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BY GEORGE POPE MORRIS (1802-1864) [From The Little Frenchman and His Water Lots, with Other Sketches of the Times (1839), by George Pope Morris.]
Look into those they call unfortunate,
Let wealth come in by comely thrift, Let well alone.--Proverb. How much real comfort every one might enjoy if he would be contented with the lot in which heaven has cast him, and how much trouble would be avoided if people would only "let well alone." A moderate independence, quietly and honestly procured, is certainly every way preferable even to immense possessions achieved by the wear and tear of mind and body so necessary to procure them. Yet there are very few individuals, let them be doing ever so well in the world, who are not always straining every nerve to do better; and this is one of the many causes why failures in business so frequently occur among us. The present generation seem unwilling to "realize" by slow and sure degrees; but choose rather to set their whole hopes upon a single cast, which either makes or mars them forever! Gentle reader, do you remember Monsieur Poopoo? He used to keep a small toy-store in Chatham, near the corner of Pearl Street. You must recollect him, of course. He lived there for many years, and was one of the most polite and accommodating of shopkeepers. When a juvenile, you have bought tops and marbles of him a thousand times. To be sure you have; and seen his vinegar-visage lighted up with a smile as you flung him the coppers; and you have laughed at his little straight queue and his dimity breeches, and all the other oddities that made up the every-day apparel of my little Frenchman. Ah, I perceive you recollect him now. Well, then, there lived Monsieur Poopoo ever since he came from "dear, delightful Paris," as he was wont to call the city of his nativity--there he took in the pennies for his kickshaws--there he laid aside five thousand dollars against a rainy day--there he was as happy as a lark--and there, in all human probability, he would have been to this very day, a respected and substantial citizen, had he been willing to "let well alone." But Monsieur Poopoo had heard strange stories about the prodigious rise in real estate; and, having understood that most of his neighbors had become suddenly rich by speculating in lots, he instantly grew dissatisfied with his own lot, forthwith determined to shut up shop, turn everything into cash, and set about making money in right-down earnest. No sooner said than done; and our quondam storekeeper a few days afterward attended an extensive sale of real estate, at the Merchants' Exchange. There was the auctioneer, with his beautiful and inviting lithographic maps--all the lots as smooth and square and enticingly laid out as possible--and there were the speculators--and there, in the midst of them, stood Monsieur Poopoo. "Here they are, gentlemen," said he of the hammer, "the most valuable lots ever offered for sale. Give me a bid for them!" "One hundred each," said a bystander. "One hundred!" said the auctioneer, "scarcely enough to pay for the maps. One hundred--going--and fifty--gone! Mr. H., they are yours. A noble purchase. You'll sell those same lots in less than a fortnight for fifty thousand dollars profit!" Monsieur Poopoo pricked up his ears at this, and was lost in astonishment. This was a much easier way certainly of accumulating riches than selling toys in Chatham Street, and he determined to buy and mend his fortune without delay. The auctioneer proceeded in his sale. Other parcels were offered and disposed of, and all the purchasers were promised immense advantages for their enterprise. At last came a more valuable parcel than all the rest. The company pressed around the stand, and Monsieur Poopoo did the same. "I now offer you, gentlemen, these magnificent lots, delightfully situated on Long Island, with valuable water privileges. Property in fee--title indisputable--terms of sale, cash--deeds ready for delivery immediately after the sale. How much for them? Give them a start at something. How much?" The auctioneer looked around; there were no bidders. At last he caught the eye of Monsieur Poopoo. "Did you say one hundred, sir? Beautiful lots--valuable water privileges--shall I say one hundred for you?" "Oui, monsieur; I will give you von hundred dollar apiece, for de lot vid de valuarble vatare privalege; c'est ça." "Only one hundred apiece for these sixty valuable lots--only one hundred--going--going--going--gone!" Monsieur Poopoo was the fortunate possessor. The auctioneer congratulated him--the sale closed--and the company dispersed. "Pardonnez-moi, monsieur," said Poopoo, as the auctioneer descended his pedestal, "you shall excusez-moi, if I shall go to votre bureau, your counting-house, ver quick to make every ting sure wid respec to de lot vid de valuarble vatare privalege. Von leetle bird in de hand he vorth two in de tree, c'est vrai--eh?" "Certainly, sir." "Vell den, allons." And the gentlemen repaired to the counting-house, where the six thousand dollars were paid, and the deeds of the property delivered. Monsieur Poopoo put these carefully in his pocket, and as he was about taking his leave, the auctioneer made him a present of the lithographic outline of the lots, which was a very liberal thing on his part, considering the map was a beautiful specimen of that glorious art. Poopoo could not admire it sufficiently. There were his sixty lots, as uniform as possible, and his little gray eyes sparkled like diamonds as they wandered from one end of the spacious sheet to the other.
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