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vuld say. un-one of the mort remarkaame time, one of the most common-very-day, unheroic, business men, that ved, was Samuel Budgett, of Bristol. We such men, in one point of view, in our streets, every day. It is the pride and glory of the New England character, that it is practical; businesslike; and strikes for a tangible end, by tangible methods. Budgett was just such a man. He began life a very poor boy, in the little village of
The Last Violet.
BY LOTTIE LIHWOOD.
Ah mel 'tin almost winter, and the snow
Has three times fluttered 'round my window-pane, And homeless winds upon the uplands blow,
And all the trees stand leafless on the plain. What dost thou here, dear little stranger—now if
I found thee blooming on a cherished grave,
Where the dead grasses o'er a treasure wave
Did some fair angel on its pinions bright.
Whose blooms ne'er fade, the great eternal height! And wert thou culled and twined by seraph hands,
To some sweet harp, whose tones of rich delight Were tuned in unison with songs of ransomed bandst
But thou art withering! 'tis true, Mas
My earthly touch hath made thee droop and fadel 0, will this vile mortality soon pass
Away to nothingness, whence it was made? For oh, I long to fling aiide this maBB
Of earthly drosB, that to my being clings,
And find my counterpart with holier things, Long to be free from Life's deceitful farcel
Lead me, dear Father, where the sinless are.
Away in fear, when on their shores, so fair—
Dear violetl the chain that binds me there
FOR THE COURAHT.
Holidays of every country,
Come with blessings, come with greeting;
'Hound the home of childhood gather;
Ail, with happy facea, come;
Smiles should bless the christian home.
Bring your gifts in noble spirit,
Thinking of your home above;
Every christian dwells in love.
Know ye, when your hearts are merry,
Dearer, fairer, is the treasure
Honor then, thy patient father,
Richer than ail earthly treasures,
Happy days f I would not lessen
Aught of all the joys ye give;
I have learned to joy and fire.
Welcome, then, to hearts of children;
Welcome to each spot of earth j
Gladden every christian hearth.
The Effects of an Ice Storm.
Morning appears. Forth from hti icy bed,
Of silvery hue, like that famed fabled grove
On which Aladdin gaz'd. The huge trunks glar'd
Like silver columns, while each little branch
'Stead of green leaves, bore glassy fruit, that threw
A thousand rain-bow colors in the light.
Turn'd to the West—a sober radiance struck
The wondering eye—the glassy panoply
Of each huge trunk—the mild, soft hues of light
Cast o'er the snow wreaths on the topmost bough,
As if it sorrow'd to disturb their pure
White couch, and wake them to their fated death.
A slight gale breath'd at times, wafting the snow,
In tiny feathers, floating on the air,
White as the down close to the cygnet's breast,
Pure as the love of maiden Innocence.
But face the sun I Oh, what a glorious blaze,
Of bright uncertainty I Branchlet and twig,
Flinging their gorgeous hues from tree to tree
In the near Bight; while, in tho farthest wood,
One strong, continuous, silvery blaze darted
lis lustre forth. 'Twas like the fairy dream
The Arab has of some fair, glistening bower
In Paradise, flashing its pearly light
In the broad rays of heaven's own golden sun.
As the slight curling smoke crept o'er the sky,
It seem'd some wake on tho blue ocean traced;
While floods of pointed, frozen stars, sailing
Athwart the beam, glittered one moment there,
Then mlx'd, unnoticed, with their kindred snow,
Bright and uncertain as tho joys of life,
To him whose raven locks they cluster'd o'er.
Tho young Altawmah
Altaivmah Canto I.
From the Albany Argus.
Tbe Dying: Boy.
It must bo sweet in childhood to give back
The spirit to its Maker; ere the heart
Has grown familiar with the paths of sin,
And sown—to garner up its bitter fruits.
I knew a boy whose infant feet had trod
Upon the blossoms of some seven springs,
And when the eighth came round and called him out
To revel in Its light, he turned away,
And sought his chamber to lie down and die.
'Twas night, he summoned his accustom'd friends,
And in this wiso bestowed his last requests:—
"Mother, I'm dying now I
And on my brow
I feel the cold sweat stand;
Mother! your hand—
"Here, lay It on my wrist,
"Never, beside your knee,
You taught to me:
Ohl at the time of prayer,
You'll miss mo there 1"
"Father, I'm going home!
Storms do not come:
I must be happy then,—
Shall meet agalnl"
"Brother! the little spot I used to call my garden, where long hours We've Btrayed to watch the budding things and flowers, Forget it not!
Plant there some box or pine: Something that lives in winter, and will be A verdant offering to my memory,
And call it mine."
"Sister! my young rose-tree.
I give to thee;
And when Its roses bloom,
But will you not bestow a single one
"Now, mother, sing the tune
Morning spread over earth her rosy wings,
For tbe Little Ones—A Christmas Rbyme.
Three little kittens
To eat a Christmas pie;
And thus were heard to cry:
We've lost our mittens, dear.
You shall have i o Christmas pie.
Three little kittens
All on a shelf so high;
And thus were heard to cry:
We've found our mittens, dear.
You shall have some Christmas pie.
The Secret of Success.
Some men habitually succeed in carrying to a creditable stage of completion, whatever they undertake; and others as habitually fail—make botches, and mortify themselves and their friends. What is the reason for this radical difference in the results of the labors of different men t It behooves every man, who prefers success to failure, to look sharply, into this question, as a practical matter.— In our judgment, the secret lies in the different degrees of clearness, with which different men perceive the obstacles to success; sec what is to bo avoided and what is to be sought for; and tho keenness with w hich they distinguish between the practicable and the impracticable. The general plans of two men may be very much alike—run in the same channel, and tend to the same end; but tho one sees distinctly what is to be done, and how to go about it—the other, has a mere hazy desire to do something great or smart, without any clear idea of the successive steps to be taken, before the end desired, is realized. Everything arduous, requires of course, a long series of step after step; tentative after tentative, as Goethe called it—trial after trial, as a Yankee would say.
Take an illustration—one of tho moH remarkable, and at the same lime, one of the most commonplace, and every-day, unheroic, business men, that ever lived, was Samuel Bndgett, of Bristol. We see such men, in one point of view, in our streets, every day. It is the pride and glory of the New England character, that it is practical; businesslike; and strikes for a tangible end, by tangible methods. Budgett was just such a man. He began life a very poor boy, in the little village of Kingswood, four miles from Bristol, the great commercial mart of the south-west of England. Budgctt was aided by nature with a clear head, firm will and accurate perception of what he was after. Ho was a natural trader; a boy that picked up a horse-shoe in the road, carried it three miles, got a penny for it, and by turning that penny in boy's trades, made 160 dollars by the time he was fifteen years old. When we say Budgett was a born bargainer, we do not mean that be was a narrow skinflint. He loved to make money, but he set little value on his money, when it was made. He threw the whole of his earnings and savings, his slowly acquired 150 dollars into his mother's lap, as a present. He spent for charitable objects, $10,000 a year as soon as he was able to afford it. He allowed himself and his family a reasonable share of his profits, at the start, and when able he bought a fine mansion with spreading lawn, trees, horses, &c, &c. He never allowed himself to make money his God; but he pursued money with great eagerness; he was sharp and hard and firm at a bargain. Bargains to him, were bargains. Generosity in such cases, seemed to him weakness. To make the best of your own side and keep the weak points of your adversary full in your eye, seemed to him the true theory of bargain-making. Sharp, was the word; and so it inevitably must be, in this world's dealings. So it actually is; and the man who takes Easy for the password, will find that it won't go. The doors of fortune turn on their golden hinges, only to him who pries them open with a sharp, strong and well-tempered instrument.— Budgett began, a retail grocer, in a small country shop,—he ended a large warehouse-man; doing a wholesale and retail grocery business—taking in the whole West of England in the sweep of his connections, with ships on the seas, vast storehouses in Bristol, 47 draught horses, and 100 men in his employment. What brought all this about 1 It was (and here we strike the secret) " the precise point of difference between the accurate, methodic man, who will conserve all, but make no advancement; and the man who will step onward—both are hard workers; but the one has no originality, no instinct of improvement, no intelligent audacity; and the other has. The blundering man looks principally forward; he devotes not sufficient time and energy to the ground already won; but will sot off in foolish pursuit, leaving a body of tho enemy yet unbroken, in the field. The right man, never neglects the business of the moment; but ho looks forward too—ventures, on the right occasion, to break through old sanctioned rules and shape new ones for himself. The original man is not lie who recklessly gambles, appealing from custom to chance; buthc, who, with a light of his own, relying as little upon chance, as the most prudent plodder, appeals from custom to vision. In every walk of life, there are certain niiuutias w hich are visible only to the man of insight, and to be seized only by the man of tact,"—and yet, these are the tender, scarce perceptible filaments which lead, if properly followed, to fortune's richest mines. If you know not how to see and seize these tender threads in your own department, depend upon it, gentle reader, had you been put down, instead of Samuel Budgett, in tiie small village grocery, you would have continued a small trader, in a small way, all of your unnoted life; and never emerged to such eminence, as now promises to make the character of Samuel Budgelt.Me repiesentative character of the 19th century. Some of the sentences above are quoted from Baylie s sketch of Budgclt in his Christian Life,
Social and Individual. Budgett's life has also been written more at length by Arthur; but any business man, who wants to accumulate a few thousands in the year '56, will do well to take time and money enough to read Bayne's Sketch of Budgett —it will be a productive investment to any business man, old or young. We like Bayne's theory of business. He says " I am no brave man if I bid you bate your energies out of pity or misnamed courtesy. Nature intends every faculty to be used to the utmost. A man who expects less from his competitors than an unsparing use of all their means, is a coward; a man who aims at having more than the full use of his own, is a churl." That's the right talk. A fair field and no favor; and let every man use his own energies to the utmost, and let the proud, the jealous, the lazy, who shrink from the contest, cease their whining and choak down their disposition to sneer, when they see more laborious and active and earnest men than themselves carrying off prizes, equally open to their own competition. Success is in the main, cxtraordinaries excepted, the true test of merit; and we believe, the real secret of success to lie, in the keenness with which one perceives, and the energy with which one follows, those almost imperceptible clues, that lead to success, if followed; and condemns to obscurity, if neglected.
TOR THE COCRANT.
k Story for Willie—The Hay Queen.
A story for you, dear Willie! Will you forgive me if I make you sad, and bring tears to young eyes that are so radiant with laughter 1 I knew a little girl, a bright, beautiful, gentle being—oh, Willie! earth seldom sees such loving and angelic ones—never retains them long. The sky, with its varied aspects—the flowers, springing up in every place—the birds, with their beautiful plumage and* voices of melody—were all objects of love with her. Even the little violet (if presented by a friend) would bring the moisture to her heavenly eyes, for her friends were almost adored, and her heart went out to them anew at every exhibition of their love. Her hair was long and golden, falling in clustering ringlets over her neck and shoulders. They called her Grace, and meet it was that they should name her thus. But her beauty was not outward only; her mind and heart were also mature and lovely, affectionate and artless; gay as a butterfly, she was ever dancing, singing and smiling. Her parents doaled on her, for she was their youngest—their pet and darling. They had only two children besides, and these were many years older. They lived in a beautiful house; but the garden was tho little Gracie's home during tho flower season.— Among the opening buds and expanding blossoms she spent many a happy hour. A choice circle of youthful friends surrounded her, and she was ever the favorite.
May day was drawing Dear. It was the birth day of little Grace also, and a grand party was to he enjoyed by tho juveniles. The Queen was not to be chosen until the very day, but most had already, in his or her heart, selected Grace. Two weeks only intervened, and all were busy, bargaining at every green-house for the flowers that were to compose their crown and ornament their throne.
It was one of April's most beautiful days, and Grace went with her sister Mary a mile from home to invite a little lame friend to be of the party.. "I will lake good care of you," said Grace, as she urged the half reluctant child; "papa will send the carriage, and 1 will have a nice seat all ready for
you when you are there." Every one else, in thoughts of themselves and their own pleasure, hod forgotten poor Fanny, but Grace could not rest content until she had obtained a promise from her to come. After this she had an errand at the diessmakers, and her sister Mary made several calls j so, by the time they reached home, poor Gracie was unusually weary, and as she laid her head upon her father's shoulder to receive his good-night kiss she said, "Oh, father, I am so tired! It seems as if I never should be rested again." But her mother, who went with her to her room, soon came back and reported the wearied child in a sweet slumber. Soon Mary went up to their chamber and found Grace turning restlessly upon her pillow and faintly moaning. She spoke to her gently, and the child, starting quickly, placed her hand upon her temple and complained of a wild throbbing pain. Mary was alarmed and called her parents. They administered simple remedies,but they ovailed nothing. Before morning Grace was very, very ill. The physician was summoned, but his skill was powerless to stop the progress of disease.— Dear little Grace was a great sufferer, but patient and mild, so that it drew tears from the eyes of those who ministered to her. And the days camo and went—bright, beautiful days they were, with the glorious sun shining, the trees decked with blossoms, and the birds just returned from their southern home, singing sweetly.
The preparations for the May party went on, the little girls hoping all the time that in some way or other Gracie would honor them with her presence. But there were sad hearts in Gracie's home, as each day too surely told that their darling was leaving them. Her eyes bore the same love-light, and her voice spoke in as gentle accents, as when in health, and each day she grew dearer to the fond hearts of the household band.
It was the night before May day, and Gracie lay upon her low couch, her thin hands crossed upon her bosom, her eyes closed, and her ljps moving in her wonted childhood's prayer. An anxious group was in the room. It seemed as if the life of father, mother, brother and sister, must go out with hers. The prayer was ended, and the mild eye glanced lovingly around. "Oh, I love you all so well I" said she. "Come to me, dear father, and kiss me as you always do at night. I am almost gone—almost gone. Soon I shall be at home, and you will all meet me there. I should love to stay with you, but God has called me; and I know, dear mother, that you arc willing to let me go, for you taught me to pray, 'Thy will be done.' I know you will miss your little Gracie, but you'll all come soon. Tomorrow is May day, and I shall be in Heavon. Oh, how happy! I am so tired I must sleep. Oh! don't cry, any of you, when I am glad. Kiss me! Good night father, mother, Fred and Mary. You'll always love me, won't you 1" and the last words were faint, as tbo gentle eyes closed, never to open again on earth. Oh, what a long "good night" would this prove! and with breaking hearts and tearful eyes, the stricken ones watched the sleep of their idol. All night she slept; but now and then some loving hand would moisten the parched lips, disturbing her not. But the little breath came fainter and shorter each hour, and when the first Ted tint appeared in the east, heralding in a bright May morning, the young life went out, and Gracie slept the sleep that is soundest aud sweetest of all. No stranger hands dressed her foi her silent bed. The teacher whom she had ever loved straightened tho young limbs, and wrapped around the graceful form a spotless robe, emblem of the purity of the iittle wearer. There was deep silence in the house that day. Each one moved as if a word, or even breath, would disturb the beautiful sleeper. There was no dance on the lawn, no music or feasting in the grove, but when the sun was sinking in the west, and twilight shadows gathering, a group of ffirls, clad in white, came softly to the couch where Gracie lay. Flowers were scattered in rich profusion around her, and the room was filled with their [icrfumes; but none were so beautiful or fragrant as those composing a crown, which one little girl placed amid the golden tresses of slumbering Gracie. There were hushed voices and sobs which could not be restrained, and many a tear-drop glittered among the roses as one by one they kissed the lips of their silent May Queen.
"Gracie, whom we all loved so fondly, is most truly a queen to-day," said their teacher, who stood among them. "You have placed upon her bead an earthly crown, which will return to dust with the beautiful brow it adorns, but my children, high in Heaven she wears an unfading crown, and has already attuned her harp to the praise of Him 'who doeth all things well.' And now weep no longer, for has not Christ himself said, 'Of such is the kingdom of Heaven' 3"
The little ones turned away comforted, leaving their beloved May Queen sleeping amid the fading emblems of each young life. And we will leave her also, dear Willie, only adding that mine is a true story, and some glad summer day, if you will walk with me through our beautiful cemetery, I will show to you a little grave, ever adorned with flowers, and whisper in your ear, "Gracie, the beautiful May Queen, sleeps here."
Hill Side. Dec. 1, 1855.
Tbe Present Prominent Peculiarity—Hoop, Hurrah!
Things w they are,
Reader, allow me to introduce you to Miss Blanche Cerceau.
And I waited in the drawing-room till I thought my hair would grow grey before she would appear. Tbe carriage was at the door—It was a bitter cold r.i^ht—I could bear the coachman sw inging and dapping bis arms to keep his hands warm. Iliad wound up the musical box for excitement, and listened to its soulless jingle for occupation; I had maile the little King Charles Spaniel stand on his hind legs till he began to think that was his normal Position. I tried with my right hand to coax "Uncle Ned" out of the piano—much to the chagrin of tliat grand instrument, whose mission was classical music, I beat a retreat from the realms of sweet >'J0iid to that of sweet feelings—my patent leather boots were awful light. In blissful agony I heard, »t last, the opening of a door, a musical laugh— 'lie rustle of silks—and there before me, just giving » last tightening to her glove lace—was Blanche Cerceau. Such a seraph smile, such a cooing voice—
And did I keep him waiting"!—the dear little Arthur! And did he grow frettul V
"In the lexicon of Politeness which Fate has ordiined for a bright man of the world, there is no tuch word as Fretful!'' I answered. I had been undying this answer for two hours—Bulwer gavo 'be lesson. As I replied, my eyes fell on the ball Costume of Blanche. The Pyramids of Egypt were KUntly intended to be represented by that dress,
her head the apex and the bottom of her skirt the base. I had to open my eyes twice to take in the circumference, there was no end to that lower hoop! "Can she get out of the front door," thought 1; granted, yet can she get into the carriage! "Hadn't I better ride outside with the driver 1" I mildly asked her this last thought. She answered—
"Never, dear Arthur—on such a night as this! Ride inside, only put your feet on the cushions; then I can stand up."
"Kind hearted Blanche," thought I—what sacrifices you make for one you love. I entered the carriage first—it was not gallant but then she insisted on it! Then she came in—how I can't tell, but she did it. And standing up likea hippodrome girl in her chariot and holding on to the hand straps—off we started to attend Madame Ravencourt's ball.
It was a full house—how it would have gladdened the heart of a prima donna, at a dollar a head. Through the crush of human beings I swept onward with Blanche, once only I thought it was all up with the whalebones, but we got through—a little bent hut still elastic; occasionally a passerby would sweep the skirts round till I saw those daintily cKaussed tiny feet,and her figure looked like a dinner-bell cut in two—but the wave swept on and the pyramid was a pyramid.
"Will you waltz 1" I said to her as tho music sounded.
"Oh.no! I never waltz now V "Confound those hoops," thought I. But we "did" a quadrille very easily. Only two steps and the figure w as complete —an awkward step from the gentle vis-a-vis, and rip went the lady's skirts, hoops, &c.—then came apologies, retreat to the dressing room—repairsimpossible— had to send home for the carriage—and, instead of having a splendid evening, Blanche and I —she sat down on the seat now, and I took hei dear little gloved hand into mine and poured consolation into her heart; rode home before 11 o'clock. Oh, horrors!
In a few days Blanche and I will be married. Hoop, hurrah! The wedding ring—I wish it was some other shape, it reminds nic so much of hoops —now lies on the table. And that cart load of whalebone I saw going into her house one day last week. "Blanche," said I, "is there an umbrella manufactory near you?" This reminds me that the bridal dresses—a la pyramids of Egypt—are being built.
Blanche hasn't been to church for three months— owing to the narrowness of the pews, and the width of her hoops.
And I sit down in my arm chair—and wonder if such things can be possible, and if—what was right. And I've come to the conclusion that everything is that is.
My wedding day! "Now, old boy!" I soliloquized, "you can only go through the operation once in your life—three or four times at the outside." Just raise the window and see if there are any unusual operations going on in the heavers above,or in the garden below, or over in the neighbors' houses the other side of the street. Nothing! Then nature is inauspicious. Ther'll be a row to day, somewhere!"
"Prophetic words! We were to be married in tho church engrande tenue, at 10 o'clock in the morning. The hour came, carriages, friends, &c,— walked up to the door—side door—very narrow— bride couldn't get through—couldn't get into the church. Hoops too large—door too small. I grew as red in the face as a boiled lobster. 'Put her through,' I gasped—confused, agitated and vulgar."
"Sir-r-r!" said Blanche, "such language at such a time!"
We re-entered the carriage,ditto the friends, theirs, returned to the bride's house, and then I, Arthur 0. Bandylegg, received a formal dismissal. I got the sack, Mile. Blanche Cerceau retains the hoops. Shall I not write—
Things Bu they tire?
Somebody says the reason tom-cats aro so musical, is because they are all fiddle-strings inside.
Legend of St. Nicholas or Santa Clans.
Santa Claus is the patron saint of children, and especially schoolboys; of poor maidens, of sailors, of travelers, and merchants. He is of all patron saints perhaps the most popular and interesting.— Throughout all Catholic Europe, children are still taught to reverence St. Nicholas, and to consider themselves as placed under his peculiar care. If they are good, docile, and attentive to their studies, St. Nicholas, on the eve of his festival, will graciously fill their cap or their stocking with dainties, while he has as certainly a rod in pickle for the idle and unruly.
Nicholas was born at Panthera, a city of the province of Lycia in Asia Minor. His parents were Christians and of illustrious rank, and after they had been married many years, a son was granted to thoni in recompense of the prayers and tears and alms which they offered up continually. This extraordinary child on the day he was born stood up in his bath with his hands joined in thanksgiving that it had pleased God to bring him into the world. He no sooner knew what it was to feed than he knew what it was to fast, and every Wednesday and Friday he would only take the breast once.— As he grew up he was distinguished among all other children for his gravity and his attention to his studies. His parents seeing him lull of these holy dispositions thought that they could not do better than dedicate him to the service of God; and accordingly they did so.
When Nicholas was ordained priest, although he he had been before remarkable for his sobriety and humility, he became more modest in countenance, more grave in speech, more vigorous in self-denial, than ever. When he was still a youth, his father and mother died of the plague, and be remained sole heir of their riches; but he looked upon himself as merely the steward of God's mercies, giving largely to all who needed.
Now in that city there dwelt a certain nobleman, who had three daughters, and from being rich he became poor—so poor that he could scarcely obtain food for himself and his daughters, and saw uo means of disposing of them in marriage as became their, breeding and their good dispositions. Oftentimes it came into his mind to tell them that he could no longer maintain them, and they must find some kind of work, however servile, or die of hunger; but shame and sorrow held him dumb. Meantime the maidens wept continually, not knowing what to do, and not having bread to eat; and their father became more and more desperate. When Nicholas heard of this he was moved with compas* sion; therefore, one night, when the maidens were asleep, and their father alone sat watching and weeping, he took a handful of gold, and tying it up in a handkerchief, he repaired to the dwelling of the poor man. He considered how he might bestow it without making himself known; and while he stood irresolute, the moon, coming from behind a cloud, showed him a window open. So he threw in his parcel, and it fell at the feet of the father, who, when he found what it was, returned thanks, and with it portioned his eldest daughter.
A second time Nicholas provided a similar sum, and again he threw it in by night: and with it the nobleman married his second daughter. But he greatly desired to know who it was that came to his aid; therefore he determined to watch, and when the good saint came for the third time, and prepared to throw in the third portion, he was discovered, for the nobleman seized him by the skirt of his robe and flung himself at his feet, saying, "Oh, Nicholas, servant of God! why seek to hide thyself 1" But Nicholas made him promise that he would tell no man. And many other charitable, works did Nicholas perform in his native city. «>►
An innocent and pure-minded Jonathan, in a warm argument with John Bull, on our National institutions, was endeavoring to floor his antagonist who had sneeringly remarked that, "fortunately tho Americans couldn't 3,0 farther westward than the Pacific shore." Yankee searched his pregnant brain for an instant, and triumphantly replied, "Why, good gracious, they're already levelling the Rocky Mountains and carting the dirt out west; I had a letter last week from my cousin, who is living two hundred m,i,!os west of the Pacific shore i made land."