A man enters into business with a view of acquiring a fortune—­A laudable motive!  That property which rises from honest industry, is an honour to its owner; the repose of his age; the reward of a life of attention:  but, great as the advantage seems, yet, being of a private nature, it is one of the least in the mercantile walk.  For the intercourse occasioned by traffic, gives a man a view of the world, and of himself; removes the narrow limits that confine his judgment; expands the mind; opens his understanding; removes his prejudices; and polishes his manners.  Civility and humanity are ever the companions of trade; the man of business is the man of liberal sentiment; a barbarous and commercial people, is a contradiction; if he is not the philosopher of nature, he is the friend of his country, and well understands her interest.  Even the men of inferior life among us, whose occupations, one would think, tend to produce minds as callous as the mettle they work; lay a stronger claim to civilization, than in any other place with which I am acquainted.  I am sorry to mutilate the compliment, when I mention the lower race of the other sex:  no lady ought to be publicly insulted, let her appear in what dress she pleases.  Both sexes, however, agree in exhibiting a mistaken pity, in cases of punishment, particularly by preventing that for misconduct in the military profession.

It is singular, that a predilection for Birmingham, is entertained by every denomination of visitants, from Edward Duke of York, who saw us in 1765, down to the presuming quack, who, griped with necessity, boldly discharges his filth from the stage.  A paviour, of the name of Obrien, assured me in 1750, that he only meant to sleep one night in Birmingham, in his way from London to Dublin.  But instead of pursuing his journey next morning, as intended, he had continued in the place thirty-five years:  and though fortune had never elevated him above the pebbles of the street, yet he had never repented his stay.

It has already been remarked that I first saw Birmingham in 1741, accidentally cast into those regions of civility; equally unknown to every inhabitant, nor having the least idea of becoming one myself.  Though the reflections of an untaught youth of seventeen cannot be striking, yet, as they were purely natural, permit me to describe them.

I had been before acquainted with two or three principal towns.  The environs of all I had seen were composed of wretched dwellings, replete with dirt and poverty; but the buildings in the exterior of Birmingham rose in a style of elegance.  Thatch, so plentiful in other towns, was not to be met with in this.  I was surprised at the place, but more so at the people:  They were a species I had never seen:  They possessed a vivacity I had never beheld:  I had been among dreamers, but now I saw men awake:  Their very step along the street showed alacrity:  Every man seemed to know and prosecute his own affairs: