Part 5

Having made a lucky purchase of butter, Samuel went amongst traders of his own kind for orders, and at first met with little but contempt. He persevered, nevertheless, and in a little time made his way. By little and little his house, of which he became a partner, acquired a footing, and began to be talked of as a kind of prodigy for a village. The leading principle followed, was to do business entirely by ready-money, in buying as in selling. A wonder may be felt how Mr Budgett contrived, with no advantage of capital at starting, to act upon this rule. The plan is simple, and may be easily followed. Let the transactions be in a proper proportion to the means. It looks a slow plan; but, in reality, by securing an exemption from pecuniary embarrassment, it allows a business, other circumstances being equal, to go on faster than might otherwise be the case. Mr Budgett could accept small profits on his ready-money transactions, and by their frequency, outstrip heavier-pursed but also heavier-minded men.

The leading maxims of Samuel Budgett in business were--_Tact_, _Push_, and _Principle_. In the two former, he was a great genius, and much he no doubt was indebted to them. Yet we are inclined to think that Principle had the chief hand in his success. He was entirely a just man. He would rebuke a young salesman more severely for a slight inequality in his weighing-scales against the public, than for a neglect of his duty. It was a custom of grocers to mix up pepper with an article called P.D. Mr Budgett long kept a cask of P.D.; but at length, reflecting seriously on it one evening, he went to the shop, re-opened it, took out the hypocritical cask to a neighbouring quarry, and there staved it, scattering the P.D. amongst the clods, and slags, and stones; after which he returned with a light heart to bed. There was also a benevolence at the bottom of all Mr Budgett's proceedings as a man of business. It appeared strongly in his relations to his subalterns and working-people. Though a strict disciplinarian, and not to be imposed upon in anything, he was so humane and liberal towards all around him, that they served him as much from love as duty. He has discharged men for misconduct or disloyalty, and afterwards pensioned their families till they got other employment. His liberality in supporting charitable institutions, and relieving private cases of distress, knew hardly any bounds; but, at a fair computation, it has been estimated at about L.2000 a year.

Observing one of his men looking for some time very melancholy, he called him up, and inquired into the cause. 'The sickness of his wife had entangled him in debt; he could not eat, he could not sleep; his life was a misery to him, and he had exclaimed with a pathos that sunk deep into my dear relative's tender heart: "Master, I am in debt; every time I go near the river, something bids me fling myself into it, telling me there's water enough to rid me of all my troubles; and that if I don't, I shall be sent into the prison there for debt!"

'Deeply affected, he inquired of the poor man the names of his creditors, the amount of their respective claims, and the peculiar circumstances which had led to the contraction of each liability. Having ascertained these particulars, and perfectly satisfied himself that the man had not forgotten the precept of the society of which he was a member--"Not to contract debt without at least a reasonable prospect of discharging it"--he asked him whether freedom from these liabilities would restore to him peace of mind. The question was answered by a sort of sickly smile, which seemed to indicate a perfect despair of such a consummation. "Well, come," said the master, "I don't think things are quite so bad, ----, as they appear to be to you. See here, my poor fellow, you owe ---- pounds: it's a very large sum for a man like you, to be sure; and if you had run into debt to anything like this amount through extravagance, or even thoughtlessness, I should have regarded it as an act of dishonesty on your part, and I _might_ have felt it right to discharge you. But you are to be pitied, and not to be blamed. Cold pity alone goes for nothing, so let us see how you can be helped out of your troubles. Now, do you think your creditors, considering all the circumstances, would take one-half, and be satisfied? Here's Dr Edwards--his bill is the heaviest; if we can get him to take one-half"----

"One-half, master!" exclaimed the poor man, "but if they _would_ take half, where's the money to come from? I 'arn't got a shilling in the world but what's coming to me Friday night; and when I take my wages now, I 'arn't any pleasure in looking at the money, because it 'arn't my own; it should go to pay my debts, and I'm obliged to use it to buy victuals. I think in my heart I shall ne'er be happy again."

'Still more sensibly affected by the poor man's manner the longer the interview lasted, my kind-hearted relative begged him not to distress himself any more; he said that a Friend of his had given him a sum that was quite equal to one-half his debts, bade him return to his work, order a horse to be put into harness as he passed through the yard, and brought round in ten minutes; and told him to be sure to make himself as happy as he could till he saw him again. He immediately drove round to every creditor the poor man had, compounded with them for their respective claims, and obtained their receipts in full discharge. On his return, the poor man's stare of bewilderment was indescribable. He watched his master unfold the receipts one by one without uttering a syllable; and when they were put into his hand, he clutched them with a sort of convulsive grasp, but still not a word escaped him. At length he exclaimed: "But, master, where's the money come from?"

"Never do you mind that, ----," was the reply; "go home, and tell your wife you are out of debt; you are an independent man. I only hope the creditors have felt something of the satisfaction in forgiving you one-half your debt to them, that we know God feels in forgiving our debts to him for Christ's sake: I have said that much to all of them."

'But the puzzling question had not yet been answered, and again it was put: "But, master, where's the money come from?"

"Well, well, I told you a FRIEND had given it to me for you. _You_ know that Friend as well as I do. There now, you may leave your work for to-day: go home to your wife, and thank that Friend together for making you an independent man. But stay, ----, I had almost forgotten one thing. I called to see Mr P---- as I drove through Stoke's Croft; I told him the errand that had carried me away from home all day, and he gave me a sovereign for you to begin the world with."

'The poor fellow was too much affected to say anything more. The next morning, however, he appeared again, but after a most complete failure in a valorous attempt he made to express his thanks, he was obliged to leave the counting-house, stammering out that "both he and his wife felt their hearts to be as light as a feather."'

Mr Budgett was, by family connection, a Wesleyan, and at all periods of his life under a strong sense of religion. He had even acted as a lay-preacher. It was his custom to have all the people of his establishment assembled for religious exercises every morning before proceeding to business. He was active as a Sunday-school teacher, and assisted with his purse and his own active exertions in every effort to Christianise the rude people of Kingswood. When he became a highly-prosperous man, he had a good country-house and a handsome establishment; but wealth and its refinements never withdrew him from familiar personal intercourse with his people. Neither did it ever in the least alienate him from his many humble relations. His conduct, indeed, in all these respects was admirable, and well entitled him to be, what he was, the most revered man of his neighbourhood and kindred. At his death, the expression of mourning was widely spread, as if the whole population had felt in his loss the loss of a friend.

The volume which supplies us with these particulars and extracts, is a very interesting one; yet we could wish to see it abridged of some portion of the long episodes, in the style of pulpit discourses, with which the author has thought proper to expand it. If properly condensed, and the details of the life presented given perhaps in somewhat better order, so as to explain more clearly the steps of Mr Budgett's rise as a merchant, the work might become a _vade-mecum_ for the young man of business, exhibiting to him a model of character and conduct such as could not but exercise a good influence over his future career.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] _The Successful Merchant_: Sketches of the Life of Mr Samuel Budgett, late of Kingswood Hill. By William Arthur, A.M. Hamilton, Adams, & Co. London: 1852.

PET BIRDS OF INDIA.

It is said, that when women addict themselves to vice of any kind, they carry it to extravagance, and become far worse than bad men. In like manner, when the natural softness and amiability of the Hindoo character yield to the temptations of luxury and dominion, the individual grows into a tyrant as cruel and odious as any of those depicted in history. This apparent discrepancy has given rise to many speculative mistakes; but, in our opinion, it is as certain that the mass of the Hindoos are gentle and kindly in their nature, as it is that the mass of women are so. It is a curious thing to see the gallant sepoy on a march, attended by his pet lambs, with necklaces of ribbons and white shells, and ears and feet dyed of an orange colour. But even wild creatures are at home with the kindly Hindoo. Fluttering among the peasants threshing corn in a field, are flocks of wild peacocks, gleaning their breakfast; and in the neighbourhood of a village, a traveller can hardly distinguish between the tame and wild ducks, partridges, and peacocks. 'There is a fine date-tree,' says a recent writer, 'overhanging a kind of school, at the end of one of the streets in the town of Jubbulpore, quite covered with the nests of the baya bird; and they are seen every day, and all day, fluttering about in scores, while the noisy children at their play fill the street below, almost within arm's reach of them.'

Almost all the natives of India are fond of rearing pet birds; and the pet is, more frequently than otherwise, a parrot, which is prized for its conversation. The same taste prevailed, we are told, in the fifteenth century, in the city of Paris, where talking-birds were hung out almost at every window. The authority says, that this was attended with rather an awkward result. 'Leading the public life they did, in which they were exposed to every sort of society, the natural morality of the birds was so far lost, that they had become fluent in every term of reproach and indecency; and thunders of applause were elicited among the crowd of passengers by the aptness of their repartees.' In India, the taste is the same, but the habits different; a sketch of which we furnish from our Old Indian. The carpenter, she tells us, while planing the plank, which he holds between his toes, amuses himself by talking to his parrot. The shoemaker, while binding his slippers, or embroidering his rich velvet shoes, for the feet of some sable beauty, pauses every now and then, to listen to the chattering of his pet. The _guala_, on returning home, after disposing of his butter or buttermilk, first takes up some bamboo twigs, one of which is appropriated to each customer, and marking, by a notch with a knife, the quantity disbursed to each, turns, as a matter of course, to his favourite parrot, and either listens to the recital of his previous lessons, or begins to teach him some fresh invocation to some score of gods and goddesses. These men seldom condescend to teach their favourites anything else; but should a lady be the owner, the parrot's lessons are more varied, and more domestic in their character. He is taught to call his mistress 'mother,' and himself 'Baba mittoo' (sweet child.) He is sometimes instructed to rail at her neighbours, and sometimes to scold the children; and thus she lives in sweet companionship with her bird, feeding him with steeped grain, rice and milk, sugar-cane and Indian corn. Of the two last he is exceedingly fond.

India abounds in a variety of parrots and perroquets, the names of many of which I have forgotten; but the generic name is _Tota_. The more common are the _kudjlah_, _teeah_, and _pahari_. These learn to speak glibly, being generally taken out of the nest before they are fully fledged. Crutches of various kinds are selected for the poor captive, the most ingenious of which is made of a single joint of bamboo, the two ends being formed into cups--the middle part being cut, and then bent and arched over the fire; the perch being formed of a straight piece of bamboo, which joins the two cups below. A hook fastened to the top of the arch enables the owner to suspend it from the thatched ceiling of his hut; and thus the parrot swings about, listening to his master's pious ejaculations. At dusk, many of these men may be seen parading through the bazaar, with their pets in their hands, the latter loudly vociferating that Brahma is the greatest of gods, or that Krishna and Radha were a loving couple; and so on. I have often been amused at this mode of displaying religious zeal and pious adoration.

Should you penetrate into the more crowded parts of the bazaar, you might happen to see the taste of the bird-fancier displayed after a different, but, I am happy to say, exceptional fashion. A shop may sometimes be found having a square space enclosed with a railing, with a divan in the middle, for the accommodation of the master and his visitors. On this railing a number of birds are perched, many of them little tame bulbuls; these are detained by a ligature, passing over the shoulders of the bird, and tied under the breast, leaving his wings and legs free. The bulbul, though not the bird known by that name in Persia, is a pretty songster; but he is as desperate a fighter as a gamecock. Those, therefore, who delight in cruel sports, bring their little pets to these shops, where no doubt birds of the best mettle are to be found; and on the result of a battle, money and sweetmeats are lost and won, while many a poor little bird falls a sacrifice to its master's depraved taste. The tiny _amadavad_, with his glowing carmine neck, and distinct little pearly spots, may also occasionally be seen doing battle; he fights desperately, though he also warbles the sweetest of songs.

The affluent Hindoo Baboo or Mohammedan Nawab, among other luxuries, keeps also his aviary. In these may be seen rare and expensive parrots, brought from the Spice Islands. They delight also in _diyuls_ and _shamahs_. The latter is a smaller bird than our thrush, but larger than a lark; his breast is orange, the rest of his plumage black, and in song he is equal to our black-bird. The diyul also sings sweetly; he is about the same size as the shamah, his plumage black, with a white breast, and white tips to his wings. A well-trained bird of either kind sells for about ten rupees, and twenty will be given for a cuckoo from the Nepaul hills. A Baboo whom I knew had several servants to look after his aviary, one of whom had to go daily in search of white ants and ants' eggs for his insectivorous charge; for the shamah and diyul are both insect-eaters.

Some of the _Minas_ (Gracula), of which there are several kinds in India, articulate as distinctly, and are as imitative, as the parrots. One of these birds was once brought as a present to my little girl. The donor took his leave, assuring us that the bird was a great speaker, and imitated a variety of sounds. This I found to be too true, for I was awakened by him next morning at dawn of day. He had evidently been bred in the neighbourhood of the hospital, and also initiated into the mysteries of the parade. He coughed like a consumptive patient, groaned like one in agony, and moaned as if in the last extremity. Then he would call a 'halt!' and imitate the jingling of the ramrods in the muskets so exactly, that I marvelled how his little throat could go through so many modulations. I was soon obliged to banish him to a distance from the sleeping-apartments, for some of his utterances were anything but suggestive of soothing or pleasurable sensations.

The hill mina, a mountaineer by birth, seldom lives long in confinement in lowland districts. After having endeared himself to his master and his family by his conversational powers and imitative qualities, he is not unfrequently cut off suddenly by a fit, and sometimes expires while feasting on his bread and milk or pea-meal-paste, or perhaps when he has only a few minutes before been calling out loudly his master's name or those of the children. The hill mina is a handsome bird, a size larger than our black-bird; he is of one uniform colour--a glossy black, like the smoothest Genoa velvet, harmonising beautifully with the bright yellow circle of skin round his eyes, his yellow beak and yellow legs.

The grackle or salik, which is a great favourite in the Isle of France, has been correctly enough described in _Partington's Cyclopædia_. It is a gregarious bird, greatly enlivening the aspect of the grassy meadows at sunset, when his comrades assemble in large flocks, and having picked up their last meal of grubs and grasshoppers, resort for shelter to a neighbouring avenue, where they roost for the night. The grackle is a tame and familiar bird, and will sometimes build its nest close to the habitation of man. I have seen one on the top of a pillar, under the shelter of a veranda; and occasionally an earthen-pot is placed for its accommodation in the fork of a neighbouring tree. Though their brood may be constantly removed, they will return, year after year, to the same nest, expressing, however, their discontent and distress when robbed, by keeping up for some days a loud and querulous chattering.

Those who dwell on the banks of the Ganges may sometimes see, during the rainy season, a large boat floating past, having a raised cabin, like a Bengalee hut, constructed of mat and straw. From the multiplicity of cages inside and outside, it may be gathered that here are fresh supplies for the bird-fancier--captives from the hills of Rajmahal and Moryheer. The constant fluttering among the inmates of the crowded cages, and their mournful and discordant notes, indicate that they are anything but a happy family--that they have been only recently caught, and are not yet habituated to confinement. They are soon, however, disposed of at the different stations or towns at which the boat anchors, and become in due time the solitary and apparently happy pets I have already described.

I need only add, that there is no lack of pretty little bird-cages in the Far East, constructed very tastefully by the neat-handed natives, and sold for two or three annas.

JUVENILE ENERGY.

In December 1807, W.H. Maynard, Esq., was teaching a school for a quarter in the town of Plainfield, Massachusetts. One cold, blustering morning, on entering his schoolroom, he observed a lad he had not seen before, sitting on one of the benches. The lad soon made known his errand to Mr Maynard. He was fifteen years old; his parents lived seven miles distant; he wanted an education, and had come from home on foot that morning, to see if Mr Maynard could help him to contrive how to obtain it. Mr Maynard asked him if he was acquainted with any one in the place. 'No.' 'Do your parents know any one here?' 'No.' 'Can your parents help you towards obtaining an education?' 'No.' 'Have you any friends that can give you assistance!' 'No.' 'Well, how do you expect to obtain an education?' 'I don't know, but I thought I would come and see you.' Mr Maynard told him to stay that day, and he would see what could be done. He discovered that the boy was possessed of good sense, but no uncommon brilliancy; and he was particularly struck with the cool and resolute manner in which he undertook to conquer difficulties which would have intimidated common minds. In the course of the day, Mr Maynard made provision for having him boarded through the winter in the family with himself, the lad paying for his board by his services out of school. He gave himself diligently to study, in which he made good but not rapid proficiency, improving every opportunity of reading and conversation for acquiring knowledge: and thus spent the winter. When Mr Maynard left the place in the spring, he engaged a minister, who had resided about four miles from the boy's father, to hear his recitations; and the boy accordingly boarded at home and pursued his studies. It is unnecessary to pursue the narrative further. Mr Maynard never saw the lad afterwards. But this was the early history of the Rev. Jonas King, D.D., whose exertions in the cause of Oriental learning, and in alleviating the miseries of Greece, have endeared him alike to the scholar and the philanthropist, and shed a bright ray of glory on his native country.

LITERARY CIRCLES OF LONDON.

The society of the literary world of London is conducted after this wise:--There are certain persons, for the most part authors, editors, or artists, but with the addition of a few who can only pride themselves upon being the patrons of literature and art--who hold periodical assemblies of the notables. Some appoint a certain evening in every week during the season, a general invitation to which is given to the favoured; others are monthly; and others, again, at no regular intervals. At these gatherings, the amusements are conversation and music only, and the entertainment is unostentatious and inexpensive, consisting of tea and coffee, wine or negus handed about in the course of the evening, and sandwiches, cake, and wine at eleven o'clock. Suppers are prohibited by common consent, for costliness would speedily put an end to society too agreeable to be sacrificed to fashion. The company meets usually between eight and nine, and always parts at midnight.--_The Critic_.

THE SKY-LARK'S SONG.

It comes down from the clouds to me, On this sweet day of spring; Methinks it is a melody That angel-lips might sing.

Thou soaring minstrel! wingèd bard! Whose path is the free air, Whose song makes sunshine seem more bright, And this fair world more fair!

I ask not what the strain may be, Thus chanted at 'Heaven's gate'-- A hymn of praise, a lay of joy, Or love-song to thy mate.

Vain were such idle questioning! And 'tis enough for me To feel thou singest still the notes Which God gave unto thee.

Thence comes the glory of thy song, And therefore doth it fall, As falls the radiance of a star, Gladdening and blessing all!

Oh! wondrous are the living lays That human lips have breathed, And deep the music men have won From lyres with laurel wreathed:

But there's a spell on lip and lyre, Sweet though their tones may be-- Some jarring note, some tuneless string, Aye mars the melody.

The strings sleep 'neath too weak a touch, Or break, 'neath one too strong; Or we forget the master-chord That should rule all our song.

When shall our spirit learn again The lay once to it given? When shall we rise, like thee, sweet bird! And, singing, soar to heaven?

FANNY FARMER.

DOG-SELLING EXTRAORDINARY.