Chapter xiii. A Few Years on the Road.

On the commercial demise of the firm of Reckless, Venture, and Bounce, three of the late warehousemen of of that defunct establishment received an intimation from their former employers that they might, if they chose, return to the old house. I happened to be one of the favored three. But my mind was now in that unsettled state that made any occupation seem preferable to that in hand. With a growing dislike to a warehouseman's life, yet with a keen sense of the income arising therefrom, I was just about to accept the offer of Fountain, Pillar, and Branch, when a more desirable one presented itself from another quarter. Although the new post tendered for my acceptance was a commercial one, and directly connected with that branch of commerce in which I had been engaged, the duties were not identical. Any change that would not involve a sacrifice, either of position or pay, would at this moment have proved grateful to the half-literary, half-scientific, and anti-commercial taste of Frank Foster.

I had often considered that the most desirable and independent post connected with commerce or commercial pursuits was that of provincial representative of any first-class establishment. An opportunity now occurred for personally page 213and practically testing my opinion. In the representation of the extensive and well-known house of Substance and Co., a vacancy had just taken place, and I was engaged to fill it. With a salary of three hundred a-year, an allowance of one guinea a-day for expenses, and an excellent "turn out" in the way of a horse and chaise, I was about to enter on a new phase in my commercial career. Just the thing I had been longing for—an opportunity for beholding the beauties of my native land. As this could not be obtained either apart from business or at my own expense, I was delighted with the chance of making business a profitable step to pleasure of the highest order—the expansion of the mind through a more comprehensive view of Divine Majesty in the wonderful works of creation. It is all very well to read about "the beauties of nature," but, to enjoy them, they must be seen. The reading is like an elaborate grace to a substantial meal, but seeing is the meal itself. Those wealthy tradesmen who have never journeyed fifty miles beyond their own counting-houses, know but little of the world, beyond that which grows and multiplies under "hot-beds" bearing the initials of £. s. d. If they would be as rich in knowledge as in that by which knowledge can be obtained, they must—travel.

I was quite aware, before starting on my first journey, that however charming the beauties of nature might appear to a young commercial traveller, they would only form a part, though a pleasing part, of a picture in which bales and boxes of merchandise would have to be fairly represented in the back ground. I knew that seeing the country on my part would not alone satisfy employers who expected, through each morning's post, to have their visions gratified by a "good sheet" of orders from the particular part of the country in which I might have happened to pass the page 214preceding day. I was aware of all this before I started. But there was a good deal more than this in the life of a traveller of which I was not aware. A young man sees only the bright side of a profession or trade of which he is not himself a member.

I soon discovered that the fortune of a commercial traveller is decided by the result of his first three or four journeys. During this period it is all collar-work for the gentleman. Should he flinch at his task he will make but an indifferent traveller. Whether he represent an old house, or a young one, whether the ground has been covered before or not, he has in either case to form a connexion and lay the foundation of a trade for himself. Although an old house may favor him with the advantage of a connexion, it cannot insure the friendly disposition of that connexion towards him as an individual. This rests with himself. The very parties with whom his predecessor might have done a large trade, he may possibly find the most difficult to secure. An intimate acquaintance with a former representative will more frequently retard than advance the interest of a successor—especially with those who entertain less regard for a house than the person representing it, and who fail to recognise the same merit in the new as in their old associate. As a new man, therefore—whether for an old house or a young one—he has both to form his connexion and make his trade. When is this to be accomplished, if not at the outset? Never, It is now he has to ascend that ladder of fortune on which, in these days of competition and commercial enterprise, it requires much labor to attain anything like an eminent position. It is now he has to look for substantial subjects with which he may safely build a trade, and also devote his best energies to its construction. It is now that a careful or careles page 215selection of his materials determine the future security or insecurity of the structure. Should he select good men for the foundation of his work, the profit of his exertions will he sufficient to keep the building in repair, and leave a balance in hand for any future dilapidations. If, on the contrary, he should build his hopes on doubtful men, the expense of now and then removing rotten portions of the building, and propping up others, will not only dissolve all profit arising from the investment of labor and capital, but will soon destroy building, capital, profit and all. It being more difficult to accomplish his object with the first than with the second class of these subjects, the still greater difficulty is, entirely to avoid those who cause the least trouble to do with, but the greater profit to do without.

To each and all of these tasks must a young traveller, during the first term of his studies, steadfastly apply himself, otherwise he will not prove a successful advocate, whether his advocacy be for himself or others. If he fail to apply his abilities towards forming a connexion in the spring of his career, he will lack the energy, if not the ability, to do so in the fall.

In the counting-house, a youth may take his seat as an alderman does his gown—for life. He has neither to push a dull trade, nor drive a dull horse, but merely his pen. His business is not to effect sales, but simply to enter them. All he has to do is, to chronicle what others do for him. Thus he goes on from day to day and from year to year, raising himself step by step, as old age or death may remove his senior in office.

With a commercial traveller the case is very different. He has not the advantages in this respect of either clerk or warehouseman. True, if successful, he is as well paid as either, and has perhaps a better prospect than either of page 216ultimately finding himself a member of the firm whom he has successfully represented. But he has no senior in his department, in whose removal he can date a prospective rise; nor has he any junior to transact his business in his absence. He has to represent and act the parts of principal, clerk, and warehouseman. He is not only expected to sell goods, but—what is of still greater importance—he is expected to get the money for them when they are sold. In short, everything that has to be done must be done by him self, and his own ability and energy are his only helpmates.

But in addition to the physical capability for discharging the duties of a commercial life, it requires more than talent or even genius to make a man a good traveller. He must be the owner of a mild and even temper. Although nature should have endowed him with the versatile ability of a prime minister, still, if she omitted to accompany the gift with the sweet breath of moderation for its application, it will prove of little service to the possessor. Industry, agreeable manners, and a good temper are the three great attributes of commercial success. The inheritor of these passports to commerce will often succeed better on his journey than one who ranks higher as regards his intellectual capacity, but who wants the leading features of success for his guide.

Without vainly ascribing to myself the possession of either of the necessary requisites for the commercial side of the character, let me go direct to a remarkable (at present exceptional) scene of social extravagance in the life of a traveller—a scene which, at the close of my first week on the road, filled my mind with more surprise, and my body with greater discomfort than was created by any other event during the remainder of my commercial career.

But let me observe that scenes like that I am about to page 217describe are now numbered with things of the past. Not only have the commercial body and their tastes kept pace with the social improvements of the age, but so also have the landlords of commercial houses. As a body, no class of gentlemen—no "uncommercial travellers" are better, or, perhaps, so well and, at the same time, so inexpensively fed, as commercial men; and in return for this attention to their comforts, landlords must in some way be remunerated—although no respectable landlord of the present day would wish to see his visitors intoxicated, thereby giving to his house a name that would do it more harm than good.

My maiden journey was through the charming county of Kent. Starting from London on Monday morning, I drove through the towns of Gravesend, Rochester, Maidstone, &c.—not altogether without orders—on my way to Margate, which I was anxious to reach, and did reach, on Saturday night. Here I expected to derive some enjoyment both from the invigorating influence of a sea breeze, and from the peaceful rest of a quiet Sabbath—after the anything but light or inactive labors of the week. To determine the difference between the enjoyment anticipated and the enjoyment realized, the reader may extract evidence for an impartial judgment from a brief and faithful account of

MyfirstSunday in a "Commercial Room."

At eight o'clock, I breakfasted alone. At nine, another gentleman was following suit. At ten, four only had exchanged their beds for their morning meal. At half-past ten, the number was increased by another unit, while the serviceable allotments on the breakfast table denoted that some eight or nine absentees had still to enter an appear-page 218ance. At a quarter to eleven, I left for church, not without a feeling of surprise at the number of gentlemen who were still inmates of their beds or bed-rooms at this advanced period of a fine summer's morning. On reentering the room on my return from church, I imagined for a moment that I had mistaken the apartment. But a familiar recognition from some of the inmates with whom I had conversed on the previous evening assured me of the room being the same, only under another aspect.

The large table which, at eleven o'clock, was in bread and butter order for receiving its guests, had been entirely divested of its white morning robes and china ornaments. But instead of being again dressed for dinner, it was now disfigured by a variety of desks and driving-boxes, new and old, and of various shapes and sizes. Seated in front of these were their respective owners, some writing, others engaged in counting a handful of notes or a pile of gold; and all apparently employed on business of such vital importance that it would admit of no delay. The commercial-room at this moment resembled an apartment in some banking establishment in which the clerks are all busily engaged in preparing their balances for the day. Instead of an agreeable prospect from the flavor of a piece of roast beef—for which I was fully prepared—there was nothing at present stirring but a disagreeable scent from old desks and dirty driving-boxes.

"Waiter, what is the time appointed for dinner today?" I enquired.

Before the waiter had time to furnish a reply, the lion—I beg pardon—the president of the day politely informed me that dinner for himself and friends was ordered to be on the table at five o'clock, and that the addition of my company would increase both the pleasure and number of page 219the party. An invitation from so important an individual, and so highly scented with compliment, could hardly fail to be acceptable to one so young on the road as myself. Had I consulted my own feelings only, I should have ordered dinner at once, instead of a sandwich and glass of sherry as a temporary substitute.

It appears—or rather, it afterwards appeared, for I was not at the time aware of the fact—that a certain knot of "old stagers," or, in other words, a few commercial gentlemen, who enjoyed a social chat over a friendly bottle, were in the habit of meeting, at a stated period in the year, at the White Hart Hotel, Margate, for the purpose of spending a quiet and agreeable day together—the reader may presently say, "for the purpose of spending their time and money in a very foolish manner." Be that as it may, this was one of the appointed days for the "annual gathering."

A good dinner to a commercial man is no novelty. It must be an extravagant "spread" indeed, that would induce him to note it as anything beyond his daily fare. The dinner provided on this occasion was such as might create a slight sensation in its favor, even with a commercial man. But Mr. Creed knew his customers, and, like a sagacious landlord, he doubtless saw the reflection of "another bottle" in every extra dish he placed upon the table.

Besides this, the president of the day was what may be termed the landlord's friend. And, in the commercial body, the landlord's friend is a gentleman who happens to be on intimate terms with certain landlords, and who appears to consider the welfare of such landlords before that of anybody else—even his own. Because honored with an occasional invitation to take wine and smoke a cigar in the bar, he deems it his duty, whenever he can enforce it, page 220to inflict the penalty of the compliment on his friends in the commercial-room. "Another bottle," or "another glass for the good of the house," is always either proposed or seconded by the landlord's friend.

The dinner hour at length arrived, and with it a dinner which for variety and extravagance had, perhaps, seldom been surpassed by Mr. Creed, or witnessed by his patrons, and which—thanks to the march of good sense—is but seldom, at the present day, either seen or heard of in a commercial-room.

It being settled, after a brief discussion, who was entitled to the honor of filling the chair, the president and vice-president, supported by six of their honorable order on either side, took their respective seats at table. After a graceless signal from the chair, the splendid array of dishes were at once unmasked, and the numerous staff by which they were surrounded opened a destructive fire on the first two courses presented to their notice, which consisted of real turtle and other soups, backed by a fine turbot and a splendid salmon. When the president had contributed to the wants of his friends, he said:—" Gentlemen, from the splendid sample before us, we may infer that our worthy landlord has provided rather a handsome dinner on this occasion. As a slight return for such liberality, I don't think we can do less than order champagne!"

"Less!" exclaimed a little gentleman on his right, who appeared to be his first lieutenant, inasmuch as he supported everything that came from head quarters; "I hope, Mr. President, we shall do something more before we've done."

"The chairman can't err," said another.

"Of course not," added a third.

"Waiter!" said the president, "champagne!—iced, of course," he continued.

"Yes, sir," said the waiter, as one of his deputies, with an instinctive knowledge of the chairman's wants, entered the room with a bottle in his hand; "we had some iced on purpose, sir."

"Gentlemen, I shall be happy to take champagne with each and all of you!" was the president's challenge, on the report of the first bottle, which was soon followed by another and another, and numerous others.

Thus, at brief intervals, during the time they were occupied on the succeeding courses, which were in all respects equal to their predecessors, bottle followed bottle in rapid succession. So it continued till the appearance of the cheese induced the president to inform his friends that the worthy landlord kept the finest glass of old port in the country.

"And unless he wishes to keep it," facetiously remarked the lieutenant, "we shall not, Mr. Chairman, be satisfied with your opinion on the subject."

Hereupon the company transferred their favors from champagne to port. The subsequent introduction of a splendid dessert caused the president again to inform his Mends that there were but few innkeepers who held anything even worthy the name of claret; but their worthy landlord was one of the few exceptions, as he was the owner of some of the choicest claret in the county of Kent. If, therefore, they had no objection, he would afford them an opportunity of affirming his assertion, by at once putting it to the test. This, of course, was unanimously assented to, and claret now took its place by the side of champagne and port.

But the disposition of the president's friends was so kindly tempered by what had been taken, that any proposition, however extravagant or ridiculous, would, at this moment, have met with entire approbation. The majority page 222felt inspired by that self-created spirit of independence that carried the ideas much beyond the cares of the world. They cared neither for the world nor anything in it. Their lofty imaginations were now elevated so far above the common occurrences of ordinary life, that happiness with them was not now a something to be sought for, but something they already possessed. All painful recollections of past sorrow was dead, and all thought of future joy extended only to the next glass of wine. However unpleasant, at other times, might be the various peculiarities of their different dispositions, good nature was at this moment the predominant feature of all. Sullen and disagreeable tempers now became affable and agreeable ones. Even the tongue of the reserved character that had been long silent, was now—like a water-mill after a long drought—by the influence of a potent stream, brought again into rapid motion.

When the first bottle of claret had been disposed of, the landlord suddenly made his appearance, whispered the president, placed a bottle of wine on the table, and quickly made his exit.

"Gentlemen," said the president, "our worthy landlord, with a noble spirit of liberality that influences all his actions, has with my permission, placed this bottle of claret on the table at his own expense."

"A regular trump!" exclaimed the lieutenant.

"Gentlemen," continued the president, with increased emphasis, "have the kindness to charge your glasses."—Here he resumed his seat for a few moments, and then rose again.—" Gentlemen, although I feel quite unequal to the task I have undertaken—(no, no, from his friends)—although, as I said before, I feel myself unequal to the task, I have everything but ability in my favor, as the mere mention page 223of the gentleman's name whose health I am about to propose, will be sufficient in itself to ensure a hearty response from all present. (Hear, hear, with faint symptoms of applause.) Nothing that I can say, gentlemen, can possibly increase your high opinion of the true worth and inestimable qualities of our worthy and much-esteemed landlord. (Hear, hear, with marked indications of approbation from his immediate friends.) Gentlemen, I will not waste your time—(hear, hear, from one or two others)—I will not waste your time by attempting to describe the various traits of his noble character, as I should only enumerate a few of his many virtues, without being able to add to their lustre. (Hear, hear.) Gentlemen, the very wine with which your glasses are charged will afford you a much better idea of the liberality of his heart than can any empty words of mine. (Hear, hear, with general applause.) Without further preface, gentlemen, I beg leave to propose the health of our worthy landlord, Mr. Creed. Being Sunday, you will please to moderate your applause as much as possible. Bumpers, gentlemen, bumpers!"

After the toast had been formally honored—what toast is not?—and more wine ordered, the presence of the landlord was requested. On his arrival, the vice-chairman, agreeably with instructions from head quarters, made him acquainted with the honor that had just been accorded him.

The landlord briefly acknowledged the compliment, modestly referred the company to their good fortune in having so excellent a president, toasted their healths in a bumper, and retired.

With each successive bottle the conversation became more general, less refined, and much louder. Now, they would all speak on one subject at once; then, half-a-dozen would include as many subjects in one discourse. Now, page 224they would speak one with another, then altogether. The man of anecdote—the hero of more adventures than anyone else—would now try to astonish the company with something that happened to himself but yesterday—but which affair the company happened to have heard from another man of anecdote a long time ago. Now, the poetic man would quote a well-known passage from some ancient work he had never read, and when asked for the name of the author would give either Byron or Burns. Then, the facetious or witty man would say something remarkably funny, and immediately show the company how they ought to appreciate the joke, by leading off the laugh himself. The man of froth would then boast of the splendid bottle of port or claret he kept in the cellars of his own establishment at Brixton—an idea most likely suggested by the recollection of a pint of porter he had recently enjoyed in his apartments in the neighbourhood of Islington. There were also present other men of doubtful wit and wisdom, but, being myself one of the number, I may, out of self-respect, be permitted to close the account with a brief summary of the cause and consequence of the chairman's temporary absence from his post.

This was about the time for leaving the chair for a few moments, and this was the time the president left it. During his absence, his lieutenant, who was somewhat more advanced in wine than the rest, rose and said,—" Mr. President—(hear, hear, and laughter)—I beg pardon, Mr. Vice-president and gentlemen—(hear, hear)—with your permission, sir, I beg leave to rise—(hear, hear, and very good!)—I beg leave to drink—I beg leave to propose—(bravo!)—he is a brave fellow, gentlemen—I can't tell you all I know of him—(hear, hear, with much laughter and applause.) If you knew him as well as I know him, he— page 225if—(hear, hear,)—his actions, gentlemen—(hear, hear, capital!) He is what he—what he was—I mean what—what he appears to be—(hear, hear, and applause.) Gentlemen, I have known our president—I've known him, gentlemen—(a voice—say a week,)—who are you?—(hear, hear, go on, bravo!) Gentlemen, I rise—(laughter)—I rise, gentlemen—(great laughter)—to propose my—to propose the health of our noble president—(applause.) Gentlemen, it will be unnecessary for me to tell you—(a friend—cut it short)—I shan't. Gentlemen, I—why did you interrupt me? Gentlemn, I—I am satisfied—(several voices—so are we.) Eh? (hear, hear, with roars of laughter and applause.) If you expect to—(no, no, go on, my boy—you're all right.) Gentlemen, I feel I have taken a little—(no, no, bravo!) Gentlemen, our president's good health."

The vice-president, on resuming his seat, was rewarded with a round of applause that caused several wine glasses on the table to be broken.

The chairman, on his return, acknowledged the compliment of which he had been the subject. It was now past ten o'clock, so that the dinner and what followed had already occupied more than five hours, as well as the most pleasant part of a beautiful summer's day. But matters now drew to a close. The dinner-bill was called, divided, and announced to be about twenty-five shillings each, which was declared to be "exceedingly moderate."

The company now disposed of themselves in various ways. Some took a walk, which occupied them so long that they didn't walk in till the following morning. Others, after becoming extensive patrons of soda-water and brandy, proceeded to bed; while others slept soundly, for a time, where they were. The president, of course, took his cigar and parting-glass with the worthy landlord.

The foregoing is a faithful transcript of the notes in my diary. The characters have been clothed without any attempt at artificial display. They may not have made use of the exact words set down for them, although they did both say and do a good deal more than is here recorded.

It may seem an unfortunate accident that led a young traveller into such a scene of dissipation on his first Sunday in a commercial room. But I never believed in misfortune in the life of a young man—except so far as it may be regarded as such by himself. Believe an accident a misfortune and it will become so. Scenes of extravagance are no doubt unfortunate for the promoters or others who may indulge in them; but their exhibition makes the members of moderation inclined to be more moderate still. Such, in this instance was the effect on me. I had not been in the habit of wasting my own money in this way, and I failed to see the necessity of making thus free with the money of others.

But let me not conceal from the reader the simple fact that dissipation and extravagance were not my only points of objection to this senseless feast. It took place on the Sabbath day. Although no Puritan in habit, much less so in profession, I, nevertheless, had some little regard for a decent observance of the seventh day. Although the "little legacy" that had been left me by Honest John was still in the remote corner of my chest (at home), the knowledge of its possession, if not of its contents and value, would sometimes float on the memory. In church, I always remembered both the gift and the giver at least once a-week. Since the death of my early benefactor, there had been no one to remind me, by friendly example, of the necessity for going to a place of worship. But somehow or other, I had acquired a habit of visiting a building which I page 227formerly tried to avoid. This habit might have originated in a variety of causes. I will not pretend to say which was the prevailing cause. It might have been respect to the cherished memory of Honest John. It might have been the desire for being considered respectable. Or it might have been the love of oratory, as I loved dearly to hear an eloquent speaker, whether in the pulpit, at the bar, or on the platform. But whatever the cause,—I did go to church once, sometimes twice, on the Sabbath day. Yet—so far as I can at present remember—the chief edification derived from the habit was the occasional pleasure of hearing a clever man. But the mere custom of going to church—if it did nothing more—made me at least indisposed to countenance any great violation of the Sabbath, either on the part of those who did, or those who did not go to a place of worship. The consequence was that, throughout the remainder of my career on the road, I tried to avoid scenes like those which had been enacted during my first Sunday in a commercial room.

While the road affords many opportunities for the advancement of a young man of ability, it, at the same time, offers every temptation to go astray—especially to one not possessed of strong moral courage. Away from home—with frequent specimens of profligacy before his eyes, and unfettered by those feelings of shame which, when surrounded by his friends, will sometimes prove a restraint on his actions—there is every facility for the full exercise of his inclinations. There is no one to question or reproach him for his intemperate doings and unseasonable hours at night, or for his idle habits in the morning. He is himself sole master of his own free will, and unless he be sufficiently master of himself to guide and govern it aright, the pernicious influence of the fast characters that occasionally cross page 228his path will soon taint his mind by those baneful and delusive pleasures which prove fatal to the constitution and character of many noble spirits.

On the other hand, the road offers to a young man of sobriety and perseverance a more rapid way of attaining mercantile eminence than almost any other path in the commercial world. Some of the first merchants and merchant-warehousemen in the kingdom have, in the early stages of their career, represented, in the country, either their own or other eminent houses. An old acquaintance who—like the writer—was once a hard-working commercial traveller is now one of the firm of the largest house, of its class, in the world. He occasionally entertains, at his town residence, some of the leading men in this country. The size of the rooms in his house—the largest of which was not more than half full on the occasion and with the number of persons hereafter alluded to—may be inferred from the following extract from a letter in which the gentleman reminds me of an engagement I made to give one of my scientific lectures before a small party at his house.

"Kensington Palace Gardens,January 15, 1860.

"My Dear Sir,"

In addition to the ladies and gentlemen previously invited to hear your lecture, there will be a large party from Fulham Palace. Altogether, I expect from 140 to 150.

"I shall be at home early to meet you, but my butler will do all you may require.

"To—Esq."

Yours truly,

George—.^*

The writer of the foregoing letter was once a commercial traveller. So was I. But he had not only a better horse (house) than his friend, but he knew better how to drive it.

After I had travelled a little more than three years, worked hard, established a good connexion, made my position less arduous, seen and enjoyed the beauties of the country, and saved a little money, I began seriously to contemplate the abandonment, at once and for ever, of all the advantages I had gained. I again grew weary of commercial life. The natural tendencies of the mind were once more making present occupation distasteful, and the laborer uncomfortable. This occupation was made doubly distasteful through another success which had just been secured with my restrained but unconquerable "hobby."

Early rising had enabled me to write numerous "Sketches of commercial life." These contained a few modest hints—termed by fast men, "revolutionary doctrines"—on the necessity for reform in the commercial room. The book^* was published under the incognito of "A commercial man." The sale of the little work was immense. But its commercial success was a mere trifle compared to the excitement the volume produced on the minds of other travellers, and the effect of that excitement on the mind of the author. The sketches were condemned by hundreds of travellers, and purchased by thousands. The condemnation insured their sale, without the aid of any other advertisement. I can remember nothing that I ever enjoyed more thoroughly than the sport that now arose from my own handy work. No writer ever heard his writing more freely discussed. Either before or after dinner, at grog-time or other time, "Sketches of commercial life" came under review. For at least three months after its publication,

^* From which the sketch of my "first Sunday in a commercial room" is taken.

page 230the book was in some way referred to by somebody in every commercial room I entered. Nobody—but himself—knew the author, who often opposed his own principles, in order to provoke the discussion he so much relished. The fast men of the road condemned the work in toto, while the more steady-going characters came to the rescue. If sensible men never laugh at their own sayings, I may at once pronounce myself a fool, for never did human being laugh more frequently or more heartily at the effect of a squib which, as in this instance, had been directed at a numerous and important fraternity.

My commercial career now drew to a close. As a taste for literary pursuits increased, the taste for commerce declined. I resolved to leave business for another walk in life, even if compelled, at a future period, to retrace my steps. Acting on such resolve, I drove to town, balanced accounts with the house I represented, shook hands with the firm, ceased to be their representative, and no longer considered myself a commercial man. I beheld, as I thought, a more pleasing prospect in the distance.

"Thus from afar each dim-discovered scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been!"