Drink itself does not seem to elevate him, or at least to call out of him any of the external indications of vanity.  I cannot say that it never causes his pride to swell, but it never breaks out.  I am even fearful that it may swell and rankle to an alarming degree inwardly.  For pride is near of kin to melancholy!—­a hurtful obstruction from the ordinary outlets of vanity being shut.  It is this stoppage which engenders proud humors.  Therefore a tailor may be proud.  I think he is never vain.  The display of his gaudy patterns, in that book of his which emulates the rainbow, never raises any inflations of that emotion in him, corresponding to what the wig-maker (for instance) evinces, when he expatiates on a curl or a bit of hair.  He spreads them forth with a sullen incapacity for pleasure, a real or affected indifference to grandeur.  Cloth of gold neither seems to elate, nor cloth of frieze to depress him—­according to the beautiful motto which formed the modest imprese of the shield worn by Charles Brandon at his marriage with the king’s sister.  Nay, I doubt whether he would discover any vainglorious complacence in his colors, though “Iris” herself “dipt the woof.”

In further corroboration of this argument—­who ever saw the wedding of a tailor announced in the newspapers, or the birth of his eldest son?

When was a tailor known to give a dance, or to be himself a good dancer, or to perform exquisitely on the tight-rope, or to shine in any such light and airy pastimes? to sing, or play on the violin?

Do they much care for public rejoicings, lightings up, ringing of bells, firing of cannons, &c.?

Valiant I know they can be; but I appeal to those who were witnesses to the exploits of Eliot’s famous troop, whether in their fiercest charges they betrayed anything of that thoughtless oblivion of death with which a Frenchman jigs into battle, or whether they did not show more of the melancholy valor of the Spaniard, upon whom they charged; that deliberate courage which contemplation and sedentary habits breathe?

Are they often great newsmongers?—­I have known some few among them arrive at the dignity of speculative politicians; but that light and cheerful every-day interest in the affairs and goings-on of the world, which makes the barber[1] such delightful company, I think is rarely observable in them.

[Footnote 1:  Having incidentally mentioned the barber in a comparison of professional temperaments, I hope no other trade will take offence, or look upon it as an incivility done to them if I say, that in courtesy, humanity, and all the conversational and social graces which “gladden life,” I esteem no profession comparable to his.  Indeed, so great is the goodwill which I bear to this useful and agreeable body of men, that, residing in one of the Inns of Court (where the best specimens of them are to be found, except perhaps at the universities), there are seven of them to whom I am personally known, and who never pass me without the compliment of the hat on either side.  My truly polite and urbane friend Mr. A——­m, of Flower-de-luce Court, in Fleet Street, will forgive my mention of him in particular.  I can truly say that I never spent a quarter of an hour under his hands without deriving some profit from the agreeable discussions which are always going on there.]