thus described in “Sunshine and Shadow,” in New York:—“A man lives in the upper part of this city, and in fine style. He is reputed to be worth 500,000 dollars. He came to New York penniless. He decided to take up play as a business; not to keep a gambling-house, but to play every night as a trade. He made certain rules which he has kept over thirty years. He would avoid all forms of licentiousness, would attend church regularly on Sunday, would avoid all low, disreputable company, would drink no kind of intoxicating liquors, wine or ale, would neither smoke norchew, would go nightly to his play as a man would go to his office or his trade, would play as long as he won, or until the bank broke, would lose a certain sum and no more; when he lost that he would stop playing, and leave the room for the night; if he lost ten nights, he would wait till his luck changed;” and this system he followed exactly, while tens of thousands around him were carried away into irretrievable ruin.
As I write I see the report of a peculiar case heard in Dublin, before Chief Justice Morris and a special jury; and, as theTimes’correspondent informs us, some very curious revelations were made in the course of the hearing. The action was brought by a Mr. Kavanagh to recover £7,000 on account of work and labour alleged to have been done by the plaintiff in his capacity of manager to the defendant, a Mr. Henry Lindsay, a bill-discounter, who, it was stated, did business to the extent of £20,000 to £30,000 a month, and who lived alone in a large house in a respectable street, sleeping on a stretcher, and having bills on the house announcing it as to be let, in order that he might avoid, as he actually succeeded in avoiding, the payment of rates, on the plea that he was merely caretaker of the house. It also came out that defendant, who was advanced in years, had recently paid £5,000 to compromise an action for breach of promise of marriage. So the old gentleman had a soft side after all!
One of the great millionaires of France was Ouvrard, the financier—a man sprung from a very humble origin, but of great financial capacity. During his long career of success, which lasted from the latter part of the last century till 1830, he made and spent millions of money. He was ruined by making large sales in the funds, under the expectation that the government of Louis Philippe could not stand. He was born in 1770; and his first operation, which consisted in buying up all the paper made in Poitou and Angoumois, and retailing it at an immense profit to the Paris booksellers, laid the foundation of his fortune. He soon afterwards made a contract for provisioning the Spanish fleet, which had joined the French squadron in 1797, and made a net profit of £600,000. In 1800, he was supposed to possess a million and a-half of English money. Soon after he had the contract for supplying the French army in the campaign which closedwith the battle of Marengo. His prosperity continued for many years; and in 1812, the government owed him, for enormous advances made by him, nearly three millions of English money. He wasMunitionnaire-Généralfor the Waterloo campaign; and, in 1828, contracted to supply the Duc d’Angoulême with everything necessary for the entry of the French army into Spain; but the misfulfilment of his contract entailed heavy losses on him, and in 1830 he was completely ruined.
No man was more reckless in his expenditure, nor more magnificent in his manner of living. At the time of the Directory, thefêtesgiven by him were the theme of the whole of Parisian society at that time. At his splendid villa near Rueil, during the Empire, he was in the habit of giving suppers to all thecorps de balletof the opera twice a-week, and he used to send several carriages, splendidly equipped, to bear away the principal performers when the performance was over. There an enormous white marble bath, as large as an ordinary-sized saloon, was prepared for such of the ladies as, in the summer, chose to bathe on their arrival. There a splendid supper was laid out, of which the fair bathers and many of the pleasure-seekers of the day partook; and, besides every luxury of the culinary art, prepared by the best cooks in Paris, each lady received a donation of fifty louis, and the one fortunate enough to attract the especial notice of the wealthy host a large sum of money. Mademoiselle Georges, the celebrated tragedian of that day, cost him, as he was fond of relating, a large sum of money. He had invited her to sup with him at his villa; but the very day she was to come, a note informed him that she was compelled to give up the pleasure of supping with him, as the Emperor Napoleon had given her a rendezvous for the same time, which she dared not refuse. Ouvrard was furious at thiscontretemps, and he could not bear to yield thepastole petit Bonaparte, whom he had known as a young captain of artillery, too happy to be invited to his house in the days of the Directory; and under this feeling, with a hint to the lady that she would find 100,000 francs served up at supper, he prevailed on the actress to give the emperor the slip. The following day the great financier received a summons forthwith to appear at the Tuileries, and was ushered into the emperor’s presence. After walking once or twice up and down the room, the great man turnedsharp round on his unwilling guest, and, with his eagle eye riveted on Ouvrard’s face, sternly demanded, “Monsieur, how much did you make by your contract for the army at the beginning of the year?” The capitalist knew it was vain to equivocate, and replied, “4,000,000 francs, sire.” “Then, sir, you made too much; so pay immediately 2,000,000 francs into the treasury.” And Ouvrard, says old Captain Gronow, who tells the story, immediately did—much, probably, to his vexation and disgust.
Before the French Revolution, the largest fortunes in France were possessed by the farmers of the revenue, orfermiers généraux. Their profits were enormous, and their probity was very doubtful. It is related, that one evening at Ferney, when the company were telling stories of robbers, they asked their host, Voltaire, for one on the same subject. The great man, taking up his flat candlestick, as when about to retire, began—“There was once upon a time afermier général—I have forgotten the rest.”
In the Bagot will case we see another illustration of the way in which money is made, and the dissipation and extravagance to which it leads. Mr. Bagot, a colonial adventurer, returned to Ireland with the reputation of enormous wealth, and married the daughter of a baronet. Paralysed as he was, a son was born to him, which he disowned. The Bagot case ended in a verdict setting aside the late Mr. Bagot’s will, and disinheriting the infant son, and thus Mrs. Bagot was in a measure legally rehabilitated. The disclosures at the trial, however, revealed a panorama of years of extravagance, folly, and riot, which is, we trust, exceptional. The whole story of the Australian millionaire, Mr. Bagot, is fraught with details that can only disgust; and it would have been much better if the public had been spared recitals which, however entertaining to frivolous persons, can hardly serve any good purpose by the extraordinary publicity they have now gained. Should a new trial take place, a good deal of the money must pass into the lawyers’ hands.
Not long ago the death was announced of M. Basilewski, the Rothschild of Russia, which took place at St. Petersburg, at the age of ninety-two. The deceased, who was the father of Princess Souvaroff, was the owner of gold mines in Siberia, which have already produced for him more than 100,000,000 of francs.
In America, even literary men, if they have luck, make money. It is reported of “Josh Billings” (Henry W. Shaw) that he made more money than almost any American author by persistent working of his peculiar vein of humour. Some years he got as much as 4,000 dollars from a weekly newspaper for exclusive contributions: he made 5,000 or 6,000 dollars by lecturing, and had a profit from his almanack of 8,000 or 9,000 dollars more—18,000 to 20,000 dollars per annum. That is five or six times as much as Emerson, Hawthorne, Lowell, or Holmes had ever made.
One of the most marvellous careers in London is that of Baron Grant, who commenced his city life as a clerk in a wine-merchant’s office in Mark Lane, and whose capacity in the way of “financing” and “promoting public companies” appears to have been unrivalled. Of course he made himself many enemies; but that is the way of the world. The men who are the first to fling stones at a successful rival, and to call him hard names, are the men who morally have no claim to be censors on the ground of higher principle or superior virtue. It is thus the unlucky ones revenge themselves on their luckier rivals. They are prone to hit a man when he is risen in the world. Nowhere is there more lack of charity, or more evil speaking of one another, than in the circles where Mammon is king, and where the great object of life is held to be the art of money-getting and money-making.
Letme, in this chapter, give the first place to Samuel Plimsoll, a man who, if he made money, spent it nobly, and deserved the peerage far more than many who have been elected to that honour—at any rate, from the time the Earl of Beaconsfield became Premier. He was down very low in the social scale, and it is thus he writes of his noble poverty and of his companions in misfortune, in that appeal on behalf of our seamen, which stirred up the community as with the voice of a trumpet, and actually forced parliament to legislate. “I don’t wish,” he writes, “to disparage the rich; but I think it may reasonably be doubted whether these qualities are so fully developed in them” (he had been writing of the honesty, of the strong aversion to idleness, of the generosity to one another in adversity, and of the splendid courage of the working classes); “for notwithstanding that not a few of them are not unacquainted with the claims, reasonable and unreasonable, of poor relations, these qualities are not in such constant exercise, and riches seem, in so many cases, to smother the manliness of their possessors, that their sympathies become not so much narrowed as, so to speak, stratified; they are reserved for the sufferings of their own class, and also the woes of those above them. They seldom tend downwards much, and they are far more likely to admire an act of high courage, like that of the engine-driver who saved his passengers lately from an awful collision by cool courage, than to admire the constantly-exercised fortitude and the tenderness which are the daily characteristics of a British workman’s life.
“You may doubt this. I should once have done so myself; but I have shared their lot; I have lived with them. For months and months I lived in one of the model lodging-houses,established mainly by the efforts of Lord Shaftesbury. There is one in Fetter Lane, another in Hatton Garden; and, indeed, they are scattered all over London. I went there simply because I could not afford a better lodging. I have had to make seven shillings and ninepence halfpenny (three shillings of which I paid for my lodging) last me a whole week, and did it. It is astonishing how little you can live on when you divest yourself of all fancied needs. I had plenty of good wheaten bread to eat all the week, and the half of a herring for a relish (less will do if you can’t afford half, for it is a splendid fish), and good coffee to drink; and I know how much, or rather how little, roast shoulder-of-mutton you can get for twopence for your Sunday’s dinner. Don’t suppose I went there from choice; I went from stern necessity (and this was promotion too), and I went with strong shrinking, with a sense of suffering great humiliation, regarding my being there as a thing to be kept carefully secret from all my old friends. In a word, I considered it only less degrading than spunging upon my friends, or borrowing what I saw no chance of ever being able to pay.
“Now, what did I see there? I found the workmen considerate for each other. I found that they would go out (those who were out of employment), day after day, and patiently trudge miles and miles seeking employment, returning, night after night, unsuccessful and dispirited. They would walk incredibly long distances to places where they heard of a job of work, and this not for a few days, but for very many days. And I have seen such a man sit down wearily by the fire (we had a common room for sitting, and cooking, and everything), with a hungry despondent look—he had not tasted food all day—and accosted by another scarcely less poor than himself, with—‘Here, mate, get this into thee,’ handing him, at the same time, a piece of bread and some cold meat, and afterwards some coffee; and adding, ‘Better luck to-morrow—keep up your pecker;’ and all this without any idea that they were practising the most splendid patience, fortitude, courage, and generosity I had ever seen. You would hear them talk of absent wife and children sometimes—there in a distant workhouse—trade was very bad then—with expressions of affection, and the hope of seeing them again, although the one was irreverently alluded to as my old woman, and the latter as the kids. Ivery soon got rid of miserable self-pity there, and came to reflect that Dr. Livingstone would probably be thankful for good wheaten bread; and if the bed was of flock and hay, and the sheets of cotton, that better men than I in the Crimea (the war was then going on) would think themselves very lucky to have as good; and then, too, I began to reflect, that when you come to think of it, such as these men were, so were the vast majority of the working classes; that the idle and the drunken we see about public-houses, are but a small minority of them made to appear more—because public-houses are all put in such places; that the great bulk are at home; for the man who has to be up at six in the morning can’t stay up at night; he is in bed early, and is as I found my fellow inmates. * * * Well, it was impossible to indulge in self-pity in circumstances like these; and emulous of the genuine manhood all around me, I set to work again; for what might not be done with youth and health; and simply by preparing myself rather more thoroughly for my business than had previously been considered necessary, I was soon strong enough to live more in accordance with my previous life, and am now able to speak a true word for the genuine men I left behind, simply because my dear parents had given me greater advantages than these men had.” In this confession we see the secrets of Mr. Plimsoll’s ultimate success—the better education his parents had given him, and the courage infused into him by the example of men lower down in the social scale. Under these circumstances he again went to work, and the result was fame and fortune.
The great railway king, Mr. G. Hudson, was, for a time, a money-making M.P., who rose from the linendraper’s shop at York, to be the observed of all observers, the lion of the day, to whom, while his money lasted, the oldest and the proudest aristocracy in the world stood cap in hand. Alas! however, he outlived his wealth. It took to itself wings, and flew away.
The mother of Joseph Hume, M.P., kept a small crockery shop at Montrose; and yet her son went out to India, made a large fortune, and came back to his native land to be a distinguished member of parliament, and a leader in political and economical reform.
Mr. I. Holden, when M.P. for the eastern division of the West Riding of Yorkshire, told a large meeting of the electors at Leeds about his earlier years. “I began life,” he said,“as an operative. I was a worker in a cotton-mill, and when I had worked fourteen hours a-day, I spent two in the evening school. I educated myself by that means till I was able to continue my education by assisting in the education of others; and I sometimes remember with intense emotion, entering, upon a stage-coach, the town of Leeds, unknown, and a perfect stranger, at twenty years of age, in order to be the mathematical master in one of the first schools then in Yorkshire, and almost one of the first in England. I spent many happy months in the town of Leeds.” When he began to take an interest in politics, he watched the course of the two great parties on the subject of Catholic emancipation and the emancipation of the slaves, and became a Liberal.
Edward Baines, who became M.P. for Leeds, and the proprietor of one of the most valuable newspaper properties in the kingdom, theLeeds Mercury, set off to make his fortune in 1793. His son writes:—“There was at that time no public conveyance on the direct route from Preston to Leeds, and the journey by coach, through Manchester, would have occupied two days. The frugal apprentice, stout of heart and limb, performed the journey on foot, with his bundle on his arm. A friend accompanied him to Clithero; but he crossed the hill into Yorkshire with no companion but his staff, and all his worldly wealth in his pocket. Wayworn he entered the town of Leeds, and, finding the shop of Messrs. Binns and Brown, he inquired if they had room for an apprentice to finish his time. The stranger was carelessly referred to the foreman; and, as he entered theMercuryoffice, he internally resolved that, if he should obtain admission there, he would never leave it.” And he kept his word. A man does what he wills. To succeed in life—to be even a rich man or an M.P.—is mainly the result of the effort of the indomitable will of a resolute and persevering man.
Mr. Baines succeeded because his maxim was, that what was worth doing, was worth doing well. “He laid the foundations of future success,” writes his son, “as a master, in the thorough knowledge and performance of the duties of a workman. Whilst still receiving weekly wages, he practised a prudent economy. He was anxious to improve his condition, and he took the only effectual means to do it by saving as much as he could of the fruits of his industry. His tastes were simple, his habits strictly temperate, and his companionshipsvirtuous. Always maintaining respectability of appearance, he was superior to personal display. He lodged with a worthy family; but on a scale of expense suited to his circumstances.” An early marriage seems to have increased his business energy. “At five o’clock in the morning, and, when occasion required, at four or three, was the young printer out of bed; and whatever neighbour rose early was sure to find him in his office. He was above no kind of work that belonged to his trade. He not only directed others, but worked himself at case and press. He kept his own books, and they still remain to attest the regularity and neatness with which he kept them, though he had no training in that department. Not a penny went or came but had its record, either in his office or his domestic account-books. In consequence, he always knew the exact position of his affairs. His customers and friends steadily increased; for it was found that he was to be depended upon for whatever he undertook. With a spirit that stooped to no meanness, but with a nature that cheerfully yielded all respect and courtesy; with a temper as steady as it was sanguine and happy; with constant prudence and unfailing attention to duty, he won the confidence of every one that knew him. His punctuality and method were exemplary; he conducted his business, in all respects, in the best way. He not only took any employment for his press, however humble, that came, but he devised and suggested publications, and joined others in executing them. But,” adds the son, “it was necessary that energy in business should be seconded by economy at home. He began by laying down the rule that he would not spend more than half his income; and he acted upon it. Great was his resolution, and many the contrivances to carry out his purpose; but husband and wife being of the same mind, assiduous and equally prudent, the thing was done. For some time they kept but one servant. A main secret of his frugality was, that he created no artificial wants. He always drank water. He never smoked, justly thinking it a waste of time and money to gratify a taste which does not exist naturally, but has to be formed. He took no snuff. Neither tavern nor theatre saw his face. The circle of his visiting acquaintance was small and select. Yet he was not an earth-worm. He took an active part in the Benevolent or Strangers’ Friend Society, and was a man of public spirit. The pure joys of domesticlife, the pleasures of industry, and the satisfaction of doing good, combined to make him as happy as he was useful.”
Thus it will be seen that the foundation of Mr. Baines’s success in life, and of his eminent usefulness, was laid in those homely virtues which are too often despised by the young and ardent, but which are of incomparably greater value than the most shining qualities—in integrity, industry, perseverance, prudence, frugality, temperance, self-denial, and courtesy. The young man who would use his harvest must plough with his heifer.
If there is a passage in all his life of which his descendants are and ought to be most proud, it is that lowly commencement, when virtuous habits were formed; when the temptations of youth were resisted; when life-long friendships were won; when domestic life began in love, and piety, and prudence; when a venerable neighbour, Mr. Abraham Dickinson, used to remark, “Those young people are sure to get on, they are so industrious;” and when the same good man said to a young friend at his elbow—“C—, thou seest an example in thy neighbour Edward.”
“All’s well that ends well,” says the proverb. It is true; yet it is also of immense importance to begin well. Mr. Baines, some years since, was watching an apprentice, whose habits were not steady, fold up a newspaper. At the first fold there was a wrinkle, and at every succeeding fold the wrinkle grew worse, and more unmanageable. Mr. Baines said significantly to the lad—“Jim, its a bad thing to begin wrongly.” The poor fellow found it so; for he soon fell a victim to his vices. His master had begun right, and every succeeding fold in life was easy and straight. The lesson is worth remembering.
Another illustration of money-making is to be found in the case of William James Chaplin, a native of Rochester, in Kent, whose history affords a remarkable example of the way in which a man rises from the humblest ranks, by talent and energy, to a place amongst the most influential and wealthy men of the day. Before railways were in operation, Mr. Chaplin had succeeded in becoming one of the largest coach proprietors in the kingdom. His establishment grew from small beginnings, until, just before the opening of the London and North-Western Railway, he was proprietor of sixty-four stage-coaches, worked by 1,500 horses, and returningyearly more than a million sterling. A man who could build up such a business was not likely to let it sink under him; and, accordingly, we find that he moved his large capital from four-horse coaches into railway shares, and entered largely in foreign railways, especially in France and Holland. His greatest stake, however, was invested in the London and South-Western, of which he became director, and afterwards chairman. In 1845, he was Sheriff of London, when he took some pains to promote prison reform; and, in 1847, was elected M.P. for Salisbury, as a supporter of free trade and the ballot. He was also a deputy-lieutenant of the county of Hants.
One of the most remarkable careers was that of Mr. Lindsay, M.P., who was a native of Ayre, in Scotland, where he was born in 1816, and left an orphan at six. When only fifteen years of age he commenced his career, leaving home with three shillings and sixpence in his pocket, to push his way as a sea-boy. He worked his way to Liverpool by trimming coals in the coal-hole of a steamer. Arrived in that great commercial emporium, he found himself friendless and destitute, and seven long weeks passed before he was able to find employment, four of which were spent in such utter destitution that he was reduced to the necessity of sleeping in the streets and sheds of Liverpool, often eating nothing but what he begged for. At length he was fortunate enough to be engaged in theIsabella, a West Indiaman; and such were the hardships to which the cabin-boy of that day was subjected, that, at times, it might almost be questioned whether the change was for the better. But William Lindsay was not a lad to be discouraged by hardships. Pressing steadily onward, in 1834, three years after he had first joined the ship in the humblest capacity, he was appointed to the position of second mate; but even when fortune had begun to smile upon him, her face was not altogether unclouded; for in the same year he was shipwrecked, and had both legs and one arm broken. The following year he was promoted to be chief mate; and in 1836, in his nineteenth year, he was appointed to the command of theOlive Branch, which seems, however, so to have belied her name, that, being in the Persian Gulf in 1839, in a hostile encounter, her commander was cut down by a sabre-stroke across the breast, he at the same time killing his assailant by a pistol-shot.The following year Mr. Lindsay retired from the sea, and, in 1841, was appointed agent for the Castle-Eden Coal Company. He was mainly instrumental in getting Hartlepool made an independent port, and rendered material assistance in the establishment of its docks and wharves. In 1845, he removed to London, and laid the foundation of that extensive business which now entitles him to recognition as one of the “merchant princes” of the metropolis. Nor, amid all the bustle and occupation of a busy life, did Mr. Lindsay lose sight of his mental improvement. Devoting his spare evening hours, which thousands waste in idleness or dissipation, to self-instruction, he speedily overcame the defects of his early education, and stored his mind with a variety of sound information, which has been of essential service to him in his subsequent career. In proof how profitably he employed these hours of study, it may be stated that he has published various pamphlets and letters on questions connected with the shipping interest, in which he himself holds so large a stake; as well as a more important work, entitled “Our Navigation and Mercantile Marine Laws.” No sooner was his position as one of the largest shipowners and shipbrokers in the kingdom achieved, than he resolved to get into parliament. He contested Monmouth in April, and Dartmouth in July, 1852, in both of which he was beaten by aristocratic influence, and the unsparing use of other means of corruption. Undaunted by these defeats, and determined to succeed at last, even if twenty times defeated, and to succeed, too, by purity and principle alone, he became a candidate for Tynemouth in March, 1854, and, after a severe struggle, was elected by a narrow majority of seventeen. In 1857, he was again elected without opposition. When engaged in the contest at Dartmouth, Mr. Lindsay gave the electors an account of his career and his commercial position, which shows, in a striking light, the magnitude of the operations of a large mercantile establishment. He then, it appeared, owned twenty-two large first-class ships; and, as an underwriter, he had, in his individual capacity, during the past year, insured risks to the amount of £2,800,000. In the conduct of their extensive export trade, the firm of W. S. Lindsay and Co., of Austin Friars, ship and insurance brokers, of which he is the head, had, during the same year, chartered 700 ships to all parts of the world, but principallyin India and the Mediterranean, and, as contractors, had shipped 100,000 tons of coals, and 150,000 tons of iron; whilst, as brokers, during the year of famine, their operations extended to 1,000,000 quarters of grain. Mr. Lindsay took part in the formation of the Administrative Reform Association; and being present at the initiatory meeting at the London Tavern, proposed one of the resolutions in an amusing speech, in which he detailed his experiences connected with the subject, both at home and abroad. In the hot debates, occasioned by neglect and maladministration, on the Crimean war, he became quite a man of mark in the House of Commons. And after his retirement from parliament, he published a valuable and expensive book on the “History of Shipping and British Commerce.”
In connection with this subject must also be mentioned the respected name of Mr. Brotherton, who used often to tell the House of the time when he himself had been a poor factory lad, but who died wealthy and universally lamented.
Sir Samuel Morton Peto, the constructor of many of the greatest engineering works in the country, and who for many years represented Norwich in parliament, worked for seven years as a bricklayer, carpenter, and mason, under his uncle, Mr. Henry Peto.
Sir Francis Crossley, M.P., also was born in very humble circumstances, and acquired the enormous wealth of which he became possessed by his own energy and enterprise. Halifax, which he represented in parliament, and where his manufactory was situated, bore witness to his liberality.
Another M.P. who sprung from the ranks was Mr. Joseph Cowen, who represented—as his son still represents—Newcastle-on-Tyne. Such was his integrity, and patriotism, and perseverance, that no man was more respected in parliament or out. Crowned with grey hairs, his tall, muscular frame, and big head, denoted a more than average amount of physical and mental strength. As a member of parliament, he was noted for the regularity of his attendance. In this respect he was unrivalled.
I have already written that the late Mr. Herbert Ingram, M.P., blacked the shoes of one of his constituents. He was born at Boston, in Lincolnshire, and was then apprenticed to one of his constituents. After completing the terms of his indenture, Mr. Ingram moved to Nottingham, where he carriedon business as printer, bookseller, and news-agent. Whilst a newsvendor, he displayed, in a remarkable degree, that industry and perseverance for which he became distinguished in after-life. Two instances of his extraordinary attention to business may be cited. There was, amongst his customers, a gentleman who wanted his news very early, and Mr. Ingram, anxious that the gentleman should not be disappointed, walked five miles, and of course five miles back, to serve a single customer. On one occasion he got up at five in the morning, and travelled to London to get some copies of a paper because there was no post to bring them, and being determined that his customers should have the news. His industry had its reward, for he sold above 1,000 copies of that paper in Nottingham; and it was from his experience as a newsvendor, and in the sale of metropolitan prints, that he thought of the speculation which was destined to make his fortune. He used to notice that a very bad wood-cut in an old number of a newspaper would make it sell; and it occurred to him, that if he had a number of good engravings, and put them in a paper, they would be likely to make it sell. Accordingly, in May, 1842, an experiment was resolved on, and the first number of theIllustrated Newsmade its appearance. His success was immense; but he had learned the secret of it from his experience in the humble and laborious calling of a newspaper vendor. Indeed, the very title of the new journal was suggested by the fact that the most illiterate of his customers had been in the habit of coming to ask him for the London news: they did not care what he sold them so long as he gave them the London news; and he wisely came to the conclusion, as that name suited the poorest class, it would suit all classes; and thus his sagacity reaped a rich reward, and he became a famous as well as a wealthy man. It is thus the House of Commons has become enriched by the brains of some of the most successful money-makers of their time.
In1825, a country lad arrived in London on the day before Good Friday. As he was born in 1806, he was about twenty years of age. He had served his apprenticeship with a linendraper at Wigton, where his master did not prosper, and the young man determined to come to London in search of a fortune. It was a wearisome ride then from Carlisle to London, and took the coaches at least a couple of days; but it is a long journey that has no end to it. In due time the coach reached the “Swan with Two Necks,” in Lad Lane, Wood Street, and, after paying the coachman, the young man from the country took up his residence at the “Magpie and Platter.” As may be supposed, he felt rather lonely, and did not know what to do with himself. He was too much fatigued, besides, to look after a situation; so on Good Friday, as he knew the Cumberland men held their annual wrestling match on that day, he made his way to Chelsea to observe the sports. When he arrived there he found a young Quaker friend from Torpenbow, who had won the belt at Keswick a few years before. The new-comer, inspired by the event, entered his name as a wrestler. He was described by some, who were present on the occasion, “as very strong-looking, middle-sized, with a broad chest, and strongly-developed muscles;” his hair was dark and curly, and almost black; his eyes were brown, and glowed under excitement to a deeper brown; his face was redolent of health. The new-comer “peeled” and stepped into the ring. The first man he came against was a little bigger than himself; but he threw him so cleverly, that the questions were asked on every side—“Who’s that?” “Where does he come from?” “What’s his name?” His name was soon known; and as he wrestled again, and threw his man, he was hailed with cries of, “Weel done.” Again he succeeded; and thoughbeaten at length by a noted champion wrestler from Cumberland, the young man from the country was hailed as the winner of the third prize. His name was George Moore, and it was thus he made hisdébûtin London in the year 1825. It is needless to say that he was recognised by his countrymen, and treated to drink. It was the wish that he should have another wrestling bout, and wagers were made on the subject; but to the credit of George Moore it must be stated, that when he saw some of the lads around him were taking more drink than was good for them, he made up his mind not to wrestle in the proposed match, and left his admirers indignant at his decision.
On his return, Moore learned that the inn—indeed, the very bed in which he had slept—had become notorious; for Thurtell, the well-known murderer, had been taken from it by the police some time before. Moore was horror-struck, and determined to seek fresh lodgings. He was fortunate in finding very suitable ones in Wood Street, and thence he set out to find a situation. It was hard work the search. People laughed at his north-country accent, and rustic air and clothes. In one day he entered as many as thirty linendrapers’ shops. “The keenest cut of all I got,” Moore used to say, “was from Mr. Charles Meeking, of Holborn. He asked me if I wanted a porter’s situation. This almost broke my heart.” Fortunately, Mr. Ray, of Flint, Ray, and Co., had heard of the arrival of the Cumberland lad; indeed, he had been looking out for him, and he offered Moore £30 a-year, which the latter gratefully accepted. At that time Moore gave no promise of being worth much more. His first appearance is thus described:—“On incidentally looking over to the haberdashery counter, I saw an uncouth, thick-set country lad, standing crying. In a minute or two a large deal chest, such as the Scotch servant-lasses use for their clothes, was brought in by a man and set down on the floor. After the lad had dried up his tears, the box was carried up-stairs to the bedroom where he was to sleep. After he had come down-stairs he began working, and he continued to be the hardest worker in the house until he left.”
The Moore family were not penniless. George Moore was not one of the men who came to London with half-a-crown, and with that half-a-crown swell out into Rothschilds. His father was a man of ancient descent, though of moderatemeans, and was one of the old Cumberland statesmen—a race of landed proprietors unfortunately fast vanishing away. His godfather left him a legacy of £100, and a hair-trunk studded with nails. His mother, who was a statesman’s daughter, died when he was six years old. At eight the boy was sent to school. The master was drunken and brutal, and naturally the school was unattractive. Under a new master, however, the lad did better. When twelve, his father sent him to a finishing school at Blennerhasset, and he remained there for a quarter, at an expense of eight shillings. “The master,” he adds, “was a good writer, and a superior man—indeed, a sort of genius. For the first time I felt that there was some use in learning, and then I began to feel how ignorant I was. However, I never swerved from my resolve to go away from home. I had no tastes in common with my brother. I felt that I could not hang about half idle, with no better prospect before me than of being a farm servant. So I determined that I would leave home at thirteen, and fight the battle of life for myself.” It was while an apprentice that this feeling strengthened and matured. Card-playing had been to him a snare; but he conquered the temptation, and became all the better for the struggle with inclination, which appears to have been sharp and severe.
But let us return to Moore’s London life. After he had been six months at Grafton House, one day Moore observed a bright little girl come tripping into the warehouse, accompanied by her mother. “Who are they?” he asked. “Why, don’t you know?” was the reply. “That’s the governor’s wife and daughter.” “Well,” said George, “if ever I marry, that girl shall be my wife;” and he kept his word.
In 1826, somewhat disgusted with the retail trade (especially as, owing to a mistake of his own, his integrity had been called in question by one of the customers, a lady of title), Moore entered the house of Fisher, Stroud, and Robinson, Watling Street, then the first lace-house in the City of London. His salary was to be £40 a-year, and he wrote word to his father that he was now a made man. How came this to be so? In the first place, Moore had earned a good character at Grafton House; and, secondly, Mr. Fisher, the head of the lace-house, was a Cumberland man. Provincial ties were stronger half a century back in London than they are now; but be that as it may, Moore had much to learn inhis new place. He was inaccurate—he lacked briskness and promptitude. Mr. Fisher blamed his stupidity; he said he had seen many a stupid blockhead from Cumberland, but that he was the greatest of them all. This censure seems to have done Moore good. He set about educating himself. He was so ashamed of his ignorance, that he actually went into a night-school. It was at Fisher’s that Moore met with Mr. Crampton, afterwards his partner. The latter writes—“We became close companions. His friends were my friends, and so intimate were we, that I seemed to merge into a Cumberland lad. George was very patriotic. All our friends were Cumberlanders; and though I was a Yorkshireman, I was almost induced to feign that I was Cumberland too. I was gayer than he, and he never failed to tell me of my faults. He was a strong, round-shouldered fellow. He was very cheerful and very willing. He worked hard, and seemed to be bent on improvement; but in other respects he did not strike me as anything remarkable. Among the amusements which we attended together were the wrestling matches at St. John’s Wood. The principal match was held on Good Friday. One day we went to the wrestling-field, and George entered his name. The competitors drew lots. George’s antagonist was a Life-Guardsman, over six feet high. I think I see Moore’s smile now as he stood opposite the giant. The giant smiled too. Then they went at itgat hod, and George was soon gently laid on his back. By this time he was out of practice, and I don’t think he ever wrestled again. Besides, he was soon so full of work as to have little time for amusement.”
After this Mr. Moore became traveller to the firm, and excelled, not only in increasing the business of his employers, but in the shortness of time in which he performed his journeys. He used afterwards to remark, that it was the best testing-work for a young man before his promotion to places of greater trust. At the inns which he frequented he was regarded as a sort of hero. To show the energy with which he carried on his business, it may be mentioned that on one occasion he arrived in Manchester, and after unpacking his goods, he called upon his first customer. He was informed that one of his opponents had reached the town the day before, and would remain there for a day or two more. “Then,” said Moore, “it is no use wasting my time with mycompetitor before me.” He returned to his hotel, called some of his friends about him to help him repack his stock, drove off to Liverpool, commenced business next day, and secured the greater part of the orders before the arrival of his opponent. It was while travelling in Ireland that Moore met Groucock, then travelling for a rival firm. They had a keen fight for trade, and Moore succeeded in regaining a good deal of it for his own firm. Groucock, convinced of Moore’s value, offered him £500 a-year (he was only getting £150 from Fisher) to travel for his firm. Moore’s reply was, “I will be a servant for no other house than Fisher’s; the only condition on which I will leave him is a partnership.” At length Groucock gave way; and in 1830, at the age of twenty-three, Moore entered as partner in the firm of Groucock, Copestake, and Moore. The firm was originally established in 1825, and their first place of business was over a trunk-shop at No. 7, Cheapside. In 1834, the firm removed to Bow Churchyard. The capital contributed by George Moore was £670, supplied him by his father. His line was to travel for the firm, which he did with increased assiduity. Frequently he was up two nights in the week.
There are many amusing stories told of the way in which Moore got his orders. A draper in a Lancashire town refused to deal with him. The travellers at the hotel bet him five pounds that he could not get an order, and Moore started off. When the draper saw him entering the shop, he cried out, “All full, all full, Mr. Moore; I told you so before!” “Never mind,” said George, “you won’t object to a crack?” “Oh, no,” said the draper. They cracked about many things, and then George Moore, calling the draper’s attention to a new coat which he wore, asked what he thought of it? “It is a capital coat,” said the draper. “Yes; made in the best style, by a first-rate London tailor.” The draper looked at it again, and again admired it. “Why,” said George, “you are exactly my size; it’s quite new; I’ll sell it you.” “What’s the price?” “Twenty-five shillings.” “What? That’s very cheap.” “Yes, it’s a great bargain.” “Then I’ll buy it,” said the draper. George went back to his hotel, donned another suit, and sent the great bargain to the draper. George again calling, the draper offered to pay him. “No,” said George, “I’ll book it; you’ve opened an account.” Mr. Moore had sold the coat at a loss, but he was recouped by the£5 bet which he won, and he obtained an order besides. The draper afterwards became one of his best customers.
On another occasion, a draper at Newcastle-upon-Tyne was always called upon, many times without a result. He was always full; in fact, he had no intention of opening an account with the new firm. Mr. Moore got to know that he was fond of a particular kind of snuff—rappee, with a touch of beggar’s brown in it. He provided himself with a box in London, and had it filled with the snuff. When at Newcastle he called upon the draper, but was met, as usual, with the remark, “Quite full, quite full, sir.” “Well,” said Mr. Moore, “I scarcely expected an order, but I called upon you for a reference.” “Oh, by all means.” In the course of conversation George took out his snuff-box, took a pinch, and put if in his pocket. After a short interval he took it out again, took another pinch, and said, “I suppose you are not guilty of this bad habit?” “Sometimes,” said the draper. George handed him the box; he took a pinch with zest, and said through the snuff, “Well, that’s very fine.” George had him now. He said, “Let me present you with the box; I have plenty more.” The draper accepted the box; no order was asked, but the next time George called upon him he got his first order. No wonder Moore succeeded; and it was well he did. Times were bad; and it was his opinion, that had he been laid up for three months the firm would have stopped payment. At the end of three years Moore was made equal as a partner with the rest.
In 1840, after one refusal, Moore led his first love to the altar; and in 1841 he partially abandoned travelling; but the change from travelling to office-work at first materially told upon his health. To remedy this he took to fox-hunting, and went to America, partly on business and partly on pleasure. One of the results of his visit to the great republic, was the establishment of a branch of the firm at Nottingham, and the erection of a lace factory in that town. After this he became a director of the Commercial Travellers’ Benevolent Institution, and one of the most ardent supporters of the Cumberland Benevolent Society, and of the Commercial Travellers’ Schools. From the first he was the treasurer of the latter institution. His partners were glad to see him thus employed. They called them his safety-valves. His holidays were spent in Cumberland, a countyfor which his love was strong till the last, and to the schools of which he was ever a liberal contributor. Indeed, educational reform in that county may be said to be almost entirely due to him. In 1852, Mr. Moore was nominated by the Lord Mayor of London as Sheriff; but his time was so occupied that he paid the fine of £400 rather than serve. For the same reason, also, he declined to be an alderman, though twice pressed to fill that honourable post. He said, “I once thought that to be Sheriff of London, or Lord Mayor, would have been the height of my ambition; but now I have neither ambition nor the inclination to serve in either office. To men who have not gained a mercantile position, corporation honours are much sought after; but to those who have acquired a prominent place in commerce, such honours are not appreciated. At the same time, I am bound to say that I have always received the most marked courtesy and consideration from the corporation, even although I did not feel inclined to join it.” Dr. Smiles reprints this without note or comment; but surely it betrays a spirit not to be commended. Great city merchants might well be proud to serve in such a corporation as that of London, not as a stepping-stone for themselves, but as an honour of which the proudest may well be proud. As regards parliament, that is another matter. Mr. Moore always refused to be a candidate for parliamentary honours, on the plea that parliament should be composed of the best, wisest, and most highly educated men in the country. In this respect it is to be regretted that a large number of M.P.’s are not of Mr. Moore’s way of thinking. In politics it may be mentioned that Mr. Moore was a Moderate-Liberal, and a strong Free-Trader from the very first. He was an ardent admirer of Lord John Russell, and had much to do with his return for the City in 1857.
In 1854, Mr. Moore removed to his mansion in Kensington Palace Gardens. “Although,” he writes, “I had built the house at the solicitation of Mrs. Moore, I was mortified at my extravagance, and thought it both wicked and aggrandising, mere ostentation and vain show to build such a house. It was long before I felt at home in it, nor did it at all add to our happiness. I felt that I had acted foolishly. But, strange to say, a gentleman offered to take the house off my hands, and to give me 3,000 guineas profit. I made up my mind to accept this offer; but my dear wife had takensuch an interest in the house that we could not decide to sell it.” He accordingly declined the offer. But the house-warming was at any rate characteristic. He determined that the young men and women should be the first guests, and accordingly they were, to the number of 300. A second ball was given to all the porters and their wives, the drivers, and the female servants, to the number of about 200. Afterwards they had, at different times, about 800 of their friends and acquaintances to dinner. But this was abandoned. “Happiness,” wrote Mr. Moore, “does not flow in such a channel. Promiscuous company takes one’s mind away from God and His dealings with men, and there is no lasting pleasure in the excitement.” Mrs. Moore did not long enjoy her new home; she died in 1858. At that time Mr. Moore had become a decidedly religious man. He had a serious illness in 1850, which seems to have had great effect, and more than ever he gave himself up to philanthropic work—such as aiding in the establishment of a Reformatory for Discharged Prisoners, of the Royal Hospital for Incurables, of the London General Porters’ Benevolent Association, and the Warehousemen and Clerks’ School, &c., &c. At Kilburn he said, “If the world only knew half the happiness that a man has in doing good, he would do a great deal more.” George Moore lived under the increasing consciousness of this every year. He wrote in his pocket-book:—
“What I spent I had,What I saved I lost,What I gave I have.”
“What I spent I had,What I saved I lost,What I gave I have.”
At this time, Mr. Moore seems to have made special efforts for the spiritual improvement of the young men and women in his employment in London, and to have retained the services of the Rev. Thomas Richardson as chaplain. And then, as was natural, his thoughts reverted to his native county of Cumberland, for which already he had done so much, and for which he felt inclined to do much more on his becoming the purchaser of the Whitehall estate, very near the parish of Mealsgate, in which he was born.
Mr. Moore was a great beggar as well as a great giver. With his friends he was often very abrupt. When he entered their offices they knew what he was about—they saw it in his face. “What is it now, Mr. Moore?” “Well, I amon a begging expedition.” “Oh, I knew that very well. What is it?” “It’s for the Royal Free Hospital, an hospital free to all without any letters of recommendation; I want twenty guineas.” “It is a large sum.” “Well, it is the sum I have set down for you to give; you must help me. Look sharp!” The cheque was got, and away he started on a fresh expedition. Sometimes, however, he met with rebuff after rebuff from men rolling in wealth, who had never given a farthing to a charitable institution. This sickened him for the day. However, he would say, “I must not be discouraged. I am doing Christ’s work.” In another way Mr. Moore was specially helpful. He was the constant resort of young men wanting situations. If he could not provide for them in his own warehouse, he endeavoured to find situations for them among his friends. He took no end of trouble about this business. After his young friends had obtained situations he continued to look after them. He took down their names and addresses in a special red book kept for the purpose, and repeatedly asked them to dine with him on Sunday afternoons. He usually requested that they should go to some church or chapel in the evening. In his diary are repeatedly such entries as the following; “Dined twenty-two of the boys that I had got situations for, besides the people that were staying in the house. I never forget that I had none to invite me to their homes when I first came to London.” How much good such kindness did it is impossible to tell; for the want of it many a young man in the City goes to the bad.
Mr. Moore’s second marriage, in 1881, seems rather to have increased than diminished his philanthropic zeal. A wedding trip of two months in Italy and elsewhere was but a brief interval of holiday, to be followed by still harder work in the cause of his Lord and Master; and then came an illness which rendered necessary for him more rest of brain and more healthy exercise for his body. In his knowledge of London he was unrivalled. He knew it by night as well as by day. Many a time he went down to St. George’s in the East and to Wapping to look after the poor. He accompanied the City missionaries into the lowest dens; and as he felt that the only way of reformation was to get at the children, we cannot be surprised to learn that in 1866 he became treasurer of the Field Lane Ragged School, an institutionat that time sorely in need of pecuniary help. But his happiest days were those he spent at his Border tower at Cumberland. There the house was always full of visitors, and there the poor were equally welcome as the rich. There also, he loved to act the part of a distinguished agriculturist and to preside at cattle shows. His guests were very varied, and included bishops, Scripture-readers, warehousemen, farmers, City missionaries, Sunday-school children, pensioners, and statesmen. He rejoiced in hunting; but all the while he looked after the homes of the poor, and battled with the immorality which exists quite as much in the country as in town.