What Will He Do With It | Page 3

have probably already witnessed the performance."
"Yes," returned the Cobbler; "this is the third day, and to-morrow's the
last. I are n't missed once yet, and I sha' n't miss; but it are n't what it
was a while back."
"'That is sad; but then the same thing is said of everything by
everybody who has reached your respectable age, friend. Summers, and
suns, stupid old watering-places, and pretty young women, `are n't what
they were a while back.' If men and things go on degenerating in this
way, our grandchildren will have a dull time of it."
The Cobbler eyed the young man, and nodded approvingly. He had
sense enough to comprehend the ironical philosophy of the reply; and
our Cobbler loved talk out of the common way. "You speaks truly and
cleverly, sir. But if old folks do always say that things are worse than
they were, ben't there always summat in what is always said? I'm for
the old times; my neighbour, Joe Spruce, is for the new, and says we
are all a-progressing. But he 's a pink; I 'm a blue."
"You are a blue?" said the boy Lionel; "I don't understand."
"Young 'un, I'm a Tory,--that's blue; and Spruce is a Rad,--that's pink!

And, what is more to the purpose, he is a tailor, and I'm a cobbler."
"Aha!" said the elder, with much interest; "more to the purpose is it?
How so?"
The Cobbler put the forefinger of the right hand on the forefinger of the
left; it is the gesture of a man about to ratiocinate or demonstrate, as
Quintilian, in his remarks on the oratory of fingers, probably observes;
or if he has failed to do so, it is a blot in his essay.
"You see, sir," quoth the Cobbler, "that a man's business has a deal to
do with his manner of thinking. Every trade, I take it, has ideas as
belong to it. Butchers don't see life as bakers do; and if you talk to a
dozen tallow-chandlers, then to a dozen blacksmiths, you will see
tallow- chandlers are peculiar, and blacksmiths too."
"You are a keen observer," said he of the jean cap, admiringly; "your
remark is new to me; I dare say it is true."
"Course it is; and the stars have summat to do with it; for if they order a
man's calling, it stands to reason that they order a man's mind to fit it.
Now, a tailor sits on his board with others, and is always a-talking with
'em, and a-reading the news; therefore he thinks, as his fellows do,
smart and sharp, bang up to the day, but nothing 'riginal and all his own,
like. But a cobbler," continued the man of leather, with a majestic air,
"sits by hisself, and talks with hisself; and what he thinks gets into his
head without being put there by another man's tongue."
"You enlighten me more and more," said our friend with the nose in the
air, bowing respectfully,--"a tailor is gregarious, a cobbler solitary. The
gregarious go with the future, the solitary stick by the past. I understand
why you are a Tory and perhaps a poet."
"Well, a bit of one," said the Cobbler, with an iron smile. "And many 's
the cobbler who is a poet,--or discovers marvellous things in a crystal,
--whereas a tailor, sir" (spoken with great contempt), "only sees the
upper leather of the world's sole in a newspaper."

Here the conversation was interrupted by a sudden pressure of the
crowd towards the theatre. The two young friends looked up, and saw
that the new object of attraction was a little girl, who seemed scarcely
ten years old, though in truth she was about two years older. She had
just emerged from behind the curtain, made her obeisance to the crowd,
and was now walking in front of the stage with the prettiest possible air
of infantine solemnity. "Poor little thing!" said Lionel. "Poor little
thing!" said the Cobbler. And had you been there, my reader, ten to one
but you would have said the same. And yet she was attired in white
satin, with spangled flounces and a tinsel jacket; and she wore a wreath
of flowers (to be sure, the flowers were not real) on her long fair curls,
with gaudy bracelets (to be sure, the stones were mock) on her slender
arms. Still there was something in her that all this finery could not
vulgarize; and since it could not vulgarize, you pitied her for it. She had
one of those charming faces that look straight into the hearts of us all,
young and old. And though she seemed quite self- possessed, there was
no effrontery in her air, but the ease of a little lady, with a