Mr Budgett was a general provision-merchant at Bristol, with also a large warehouse at Kingswood Hill, where his private residence was. His biographer presents him as he came daily into town to attend to business. 'You might have often 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 present of some pretty little book, and the phaeton hastes 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 promptly, and receives his instructions in a moment. "Now, what is the next thing?" asks the master, glancing at his memorandum. Again the boy is on the wing, 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;" but notwithstanding 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. "Oh! I have got such a complaint reported against you. You know that will never do. You must not let that occur again."