mple, 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,
and so have time to take in an idea. But it is all in vain if there
be a sufficient supply of good and cheap hats already in that
portion of the earth's surface. The superfluous hatter must submit
to the all-prevailing law, that for labours not required, and an
expenditure of capital useless as regards the public, there can be
no reward, no return.

Sometimes great inconveniences are experienced in consequence of
local changes; such as those effected by railways, and the
displacement of hand-labour by machinery. A country inn that has
supplied post-horses since the days of the civil war, is all at
once, in consequence of the opening of some branch-line, deserted by
its business. It is a pitiable case; but the poor landlord must not
attempt to be an innkeeper without business, for then he would be a
misapplied human being, and would starve. Now the world uses him a
little hardly in the diversion of his customers; that may be
allowed: we must all lay our account with such hardships so long as
each person is left to see mainly after himself. But if he were to
persist in keeping his house open, and thus reduce himself to
uselessness, he would not be entitled to think himself ill-used by
reason of his making no profits, seeing that he did nothing for the
public to entitle him to a remuneration. The poor handloom
weavers--I grieve to think of the hardships they suffer. Well do I
remember when, in 1813 or 1814, a good workman in this craft could
realise 36s. a week. There were even traditions then of men who had
occasionally eaten pound-notes upon bread and butter, or allowed
thei