are possessed by so many of his fellow-creatures. Is he a shopkeeper
in some common line of business?--say a draper. Then let him
consider how easy it is to be a draper, and how simple are the
details of such a trade. While there are so many other drapers in
the same street, his going out of business would never be felt as an
inconvenience. He is perhaps not doing any real good to the public
at all, but only interloping with the already too small business of
those who were in 'the line' before him. Let him think of the many
hours he spends in idleness, or making mere appearances of business,
and ask if he is really doing any effective service to his
fellow-creatures by keeping a shop at all. It may be a hardship to
him to have failed in a good intention; but this cannot be helped.
He may succeed better in some other scheme. Let him quit this, and
try another, or set up in a place where there is what is called 'an
opening'--that is, where his services are required--the point
essential to his getting any reward for his work. We sometimes see
most wonderful efforts made by individuals in an overdone trade; for
example, those of a hatter, who feels that he must give mankind a
special direction to his shop, or die. Half-a-dozen tortoise-like
missionaries do nothing but walk about the streets from morning to
night, proclaiming from carapace and plastron,[1] that there are no
hats equal to those at No. 98 of such a street. A van like the
temple of Juggernauth parades about all day, propagating the same
faith. 'If you want a good hat,' exclaims a pathetic poster, 'try
No. 98.' As you walk along the street, a tiny bill is insinuated
into your hand, for no other purpose, as you learn on perusing it,
but to impress upon you the great truth, that there are no hats in
the world either so good or so cheap as those at No. 98. The same
dogma meets you in omnibuses, at railway platforms, and every other
place where it can be expected that mankind will pause for a moment,