Lives of Illustrious Shoemakers. W. E. Winks
to Somersetshire to fetch it, and the sum was accounted so prodigious, that he at once set off to claim his property; “so that,” he says, “it cost me about half the money in going down for it and in returning to town again.“ ”With the remainder of the money,“ he adds, ”we purchased household goods; but as we then had not sufficient to furnish a room, we worked hard and lived hard, so that in a short time we had a room furnished with our own goods; and I believe that Alexander the Great never reflected on his immense acquisitions with half the heart-felt enjoyment which we experienced on this capital attainment.” Now and then he visited the old bookshops and added a few books to his small library. One Christmas Eve he went out with half a crown in his pocket to purchase the Christmas dinner. Passing by an old bookshop, he could not resist the inducement to turn in and look over the stock. He intended to spend only a few pence on some book; but a copy of Young’s “Night Thoughts,” which he very much coveted, was so tempting a prize, that, without hesitation, he laid down his half-crown for the purchase of it. On returning home, he had no slight difficulty to persuade his wife of “the superiority of intellectual pleasures over sensual gratifications.“ ”I think,” said he to his patient spouse, “that I have acted wisely; for had I bought a dinner, we should have eaten it to-morrow, and the pleasure would have been soon over; but should we live fifty years longer, we shall have the ‘Night Thoughts’ to feast upon.”
In June, 1775, one of his Wesleyan friends looked in on Lackington and his wife as they sat at work making boots and shoes, and told them of a “shop and parlor” which were then to let in Featherstone Street, where it was suggested Lackington might obtain work as a master-shoemaker. He at once fell in with the proposal, and added that “he would sell books also.” He does not seem to have formed any intention of bookselling previous to this interview, but the prospect of having a shop of his own led him to think how easy and pleasant it would be to combine the two kinds of business. He says in his own naïve manner: “When he proposed my taking the shop, it instantly occurred to my mind that for several months past I had observed a great increase in a certain old bookshop, and that I was persuaded I knew as much of old books as the person who kept it. I further observed that I loved books, and that if I could but be a bookseller, I should then have plenty of books to read, which was the greatest motive I could conceive to induce me to make the attempt.” His friend engaged to procure the shop, and Lackington bought “a bag full of old books, chiefly divinity, for a guinea,” which, together with his own little library and some scraps of old leather, were worth five pounds. With this stock he “opened shop on Midsummer Day, 1775, in Featherstone Street, in the parish of St. Luke.”
He borrowed five pounds from a fund which Wesley’s people had raised for the purpose of lending out on a short term to men of good character who were in need of help in business or domestic difficulties. No interest appears to have been required, and he states that the money was of great service to him. At this time they lived in the most economical and sparing manner, “often dining on potatoes, and quenching their thirst with water,” for they could not forget the trials through which they had passed, and, haunted by the dread of their recurrence, were determined, if possible, to provide against them.
After six months his stock had increased to £25. “This stock I deemed too great to be buried in Featherstone Street; and a shop and parlor being to let in Chiswell Street, No. 46, I took them.” His business in the sale of books proved so prosperous, that, in a few weeks after removing to Chiswell Street, he disposed of his little stock of leather and altogether abandoned the gentle craft. At this time his stock consisted almost entirely of divinity, and for a year or two he “conscientiously destroyed such books as fell into his hands as were written by free-thinkers: he would neither read them himself, nor sell them to others.” He makes some curious and sagacious remarks on bargain-hunters who frequented his shop at this time, while his stock was low and poor, and who in their craze after “bargains” often paid him double the price for dirty old books that he afterward charged when he had a larger stock, and had adopted the principle of selling every book at its lowest paying price. These people, he observed, forsook his shop as soon as he began to introduce better order and to appear “respectable!”[3] He had not been long in Chiswell Street, before both his wife and himself were seized with fever. She died and was buried without his having once seen her after her illness. The shop was left in the care of a boy, his house was put in charge of nurses, who robbed him of his linen and other articles, kept themselves drunk with gin, and would have left him to perish. The timely presence of his sister saved his life, and several Wesleyan friends saved him from ruin by locking up his shop, which the nurses and boy together would soon have emptied. Although he wrote the whole story in after-years in a vein of flippant sarcasm and irreverence for religion, he was constrained to acknowledge his great obligation to the friends whose religion prompted them thus to act the good Samaritan to him in his dire extremity. “The above gentlemen,” he says, “not only took care of my shop, but also advanced money to pay such expenses as occurred; and as my wife was dead, they assisted in making my will in favor of my mother.“ ”These worthy gentlemen,“ he adds, ”belong to Mr. Wesley’s Society (and notwithstanding they have imbibed many enthusiastic whims), yet would they be an honor to any society, and are a credit to human nature.”
In 1776 he married Miss Dorcas Turton, a friend of his first wife. It seems to have been her influence, to a large extent, that drew him away from Wesleyanism and religion. She was a woman of considerable education, and a great reader, kindly and affectionate in her disposition, a dutiful daughter to her aged and dependent father, whom she had supported after his failure in business by keeping a school. But she seems to have had no thought of religious truth as a basis for character and an impulse to right conduct, and her absolute indifference to religion soon told on the mind of a sensitive and impulsive man like Lackington. “I did not long remain in Mr. Wesley’s Society,” he writes, referring to this same year 1776, “and, what is remarkable, I well remember that, some years before, Mr. Wesley told his society in Broadmead, Bristol, in my hearing, that he could never keep a bookseller six months in his flock.”
Two years afterward Lackington entered into partnership for three years with Mr. Denis, an honest man, as he is emphatically styled, who brought a considerable sum of money into the business, by means of which the stock was at once doubled, and the sales vastly increased. Lackington now proposed the issue of a sale catalogue, to which his partner reluctantly consented. Both partners were employed in writing it, but the larger share fell to Lackington, whose name alone appeared on the title-page. It was issued in 1779, and the first week after its publication the partners took, what they regarded as the “large sum” of twenty pounds. Denis, finding his money pay better in business than in the Funds, invested a larger sum in stock, but when Lackington, who according to the terms of the agreement was sole purchaser, began to buy, as his partner thought, too largely, they had a dispute over the matter and dissolved partnership on friendly terms a year before the term of partnership had expired. Denis, to the end of his life, remained friendly with Lackington, and used to call in every day on passing his shop to inquire what purchases and sales he had effected, and now and then the honest man lent his old partner money to help in paying bills.
In 1780 he resolved to give no credit to any one, and to sell all his books at the lowest price bearing a working profit. The effect of this new method of doing business was remarkable in many ways. Long credit seems to have been common in the trade in those days, most bills were not paid within six months, many not within a twelvemonth, and some not within two years. “Indeed,” he adds, “many tradesmen have accounts of seven years’ standing; and some bills are never paid”(!) After recounting the disadvantages of the credit system, he says: “When I communicated my ideas on this subject to some of my acquaintances, I was much laughed at and ridiculed; and it was thought that I might as well attempt to rebuild the Tower of Babel as to establish a large business without giving credit.” The offence given to some old customers was very great, and for a time he lost them, but they soon returned on learning how much lower his books were now marked than those of other booksellers. As to others who would only deal on credit, he cared little when he observed their anger, very wisely remarking that “some of them would have been as much enraged when their bills were sent in had credit been given them.” The booksellers themselves were not a little annoyed by the innovations of the dauntless trader, and appear to have