es and their families; another class, who take up
trade merely as a temporary resource, to which they condescend for a few
years, trusting that they shall, in that time, make a fortune, retire,
and commence or recommence gentlemen. The Irish regular men of business
are like all other men of business--punctual, frugal, careful, and so
forth; with the addition of more intelligence, invention, and enterprise
than are usually found in Englishmen of the same rank. But the Dublin
tradesmen PRO TEMPORE are a class by themselves; they begin without
capital, buy stock upon credit in hopes of making large profits, and, in
the same hopes, sell upon credit. Now, if the credit they can obtain is
longer than that which they are forced to give, they go on and prosper;
if not, they break, turn bankrupts, and sometimes, as bankrupts, thrive.
By such men, of course, every SHORT CUT to fortune is followed; whilst
every habit, which requires time to prove its advantage, is disregarded;
nor with such views can a character for PUNCTUALITY have its just
value. In the head of a man who intends to be a tradesman to-day, and
a gentleman to-morrow, the ideas of the honesty and the duties of a
tradesman, and of the honour and the accomplishments of a gentleman, are
oddly jumbled together, and the characteristics of both are lost in the
compound.

He will OBLIGE you, but he will not obey you; he will do you a favour,
but he will not do you JUSTICE; he will do ANYTHING TO SERVE YOU, but
the particular thing you order he neglects; he asks your pardon, for he
would not, for all the goods in his warehouse, DISOBLIGE you; not for
the sake of your custom, but he has a particular regard for your family.
Economy, in the eyes of such a tradesman, is, if not a mean vice, at
least a shabby virtue, which he is too polite to suspect his customers
of, and particularly proud to prove himself superior to. Many London
tradesmen, after making their thousands and their tens of thousands,
feel pride in still continuing to live like plain men of business;
but from the moment a Dublin tradesman of this style has made a few
hundreds, he sets up his gig, and then his head is in his carriage, and
not in his business; and when he has made a few thousands, he buys or
builds a country-house--and then, and thenceforward, his head, heart,
and soul are in his country-house, and only his body in the shop with
his customers.

Whilst he is making money, his wife, or rather his lad