TIu Life of William Hutton, of Birmingham. 



632 



pcared first, uncroivded with liouses, (for 

 tliere were none to the north, New Hall 

 excepted,) untarnished with smoke, and 

 illumiuHtcd with a western sun. Jt ap. 

 pearcd in all the pride of modern archi- 

 lecture. I vvas charmed with its beauty, 

 end thought it then, as I do now, the 

 credit of the place. 



I had never seen misre than five towns; 

 !Nottini;ham, Derby, Curtnn, Lichfield, 

 and Walsall. The last three I had not 

 known more than two days. The out. 

 fckirts of these, and, I supposed, of others, 

 were composed of wretched dwellings, 

 visibly stamped with dirt and poverty. 

 But the buildings in the exterior of Bir- 

 miiif^ham rose in a style of elegance. 

 Tliatch, so plentil'ul in other places, was 

 not to be met with in this. It did not 

 occur to my thoughts, that nine years 

 afier I should become a resident here. 

 And thirty-nine years after should write 

 in history ! 



I was surprized at the place, but more 

 at the people. They possessed a viva- 

 city I liad never bclieli!. I had been 

 Jimong dreamers, but now I saw men 

 nwake. Their very step along the street 

 shewed alacrity. Every man seemed to 

 know what he was about. The town 

 was lar^e, and full of inhabitants, and 

 these iiiliabitants full of industry. The 

 /aces of dtlier men seemed tinctured with 

 ar> idle gloom ; but here, with a pleasing 

 alertness. Their nppcarance was strong- 

 Ijr' maiked with the modes of civil life. 



Ilovv farconiaicrce influences the habits 

 of men is wonhy the pen of the philoso- 

 pher. Ihe weather was exfeoiely fine, 

 which gave a luitre to the whole; the 

 people seemed happy ; and 1 the only 

 animal out of use* 



There appeared to be three stocking- 

 loiikers in Birmingham. Evans, the old 

 Quaker, yet in being, was the principal, 

 1 asked him, with great humility, for em- 

 ploy ? "You are an apprentice." "Sir, 

 I am not, but am come with the recom- 

 meudation of your friend, iMr. Sucha-one, 

 of Walsall." «'Go about your business, 

 I tell you, you are a run-away 'prentice," 

 I retreated, sincerely w'shing I bad busi- 

 ness to go about. 



I waited upon Holmes, in Dale-end ; 

 St that moment a customer entering, he 

 gave me a penny to yet lid of me. 



The third was Fra7icis Grace, at the 

 gateway, entering New-street. This man 

 was a native ol Derby, and knew my 

 family. Fourteen years after, he be- 

 stowed upon me a valuable wife, his 

 Oiece ; and sixteen year3 after, be died. 



leaving me in possession of his premises 

 and fortune, paying some legacies. 



I made the same request to Mr. Grace 

 that I had done to others, and with the 

 same eft'ect. He asked after bis brother 

 at Derby. I answered readily, as if I 

 knew. One lie often produces a second. 

 He examined me closely; and, tltough a 

 man of no shining talents, quickly set me 

 fast. I was obliged to tell three or four 

 lies to patch up a lame tale, which I 

 plainly saw would hardly pass. 



I appeared a trembling stranger in that 

 house, over which, sixteen years after, I 

 should preside. I stood like a dejected 

 culprit by that counter, upon which, 

 thirty. eight years after, I should record 

 the story. I thought, though his name 

 was Grace, his heart was rugged ; and I 

 left the shop with this severe reflection, 

 that I had told several lies, and without 

 the least advantage. I am sorry to di- 

 gress, but must beg leave to break the 

 thread of my narrative while I make two 

 short remarks. 



I acquired a liigh character for honesty, 

 by stealing two sinllings ! Not altogether 

 because 1 took two out of ten, but because 

 I left the other eight. A thief is seldom 

 known to leave part of his booty. It' I 

 had had money, I should not have taken 

 any; and, if I liad found none, 1 should 

 not haie run away. The reader will 

 think that two shillings was a very mo- 

 derate sum to carry me to Ireland. 



Tlie other is, whether lying is not laud- 

 able? If I could have consented to tell 

 one lie to my uncle, I should not only 

 have saved my back, my character, and 

 my property, but also prevented about 

 ten lies which I was obliged to tell in the 

 course of the following week. But that 

 Supreme Being, who directs immensity, 

 whether he judges with an angry eye ac- 

 cording to some Christians, or with a 

 benign one, according toothers, will ever 

 distinguish between an act of necessity 

 and ail act of chiiice. 



It was now about seven in the even- 

 ing, Tuesday, July 14, 1741. I sat to 

 rest upon the north side of the Old Cross, 

 near Pmlipstreet; the poorest of ail the 

 poor belonging to that great parish, of 

 which, twenty-seven years after, I should 

 be overseer. I sat under that roof, a, 

 silent, oppressed object, where, thirty- 

 one years after, I should sit to determine 

 dirterences-between man and man. Why 

 did not some kind Agent comfort me with 

 the distant prospect? 



About ten yards from me, near the 

 corner of FJjilip-street, I perceived two 



uiei^ 



