Oliver Constable, miller and baker, Vol. 2 (of 3) — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
Oliver Constable, miller and baker, Vol. 2 (of 3)
John Stuart Mill · en
The pity was that though there were no deans and proctors at Friarton,
and though the intervention of the rural Charlies or Bobbies might not
be called for, the public of the little town was at once more lynx-eyed
and sterner in its judgments. There was far less allowance made for
the young plebeians than for the young patricians. Unaccountably and
inconsistently, much more was expected from the former than from the
latter. Old heads on young shoulders were unhesitatingly demanded in
many quarters in the case of the embryo tradesmen, with their poor
education, and their slender resources by comparison for occupying
their leisure hours. It was hard to say why this inequality of opinion
existed, unless the early call of these young shopmen to earn their
bread by the sweat of their brow, and the hand-to-hand struggle of
some of them with poverty and privation from their cradles upwards,
might be supposed, by an austere necessity, to steady and dignify the
lads betimes, not to drive them desperate and impel them to snatch
greedily at any small indulgence, however base and fatal, which came
within their reach. If this were the explanation, an exceptional though
perilous honour was conferred on ‘the counter-jumpers’ when they were
expected to be wiser than their fellows.
For Oliver was certain of one thing, that if any draper’s assistant, or
saddler or ironmonger’s apprentice, in Friarton happened to be simply
intoxicated, not so much with strong drink as with the restless energy
and furious mirth of youth in an ebullition that would be treated with
tolerant tenderness at a university, and punished by nothing worse
than the mild reproof or the nominal fine, which was a trifle light
as air to the privileged undergraduate, the young tradesman would be
generally set down as drunk with less ethereal liquor. If caught in
the act of creating a disturbance so heinous as waking the silent
night with hideous clamour, giving chase to a surprised, surrounded,
and hustled guardian of the public peace, smashing wantonly a street
lamp, or wrenching off ‘maliciously’ a bell or knocker, he would be
hailed before a bench of magistrates, and mulcted of a sum out of
all proportion to his exchequer. And that was not all. He would have
to pay what was for him a far heavier penalty. His character, which
was his capital, his chief dependence for work and livelihood, would
suffer. His employer, though he had been young himself once, would be
so influenced by the magisterial verdict as to begin to lose confidence
in his assistant. The inspector of the Sunday or night school in which
the lad might have been religiously enough inclined, and sufficiently
benevolent to take an interest and have a class, would sharply signify
to the offender that he was no credit to the institution, and had
better give up his connection with it. The clergyman, receiving
the report of the inspector, would not think himself justified in