Tke Life of William Uutton, of Birmingham. 



63$ 



man in aprons eye me with some atten- 

 tion. They approached near. "You 

 Jeeni," ssys one, *' by your melancholy 

 situation, and dusty shoes, a forlorn 

 traveller, without money, and without 

 friends." I assured him it was exactly 

 my case. " If you choose to accept of 

 a pint of ale, it is at your service. I 

 know what it is myself to be a distressed 

 traveDEr." "I shall receive any favour 

 with thankfulness." 



They took me to the Bell in Philip- 

 street, and gave me what bread, cheese, 

 and beer, 1 chose. They also procured 

 a lodging for me in the neigiibourhood, 

 wltere I slept for three half-pence. 



I did not meet with this treatment 

 twenty-nine years after, at Market Bos- 

 worth, thoujjh I appeared rather like a gen- 

 tleman. The inhabitants set their dogs 

 at nie merely because I was a stranger. 

 Surrounded with impassable roads, no 

 intercourse with man to humanize the 

 mind, no commerce to smooth their rug- 

 ged manners, they continue the boors 

 of nature. 



Wednesday, July 15. I could not pre- 

 vail with myself to leave Birmingham, 

 the seat of civility; but was determined 

 to endeavour to forget my misfortunes, 

 and myself, for one day, and talie a 

 nearer view of this happy abode of the 

 smiling arts. 



Thursday 16. I arrived early in the 

 day at Coventry, but could get no pros- 

 pect of employment. The streets seem- 

 ed narrow, ill paved; the Cross, a beau- 

 tiful little piece of architecture, but com- 

 posed of wretched materials. The city 

 was populous; the houses had a gloomy 

 air of' antiquity ; the upper story project- 

 ing over the lower, designed, no doubt, 

 by the architect, to answer two valuable 

 purposes ; those of shooting off the wet, 

 and shaking hands out of the garret win- 

 dows. But he forgot three evils arising 

 from this improvement of art; the stag- 

 nation of air, the dark rooms, and the 

 dirty streets. 



I slept at the Star Inn, not as a cham- 

 ber guest, but a hay-chnmber one. 



Friday If. 1 reached Nun-Eaton, 

 and found 1 had atiaiii entered the domi- 

 liions of sleep. That active spirit which 

 marks the commercial race, did nut ex- 

 ist here. Ttie inhabitants seemed to 

 creep along, as if afraid the street should 

 be seen einpty , However, they had sense 

 enough to ring the word 'prfinlice in my 

 ears, which 1 not only denied, but used 

 every figure in rhetoric I was master of, 

 to Ciitablihh my arKument; yet was not 

 able to persuade them out of their pene^ 



tration. They still called me a boy. I 

 thoughrit hard to perish because! cuuki 

 not convince people I was a man. E 

 left the place without a smile, and with- 

 out a dinner: perhaps it is not very apt 

 to produce either, I arrived at Hinck- 

 ley about four in the afternoon. The 

 first question usually put was, "Where 

 do you come from?" My constant an- 

 swer was, "Derby." There is a coun- 

 tryman of yours," said the person, '*in 

 such a street, his name is Millward.* 

 I applied, and found I liad been a neigh- 

 bour to his family. He also knew some- 

 thing of mine. He set up the snine 

 objection that others had done, and I 

 made the same successful reply. 



He set me to work till night, about 

 two hours, in which time I earned two- 

 pence. He then asked me into the 

 house, entered into conversation with 

 me, told nie he was certain I was a run- 

 away apprentice, and begged I would 

 inform him ingenuously. I replied with 

 tears that I was; and that an unlwppj 

 difference with my uncle was the cause 

 of my leaving his service. 



He said, if I w'ould set out on my re- 

 turn in the morning, I should be welcocne 

 to a bed that night. I told him that I 

 had no objection to the service of my 

 uncle, but tliat I could not submit to 

 any punishment; and if I were not re- 

 ceived upon equitable terms, I woiild 

 iinmtdiately return to my own liberty. 



He asked if I had any money ? ( anjwer- 

 ed " Enough to carry me home." He was 

 amazed, and threw out hints of crimina- 

 tion. I assured him he might rest satis- 

 fied upon that head, ior 1 liad brouglit 

 two shillings from Noitinghain. He ex-, 

 claimed with emotion, "Two shillings!" 

 This confirmed his suspicions. 



Wrapped in my own innocentje, I did 

 not think my honesty worth viiidicatiugj 

 ti'erefore, did not throw away one argu- 

 ment upon it. Truth is persuasive, and 

 will often make its way to the heaft, ia 

 its native simplicity, better than a vew- 

 nished lie. 



Extreme frugality, especially in the 

 prospect of distress, composes a part of 

 my character. 



Satuiday, the ISiIi, I thnnked my 

 friend Miliward for his kindness, rtcejvtd 

 nothing for my work, nor Ive for his (Civi- 

 lity, and we parted the friends of an iH>tff. 

 At noon I saw A^hbv-de-la-Zoucn. It 

 was market-day. 1 had eight-pence t«» 

 maining of my two shillings. My reader 

 will ask, with Miliward, " How 1 lived ^" 

 As he could not, P.iornlisls say, *' Ke«p 

 deixie low, and iiuime is saiiiitit^d wi^ 

 liuit." 



