Journal as a Pedlar, 1789-90
SEPT. 30.—This morning a sloop foundered a mile of the shore, in attempting to get into the harbour. The cries of her unhappy men alarmed the crew of a cutter lying at a small distance, who perceived two persons clinging by the mast. A boat was immediately sent off to their relief, but though she rowed several times round the wreck, could discover no appearance of man or boy. Sudden indeed are the transitions from time to eternity, yet awful and important the change! How happy, how unspeakably happy they, who are prepared for such a warning! Who through the jaws of death are received into never-ceasing joy and inconceivable delight! But alas! how deplorable the situation of those, who in such extremities, by the brittle thread of life, hang over an eternal world of woe! To them death stares in ten thousand despairing forms, to them death is unutterable horror, and to them how precious would be one hour, or one moment.
OCT. 1.—This being the day set apart for electing the magistrates of a neighbouring town, the whole council, consisting of a parcel of weavers, shoemakers, tailors, &c., assembled. After the election, they adjourned to a public-house to dine, where the jolly god Bacchus, or his representative, aquavitae, raised. such an uproar in their brains, that tables were levelled, chairs broken, bowls dashed to pieces, and stoups and glasses flew thro' the room with such rapidity, as threatened destruction to whatever they encountered; and one taylor, in particular, forgetting himself so much as to believe he was provost, began to exercise his authority in loud commands to silence, until he should address them. All his endeavours to obtain silence proving vain, he dealt the wand of justice around him with such mettle and impartiality, that roused to vengeance, the whole assembly began, like the Philistines of old, to cudgeling one another. Mars swelled the horrid scene, while Discord clapt her sooty wings over them. Broken heads, shins, and noses, brought many a one to the floor, where they weltered, if not among their own blood, among their own p—s, till sleep arrested the weary warriors in many a drowsy attitude.
OCT. 2.—I have this day, I believe, measured the height of a hundred stairs, and explored the recesses of twice that number of miserable habitations; and what have I gained by it? Only two shillings of worldly pelf, but an invaluable treasure of observation. In this elegant dome, wrapt up in glittering silks, and stretched on the downy sofa, recline the fair daughters of wealth and indolence. The ample mirror, flowery floor, and magnificent couch, their surrounding attendants, while suspended in his wiry habitation above, the shrill-pip'd canary warbles to enchanting echoes. Within the confines of that smoky hovel, hung round with squadrons of his brother artists, the pale-fac'd weaver plies the resounding lay, or launches the melancholy, murmuring shuttle. Lifting this simple latch, and stooping for entrance to the miserable hut, there sits Poverty and ever-moaning Disease, clothed in dunghill-rags, and ever shivering over the fireless chimney. Ascending this stair, the voice of joy bursts on my ear. The bridegroom and bride, surrounded by their jocund companions, circle the sparkling glass and humorous joke, or join in the raptures of the noisy dance, the squeaking fiddle breaking through the general uproar in sudden intervals, while the bounding floor groans beneath its unruly load. Leaving these happy mortals, and ushering into this silent mansion, a more solemn, a striking object presents itself to my view. The windows, the furniture, and every thing that could lend one cheerful thought, are hung in solemn white, and there, stretch'd pale and lifeless, lies the awful corpse; while a few weeping friends sit black and solitary near the breathless clay. In this other place, the fearless sons of Bacchus extend their brazen throats in shouts like bursting thunder, to the praise of their gorgeous chief. Opening this door, the lonely matron explores for consolation her Bible; and in this house the wife brawls, the children shriek, and the poor husband bids me depart, lest his termagant's fury should vent itself on me. In short, such an inconceivable variety occurs to my observation in real life, that would were they moralized upon, convey more maxims of wisdom, and give a juster knowledge of mankind, than whole volumes of lives and adventures, that perhaps never had a being, except in the prolific brains of their fantastic authors.
The foregoing Journal relates only to the collecting of subscribers; what follows is a short Narrative of the reception he afterwards met with from these gentlemen, and is inserted here to gratify the wishes of almost all the encouragers of this edition, to whom the Author returns his most sincere and grateful acknowledgments.