Vermont Watchman and State Journal. August 2, 1841
From the Boston Transcript.
IF I WERE.
It is very apt to be the case that a man would do a great many good things if he were so and so situated, but that troublesome word “if” is apt to interfere with his good intentions. His professions are of the most patriotic and praiseworthy kind, and he would be the most kind-hearted, the most generous, the most benevolent man in the world, if it were not for certain things which intervene to prevent the fulfillment of his noble designs.
If I were a merchant, says one, I would always transact my business in the most honorable way, I would never take advantage of another, I would deal honestly with all, I would gain the respect of all, I would accumulate a fortune, and I would leave my children independent of the world.
If I were a farmer, I would devote my whole attention to the cultivation of the soil. I would raise the largest crops of wheat, the greatest number of bushels of potatoes to the acre, the largest cabbage heads, and I would have the neatest and best managed farm in the town.
If I were a rich man, I would appropriate all my surplus income to charitable purposes.
If I were a lawyer, I would always plead the cause of the poor and oppressed, and would deduct a large amount of the fees for my services. I would go against oppression in all cases whether it would subserve my interest or not. I would act for the general good of mankind, regardless of self-interest; I would make my own emolument secondary to that of all others.
If I were a tailor, I would not take more than a reasonable quantity of cabbage, and I would always have a garment done and sent home at the time I promised it.
If I were a physician, I would always attend upon the poor gratis, and I would not charge half so much for feeling the pulse or extracting a tooth as the regular practitioners do. I would devote my time and services for the benefit of the public generally.
If I were a mechanic, I would devote all my time to my profession, and I would always punctually execute all the orders sent to me.
If I were a soaplock, I would have the scissors applied to my hair at once, and not suffer myself to appear like a hermit or a shaggy bear, or a thief who has lost his ears, and strives to cover the parts where they should be, with a superincumbent quantity of capillary ornaments.
If I were a lady, I would be attending to the domestic concerns of the household, and not walking the streets, endeavoring to attract the attention of the beaux, and spinning street yarn when I ought to be spinning stocking yarn at home.
If I were an editor, I would write to please myself as well as my customers, so far as I was able, without the expectation of always doing the one or the other.
If I were a subscriber to a newspaper, I would always pay for it punctually, and never find fault because it sometimes happened that there was nothing in it which particularly interested me—especially, when there was nothing to put in it.
If I were born with a gold spoon in my month, I would hold on upon it, and not exchange it for a pewter or an iron one.
But that little word IF is apt to be in the way, and to disconcert all one's good intentions and charitable actions, and if it were not so frequently made a proviso and a base to good actions, many more deeds of charity might be accomplished. It is often an excuse for not performing what charity would demand, what common sense would dictate, what a sense of duty would require. If I were situated so and so, I would do a vast deal of good; but it is often the case that a man can do good deeds and acts of charity, which he pretends he would if he were differently situated.
But without any more ifs or ands, it is certain we can often do a good deed when we don't, and if is a kind of general excuse for not doing as we ought.
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The Drunkard's Will.—I leave to society a ruined character, a wretched example, and a memory that will soon rot.
I leave to my parents, during the rest of their lives, as much sorrow as humanity, in a decrepit and feeble state, can sustain.
I leave to my brothers and sisters as much mortification and injury as I could well bring on them.
I leave to my wife a broken heart, a life of wretchedness, a shame to weep over me, and premature death.
I give and bequeath to each of my children, poverty, ignorance, a low character, and the remembrance that their father was a monster.
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Another versions of
“IF I WERE...”:
Supplement to the Courant. August 21, 1841
Daily Bulletin. January 11, 1842
“The Drunkard's Will”:
Western Temperance Journal. October 15, 1841
