UtH.tL. CALIFORNIA SAN BIEGO J err /n THE namkl Merchant: £$&* SKETCHES LIFE OF MR. SAMUEL BUDGETT, LATE OF KIXGSWOOD Hill BY WILLIAM ARTHUR, A.M. jKTeni-Bork : PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PHILLIPS, S MULBERRY- STB E F. T 1853. PREFACE. On the clay that Mr. Budgett died I was in Bristol, staying- with one whose heart was that day full. He who had just departed was naturally the subject of conversation, and the incidents of his early life were freely talked over. Just then the prospect of a long in- voluntary leisure was before me ; and designs for improving it by literary occupation were already formed. But as the uncommon his- tory of the deceased merchant was discussed, the thought arose that to make it the subject of a commercial biography Avould be the most useful application of the expected leisure. This design was more homely than those origi- nally entertained, and, at first, not very wel- come ; but after some time spent in silently- IV PREFACE. observing and inquiring, the conviction of its superior usefulness was confirmed. I therefore ventured to request permission from the family to acquaint myself with all the accessible details of his life, and to pre- pare them for the public in the form which had suggested itself to me. The request was unexpected, but was kindly met ; and without a trace of the vulgar reluctance to allude to the earlier stages of a remarkable rise, every particular was communicated and freely left at my disposal. A strong desire, indeed, was manifested to lay me under restraint as to anything which might be construed into busi- ness display ; but my design required freedom to show what Mr. Budgett had attained, and that I was obliged to use. I saw him carried to his grave, and that day conversed with numbers of his neighbors and his men, none knowing my intentions. At long intervals, such conversations were re- peated with many who had known him closely ; TKEFACE. v and certainly very seldom has a master been portrayed so much "by the hand of his own men, or a citizen by that of his neighbors, as in the following pages. Biographers, like portrait painters, are a suspected race: it is generally taken for granted that they paint men as they ought to be ; while to the historian you must look for the delineation of men as they are. How far the infirmity of the race besets me would not be discussed impartially just here ; but it may fairly be said that, in the picture you are asked to look upon, an effort has been made to insert, with a firm hand, every real scar. Some will say they are too slight ; others will say they are too deep, and these they who most intimately knew the original. The design of this volume is to furnish a work wherein an actual and a remarkable life is traced in relation to commerce. It was never meant to enlarge the knowledge of the scholar, to mature the graces of the holy, or vi PREFACE. to hallow the retirement of the contemplative ; hut to he a friendly, familiar booh for the busy, to which men from the counting-house or the shop might turn, feeling that it concerned them, and for which they might possibly he the better here and hereafter. Beyond this, one hope did arise, — that it might perhaps meet the eye of some whose leisure, abilities, and spirit would fit them to direct a more powerful literature or a sacred eloquence to the quickening of commercial life with the principles of Christian charity and upright- ness. May God grant that, by the instru- mentality of this humble book, some youths may be led to habits which will be " profitable to all things," some men lifted above the trammels of commercial selfishness, and some preachers or authors moved to labor to bring religion and business into closer union ! CONTENTS. Chap. Pa ^ e I. — The SriiERE wherein he moved 1 II. — The Born Merchant 19 III. — The Basis of Character 56 IV. — Early Toils and Troubles 109 . V. — Rise and Progress 145 VI. — Master and Men 196 VII. — In his own Neighbourhood 2S6 VIIT. — In the Family..... 325 IX. — The Inner Life 352 X.— The Latter End 377 mmM Mwljani CHAPTER I. THE SPHERE WHEREIN HE MOVED. Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing-, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwreek'd brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. — Longfellow. Kingswood is not a bewitching place. Going out from Bristol, you find the road skirted by rough cottages, prolific of a rough population. Here and there is a man whose complexion has just been painted in the coal-pit, or a woman in costume appropriate to other ages, — a long great-coat of dark-blue cloth, with manifold capes, like a coach- man's, surmounted by a quaint black hat, with a low crown, and a leaf spreading widely all round, but lapped down about the ears. To the eye of a stranger, the neighbourhood seems to lie at a dis- tance from our day. But a few modern houses, aspiring towards respectability, a modern church, and modern chapels, all in very good taste, show 1 2 THE SUCCESSFUL MERCHANT. that a new spirit of improvement has broken in upon the old apathy of the place. Just at the top of Kingswood Hill, about four miles from Bristol, a lane turns off from the main road. A few dozen yards down that lane, you find gates that indicate the entrance to a substan- tial residence. Passing inside, you are in grounds where shrubs and statues pleasantly contrast with the adjacent rudeness. To your left, is a handsome house. On a bright green lawn, just before the door, stand a fountain, an arbour of weeping ash, and a pedestal supporting a sun-dial. On the other side of the lawn, spangled groups of flowers appear through the transparent walls of a conservatory ; and close by, in a large and handsome aviary, a silver pheasant holds court over a tribe of. birds, some curious, some musical. Down a gentle slope, the grounds spread over a surface of about fifteen acres, where you see patches of plantation, a speck of water enlivened by some rare poultry, and a troop of sheep graced by a stag and fawn. Beyond this, the view stretches away up a rich valley, and then far on, over undulating lands, till, in the distance, the eye catches a lofty monument at Dursley, some twenty miles away. A cottage here and there decks the green fields, with its red tiles and walls of shiny white. The prospect convinces you that nature is not to be blamed for the roughness of the neigh- bourhood. The residence and grounds show, that some one was found who could appreciate the advan- tages which nature offered. SPHERE WHEREIN HE MOVED. 3 On Wednesday, the Yth of May, 1851, just before the village clock struck twelve, you might have seen a strange, new foreground to the pleasant picture which lies in front of that dwelling. On the cir- cular pathway before the door, about two hundred men stood ranged in order, two by two. Each figure was clad in a mourning cloak, each hat had a funeral band. A listless look you did not see, nor a head carried thoughtlessly. Those at the rear of the column were only boys ; before these were youths ; and so advancing, till, near its head, you found gray-haired men ; and they appeared the saddest. That long column, — black, black, all black, — did look deeply mournful, in front of the pleasant lawns and the bright Gloucestershire val- ley, in their May-day leaf and bloom. The head of the column stood close by the portico of the house. A bier was there. A single glance would have told a stranger all ; — the master of the place was gone, and his retainers had gathered to honour his burial ! Inside the gates, everything told you that the residence had lost its master. Outside, everything told you that the village had lost its chief man. The houses had their blinds drawn down ; the shops were closed ; the whole population seemed abroad and eager. A dense crowd stood round the gates ; and all along the l-oad, " to the place of sepulchre," for a quarter of a mile and more, was ranged an expecting throng. Never before, though familiar with Irish funerals, had I witnessed such an assem- 4 THE SUCCESSFUL MERCHANT. bly at an interment — at least, never but once ; and that was on the occasion when even the volatile heart of Paris was heavy for a clay, while her whole population came forth to follow the bier of those who had perished in the frantic battle of June, 1848. How natural it is, when one sees a funeral indi- cating wealth or influence, to think of Southey's forcible piece, and to watch among the attendants for tokens of the place the departed held in their hearts : — These mourners here, who from their carriages Gape at the gaping crowd. A good March wind Were to be pray'd for now, to lend their eyes Some decent rheum ; the very hireling mute Bears not a face more blank of all emotion Than the old servant of the family : How can this man have lived, that thus his death Costs not the soiling one white handkerchief ! It was not so here. As you looked along that numerous " following," from the men that bore the coffin to the boys that brought up the distant rear, you felt that it was not a pageant, but a mourning. The procession entered a spacious chapel. Every nook was soon crowded, and a surplus throng re- mained without. "While the solemn service was read, you could see, among the workingmen avIio had followed the bier, many a countenance very deeply shaded. A minister then addressed the multitude. He spoke of the deceased, not in graceful and balanced eulogies, but with a gush of hearty regard that was not to be framed up and SPHERE WHEREIN HE MOVED. 5 gilded. He spoke of worth and bounties as of things that all present knew as well as he ; and as he spoke, all faces gathered feeling. "Those bands," he cried, "have given away their hun- dreds upon hundreds;" and then, perhaps, you seldom saw so many men quite melted. Many an eye was full, and many an eye ran over. Just as the coffin was lowered into the vault, a woman, standing behind me in the crowd, said, " Ah, poor man ! hope he 's gone happy !" " Gone happy !" replied a neighbour ; " if he isn't gone happy, what must us do ?" Turning away with the slowly-retiring crowd, I said to a woman, " Have you often such funerals as this in Kingswood ?" She looked at me in a style not at all compli- mentary to my intelligence, as if to say, "Where can you have spent your days, to ask a question like that?" Then exclaiming, with special em- phasis, " Niver !" she left me to better my infor- mation. Joining a poor, but thoughtful-looking man, I said, " This is a remarkable funeral." " Yes, sir ; such a one as we never had in Kings- wood before." Then pausing, he added, sadly, " The best man in Kingswood gone to-day !" A few days afterwards, meeting with an elderly man, whom I had seen as one of the retinue of mourners, I asked him if he had not been in the employment of the deceased merchant. " Yes, sir, for seventeen years." Then his coun- 6 THE SUCCESSFUL MERCHANT. tenance flushed, and he added, " Ah, sir ! a great man fallen !" I coolly observed, that I supposed he had heen an important man in the neighbourhood. " In the neighbourhood !" replied the old man, " there wasn't his equal in all England. No tongue can ever tell all that man did." This man was about sixty years of age. His hair was gray; and as he thus spoke of his late master, to a perfect stranger, the tears fell fast. Ah ! ye cotton lords and corn lords, for whom many toil in factoiy or in field, that would be no unworthy monument, — a man who had grown gray in your service, weeping at the mention of your name. But such a monument as that, like a Parian monument, costs a price. It never comes unbought. And it must be paid for in your own lifetime, and with your own hand. Your will, or your survivors, may secure a marble that will droop and mourn over your grave for centuries; but if you would have a few warm tears from the heart of a poor man, neither heir nor will can buy them. " Rarely," said the ' Bristol Times ' of that week, "has a neighbourhood suffered a greater loss, in the death of a man, than Kingswood in the decease of Mr. Budgett, whose charity was un- bounded, and who distributed with discrimination and liberality, and without ostentation, fully £2,000 a year from his own pocket." I do not now wait to inquire whether this esti- mate is too high or too low ; but when a man is SPHERE WHEREIN HE MOVED. 7 thus spoken of in his own vicinity, you can under- stand how some tears should fall at his removal. And who was this man, whose death moved an entire neighbourhood, and wrung individual hearts ? You might often have seen driving into Bristol, a man under the middle size, verging towards sixty, wrapped up in a coat of deep olive, with gray hair, an open countenance, a quick brown eye, and an air less expressive of polish than of push. He drives a' phaeton, with a first-rate horse, at full speed. He looks as if he had work to do, and had the art of doing it. On the way he overtakes a woman carrying a bundle. In an instant the horse is reined up by her side, and a voice of contagious promptitude tells her to put up her bundle and mount. The voice communicates to the astonished pedestrian its own energy. She is forthwith seated, and away dashes the phaeton. In a few minutes the stranger is deposited in Bristol, with the pre- sent of some pretty little book, and the phaeton hastens on to Nelson-street. There it turns into the archway of an immense warehouse. " Here, boy ; take my horse ! take my horse !" It is the voice of the head of the firm. The boy flies. The master passes through the offices as if he had three days' work to do. Yet his eye notes everything. He reaches his private office. He takes from his pocket a memorandum-book, on which he has set down, in order, the duties of the day. A boy waits at the door. He glances at his book, and orders the boy to call a clerk. The clerk is there 8 THE SUCCESSFUL MEKCHANT. promptly, and receives his instructions in a moment. " Now, what is the next thing V asks the master, glancing at his memorandum. Again the hoy is on the whig, and another clerk appears. He is soon dismissed. " Now, what is the next thing ?" again looking at the memorandum. At the call of the messenger, a young man now approaches the office-door. He is a " traveller ;" hut notwith- standing the habitual push and self-possession of his class, he evidently is approaching his employer with reluctance and embarrassment. He almost pauses at the entrance. And now that he is face to face with the strict man of business, he feels much confused. " Well, what 's the matter ? I understand you can't make your cash quite right." "No, Sir." " How much are you short ?" " Eight pounds, sir." " Never mind ; I am quite sure you have done what is right and honourable. It is some mistake ; and you won't let it happen again. Take this and make your account straight." The young man takes the proffered paper. He sees an order for ten pounds ; and retires as full of admiration as he had approached full of anxiety. "Now, what is the next thing?" This time a porter is summoned. He comes forward as if he expected rebuke. " O ! I have got such a complaint reported against you. You know that will never do. You must not let that occur again." SPHERE WHEREIN HE MOVED. 9 Thus, with incredible despatch, matter after mat- ter is settled, and all who leave that office go to their work as if some one had oiled all their joints. At another time, you find the master passing tli rough the warehouse. Here, his quick glance descries a man who is moving drowsily, and he says a sharp word that makes him, in a moment, nimble. There, he sees another blundering at his work. He had no idea that the master's eye was upon him, till he finds himself suddenly supplanted at the job. In a trice, it is done ; and his master leaves him to di- gest the stimulant. Now, a man comes up to tell him of some plan he has in his mind, for improving something in his own department of the business. " Yes, thank you, that's a good idea ;" and putting half-a-crown into his hand, he passes on. In another place he finds a man idling. You can soon see, that of all spectacles this is the one least to his mind. " If you waste five minutes, that is not much ; but probably if you waste five minutes j^ourself, you lead some one else to waste five minutes, and that makes ten. If a third follow your example, that makes a quarter of an hour. Now, there are about a hundred and eighty of us here ; and if every one wasted five minutes in a day, what would it come to ? Let me see. Why, it would be fifteen hours; and fifteen hours a day would be ninety hours, about eight days, working time, in a week ; and in a year, would be four hundred days. Do you think we could ever stand waste like that ?" The poor loiterer is utterly confounded. He had no idea of eating up fifteen 10 THE SUCCESSFUL MERCHANT. hours, much less four hundred days, of his good em- ployer's time ; and he never saw before how fast five minutes could be multiplied. Turning from this energetic merchant to the es- tablishment of which he is the head, you are asto- nished at its magnitude and order. " What busi- ness do you call yours?" would be your natural inquiry. " General Provision Merchants." And, verily, they do seem bent on making general pro- vision. The warehouse is one hundred and eighty feet long, by three hundred and fifty at its greatest depth. You pass from office to office, from yard to yard, from loft to loft, and from loft to cellar, till you wonder how all this has been brought \inder one roof. Then you are led across the street to commence a similar process, on a smaller scale, in a bonded warehouse. Even though you have travel- led a good deal, you may find the tour of that ware- house a curious and instructive journey. Here you come upon a region of loaf sugar, where it is stored up, pile upon pile, as if seven years of saccharine famine had been foretold. There you light upon a tract of sugar tierces, before which you cease to wonder at the piles of loaf. " "What !" you say to yourself, " are all these tierces to be melted away in tea-cups ?" Then, thinking such masses must move off slowly, you ask, "How much does each tierce weigh ?" " Ten hundred weight." " And do you sell many of them whole ?" " We sold two hundred and fifty last week." SPHEEE WHEREIN HE MOVED. 11 Here you come upon a territory overgrown with tea-chests ; there, upon a colony of casks replenished with nutmegs, cassia, and all spicery. Again, you are environed with piled-up boxes of fruit ; then, with a vast snowy region of flour. Presently, you are in a land of coffee ; then, in a realm where molasses reigns alone, parading itself in hogshead after hogs- head, and dozens of hogsheads, till you see there is more molasses in the world than you ever thought before. Now, you are wandering in a wilderness of cheeses ; then, on lofts which groan under mountains of peas. Here, tobacco abounds ; there, bacon. An