• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Half Title
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Preface
 Part I. Young Ben's love of the...
 Part II. Young Ben's lesson in...
 Back Matter
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: Young Benjamin Franklin, or, The right road through life: a story to show how young Benjamin Franklin learnt the principles which raised him from a pr
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00003390/00001
 Material Information
Title: Young Benjamin Franklin, or, The right road through life: a story to show how young Benjamin Franklin learnt the principles which raised him from a pr
Series Title: Young Benjamin Franklin, or, The right road through life: a story to show how young Benjamin Franklin learnt the principles which raised him from a pr
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Creator: Mayhew, Henry
Gilbert, John ( Illustrator )
Publisher: David Bryce
R. Griffin & Co.
Place of Publication: London
London
Manufacturer: William Clowes and Sons, printers
Publication Date: 1861
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00003390
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA4561
ltuf - ALH4551
oclc - 39370164
alephbibnum - 002234134

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Half Title
        Page i
    Frontispiece
        Page ii
    Title Page
        Page iii
        Page iv
    Dedication
        Page v
        Page vi
    Preface
        Page vii
        Page viii
        Page ix
        Page x
        Page xi
        Page xii
        Page xiii
        Page xiv
        Page xv
        Page xvi
    Part I. Young Ben's love of the sea, and how he was weaned from it
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
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    Part II. Young Ben's lesson in life, and what he learnt from it
        Page 58
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    Back Matter
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    Back Cover
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    Spine
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Full Text




















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1


,(f!M 1^ ^ ''';.l j: !:*,.:*: \*;T *:*::*:: ;> ,
...... '...
...........i
2.'
;''-r















YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.













U,


Ration sna] 6
RatlouaW A~nunals.--P. 166.


;ke*










YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN;

o0,
i


sht sight an s thxrus sift.


A STOBY TO HO W OW YOUNG BENJAMIN LZARNT TLH PR IOIN L
WHICH RID HIM FBOM A PRINTB'I8 BOY TO THE
IBRST AMBAMADOB OF TEZ ANNBICAN BXPUBLIO.


A BOY'S BOOK ON A BOY'S OWN SUBJECT.


BY
HENRY MAYHEW,
AUCT OF "TSR MOrT OF Tm PrXAAN T ZOPnoMUrn,*
rTOUOse EUX T DAVT," "LONDO LABOUR AND rTU LONmDO roEo,"
SWRAT TO TRACK, AD OW TO N ITR."
"TrN OaEAT WOeLo or LO'OeX," ra.



aritb uWatrsatwosf Ip 9 a eOmtrt.



LONDON:
DAVID BBYCE, 3 AMEN CORNER;
R 4#|I N & CO., STATIONIRS' HALL COURT.
1861.


































































LUSIO : PTSU IT WILLIA COWIU ASS U0IISI rAMr4 MUET.










f'a iMthe f/Ih A&n. FduarEd renry,
^oard ftardeg, j/ti._.,
fic., i., ftc.,


kam /uhae ILWIen ad unimfaunzmi kind ta
me in my LaicuLa uaf/cw aerial maitea,
that, as the irsent Ibac tetata f cfaubjeg
in uJzich Yau. haue aluagL taken a
LIuel inlieces4, f ha ne anaiL/d mu4aelf af
this c/wlcrftunift. af e/ireaaing my yea.-
flitude a ywu, and C aaaur U yaI u hAaL
am,
-A4 ,._d,
,Aura, udiLh eueia sentiment af
ealeemn fzr qau friendshi/ and
admiraiaint fatgaue ueniua,

Xeny AauhLeuM
,eni.uztans, 18quee,.
17th/ 92eeamkee, i1Sb.











PREFACE.3


IT was Walter Scott who first raised his voice
against the folly of writing down to the child,
saying, wisely enough, that the true object among
authors for the young should be to write the
child up to the man. As people talk broken
English to Frenchmen, and nurses prattle the
baby dialect to babies, so it was once thought that
boys' books should be essentially puerile--
puerile in subject, and puerile in style, as the
tales about Don't-care Harry (who was torn to
pieces by a hungry lion, merely because he would
persist in declaring that he "didn't care" about
certain things in life), and such-like tender bits
of verdure that used to grace the good old English
Spelling-Books of some quarter of a century baek.
Conformably to the Walter Scott theory, this
volume has ,n been penned with the object of
showing boys the delight of slaying a bofflo
or a bison; nor yet with the view of impressng
upon them the nobility of fighting or fsging at
school. The one purpose of the book is to giv
young men some sense of the principles that
should guide a prudent, honourable, genro,
and refined gentleman through the world.' It
does not pretend to teach youth the wonder of






viii PREFACE.
optics, chemistry, or astronomy, but to open
young eyes to the universe of beauty that encom-
passes every enlightened spirit, and to give the
young knights of the present day some faint idea
of the chivalry of life, as well as to develop in
them some little sense of, and taste for, the poetry
of action and the grace of righteous conduct.
It has long appeared to the author that the
modern system of education is based on the fal-
lacy, that to manufacture a wise man is necessarily
to rear a good one. The intellect, however, is but
the servant of the conscience (the impulses or
propensities of mankind being merely the executiw,
rather than the governing and originating faculty of
our natures); and hence the grand mistake of the
teachers of our time has been to develop big
brains at the cost of little hearts-to cram with
science and to ignore poetry-to force the scholar
with a perfect hot-bed of languages, and yet to
stunt the worthy with an utter want of principle:
in fine, to rear Palmers, Dean Pauls, Redpths,
Davisons, Bobeons, Hughes, Watts, and a whole
host of well-educated and hypocritical scoundrels,
rather than a race of fine upright gentlemen.
Society, however, seems to have had its fill of the
mechanics' institute mania; the teachy-preachy
fever appears to have come to a crisis; and, in the
lull of the phrensy, the author of the present book
Sishes to say his say upon the means of worldly
welf&er the laws of worldly happiness, and the
nih of worldly duty, to the young men of the
preset generation.
As to the handling of the subjet, some e-






PaOAca. il
planation is needed. Uncle Benjamin, who is
made the expounder of the Franklinian philo-
sophy to the boy Benjamin himasel is not puely
imaginary character. He has been elaborated
into greater importance here, certainly, than he
assumes in the biography of his nephew; but this
has been done upon that Shakeperian rule of art,
which often throws an internal moral principle
into an external dwmatia persoa; and as the
witches in Macbeth are merely the outward em-
bodiment, in a weird and shadowy form, of Mao-
beth's own ambition, and have, obviously, been
introduced into the play with the view of giving
a kind of haunted and fatalistic air to a bloody
sad devouring passion (a passion, indeed, that if
represented really and crudely, rather than ideally
and grandly, as it is, would have made the
tragedy an object of execration instead of sym-
pathy-a bit of filthy literality out of the Boyal
Newgpte Calendar, instead of a fine spenmatural
bit of ate, overshadowed with the same ense
of doom as an old Greek play); even so, in a
small way, has Uncle Ben here ben made the
exponent of the Franklin view of life, rather
than his nephew Benjamin to be the rat to core
oeive and develop it. Some may urge that, by
this means, the genius of Franklin is Tedued
from its original, cat-iro, eoomnio charabr,
to a mere seooad-ate form of prudmial mind.
Nevertheless, there must have been seep i-s
for the printer-ambassador's Por Ri .i- ;"
say it was organization, tempesmnms, or Wlh
asy, if you will, that made him the an he






1PB1A01.
ws; Wtill the replication to such a plea i, that
een thee are now acknowledged to be mor or
lem derivative qualities, in which the family type
is often found either exaggerated into genius, or
dwarfed into idiocy. Hence it is believed that
no very great historic violence has been com-
mitted here, in making a member of the Franklin
family the father of Benjamin Franklin's character,
even as his parents were assuredly the progeni-
tors of his "lituhiasis." ,Moreover, Unele Benjamin
was his godfather; and that in the days when
godfathership was regarded as a far different duty
(the duty of moral and religious supervision) from
the mere bit of silver-spoon-and-fork-odand that
it is now. Again, from the printer's own descrip-
tion of the character of his uncle, it is plain that
Uncle Ben was not the man to ignore any duty
he had taken upon himself. Besides, the old
man lived in the house with Benjamin's father,
and had himself only one son (who was grown
up and settled as a cutler in the town); so that
as the uncle was comparatively childless, it has
been presumed that the instinctive fondness of
age for youth might have led the old boy to be
taken with the budding intellect and principles of
his little nephew and namesake, and thus to have
exceeded his sponsorial duties, so far as to have
become the boy's best friend and counsellor,
loving him like a son, and training him like a
novice. Further we know that Uncle Benjamin
was a man of some observation and learning; he
appears also to have been a person of consider-
able leisure, and perhaps of some little means






.raiACs. zi
(for we do not hear of his fofowitg amy eas-
pation in America); so that whem we rmber
how slight is the addition tht eve the pro-
foundest geniuses make to the knowledge-md of
the world, and how little advance those who take
even the longest strides make upon such a have
gone before them, we cannot but admit that
Franklin must have got the substratum of his
knowledge and principles womsU*-since born
under different cirumstances, he would have
been a wholly different man. Surely then thee
is no great offence offered to truth in endeavor-
ing to explain artistically how Benjamin Frank-
lin became the man he was; nor any great
wrong done to history in using Uncle Ben as
the means of making out to youths what wa the
peculiar "Old Richard" philosophy that distin-
guished the printer-sage in after life. The main
object was to give the young reader a sese of
the early teachings Benjamin Franklin when a boy
might ha received (and doubtlessly did receive)
from his old Nonoonformist unole, and accordingly
the latter has been made, if not the vir l hemo,
at least the prime mover of the incidents in the
present book.
Those critics who know the difBoulties of the
problem with which the author has had to dal-
who are acquainted with the many speolatiosa
that have been advanced as to the seat ead
sources of the intelleotual and other pleasus o
our nature, will readily disen that the priai-
pls here enunciated have not been "d*m-Ae d"
out of previous sthetio tmeatises but m peealiar






xii PRE AC.
to the present work, sd spring-naturally, it is
hoped-from the idiosyncrasy of the characters
enanciating them. Again, it is but fair to enforce
that the views hre given as to the means by
which labour is made pleasant, have sprung out
of the author's previous investigations rather than
his readings; and so, indeed, has that part of the
book which seeks to impress the reader with a
livelier sense of the claims of the luckless, and
even the criminal, to oar respect and earnest con-
sideration. Principles in fine that have cost the
author a life to acquire e often expressed in a
chapter, and expressed, it is hoped, suffiiently
in keeping with the current of the story, to
render it difficult for the reader to detect where
the function of dramatizing hands and that of
propounding begins.
The "jail proper" described in this book is
hardly the jail proper belonging to little Benja-
min Franklin's time.
Nor has the deviation from historic propriety
been made unadvisedly. It is generally as idle as
it is mothid to paint past horrors. To have set
forth the atrocities and iniquities practised in the
British jails a century and a half ago, would
have been following in the track of the pernicious
French school of literature, where everything is
sacrified to melodramatic intensity, and which is
for ever striving to exoite a spasm rather tha
gratify a tate.
The genius of true Engish landscape painting,
on the contrary, is repose," an the genis of
modernr gli s poetry is "repose," too,-- kind







PRfUACE. m
of Sabbath feeling which turns the heart from the
gronsss and vanities of humn li, and lets
the workday spirit loose among the quiet, shady,
and healthful beauties of nature. The intense
school and the repoe school are the two farudis
tant extremes of all art; and they differ as much
from each other as the sweet refreshment of an
evening by one's own reside does from the
heated stimulus of a tavern debach.
For these artistic reasons, then, the dead bones
of the old jail iniquitie sand cruelties have ot
been disinterred and set up as a bugaboo hem.
Such a picture might have been tru to the time,
but mere literal truth is a poor thing after all.
Why, Gustave le Gray's wonderful photograph of
the Sunlight on the Sea, that is hanging before
our eyes as we write, is as true as Mangnall'
Questions ;" and yet what a pituresque barbarism,
and even fisity, it is! It no morereaders, wat
only human genius can seize and paint-the ex-
pression, the feeling, the soul of such a sene-
than the camera obscure can faosimile the
human eye in a portrait, or give us the faiteot
glimmer of the high Vandyke quality-the p-
found thinking, talking pupil of that grand old
countenance in our National Gallery.
But the real object whii the authr of this book
had in view, was to wakemotomly his bo hero up
to a sense of duty, but other hbys ao; aA to lt
them know (even what doing my great voe-
leoo to the natural truth of thing) what piP
iniquities are still daily wrought in the had i








which we live. The jail proper of the presen
min(tIfob g the noene 6 laid in British America
bath the dedua o Independence, and dates
a century and a half bak) is a mre tansoript of
a well-known jail now standing in the first city in
the world, in the year of our Lord one thousand
eight hundred and sixty. The details given here
are the bare literalities noted by the author only
a few months back, and printed in his account of
the metropolitan prisons in that wretched frag-
ment of a well-meant scheme, the Great World of
London." There, if the sceptic needs proof, he
can get chapter and verse, and learn that many of
the facts here given were recorded in the presence
of some of the visiting justices themselves. Jails
may have been bad a hundred years ago, but this
plague-spot of the first city in the world seems to
the author worse than all; because it still goes on
after Howard's labours-after Brougham's reforms
-after Sheriff Watson's fine industrial schools;
yes, there it stands, giving the lie to all our May-
day meetings, our ragged schools, our City mis-
sions, and pretended love of the destitute, the
weak, and the suffering. We no longer wonder that
the strooities of the French Bastille ro eed the
Parisian people to rush of in a body and tumble
the old prisoncoitadel down into a heap of rmin;
and if Tothill fields lay across the ChOanel, the
same indignant outrage might perhaps be again
eammted. Bt.here, good easy citizens a we ar,
we p our poorrates, we call ourselves miserable
Slams1, in a loud voice, once a week, hom a osy
pew; our "good lady" belongs to a district visit








ing society, and distributes tracts in the ak
slms; we put our cheque into the plate, after a
bottle or two of port, at a charity dinner; and,
this done, we are df-oontnt.
We once passed a quiet half-hour with Mr. Oil-
oraft the hangman, and in the course of the conver-
sation, he alluded to Mrs. Calraft Thewords no
sooner fell.upon the ear than a world of wonder
filled, the brain. Even he, then, had somebody to
care abouthim. There was somebody to hug and
caresm him before he left his home in that scratch wig
and fur cap i4which we saw him come digaised
to Newgate (forithe roughs ad threatened to
shoot him), and carrying that small ominous satchel
basket, at two in the morning, on the day of
Boufeld's execution.
The wretched lads in Tothill Fields prison are
worse off than Caloraft himself. They have no-
body in the world to care about tAm.
Nobody Yet, stay, we forget; there is this
same Caloraft to look after a good many of them.

In fine-to drop the author and speak in propri
p w a-I have attempted to write a book which,
while it treated of some subjeot.that a boy would
be likely to attend to, should at the same time
admit of enunciating such principles as I wished
my own boy, and other boys as good and as benest
and earnest as he, to carry with thIa through
life; and yet I have striven while writg it, to
do no positive violence to truth either in the loe
of one's artor in the heat of. Mon's "purpo."
In plain English, I have sought to be cauatint







Zvi PREFAC
to nature-true to the spirit, perhaps, rather
than the letter of things-even though I had a
peculiar scheme to work out. And now such s
it is, I give the present volume to the youth of
the time, in the hope that it may serve them for
what I myself felt the want of more than anything,
after leaving Westminster School, as a young
man crammed to the tip of one's tongue with
Latin and Greek and nothing else, viz.: for
something like a guide to what Uncle Ben calls
"the right road through life."
Hy. M.














YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.


PART L
YOUNG BEN'S LOVE OF THE SEA, AND HOW
HE WAS WEANED FROM IT.


CHAPTER I.
"WHAT EVER SHALL WE DO WITH THE BOY?"
A PRErTY chubby-faced boy, with a pair of cheeks
rosy and lump as ripe peaches, was Master
Benjamin Franin in his teens.
Dressed in a tiny three-cornered hat-- very
small pair of smalla" or knee-breeche-and a
kind of little stiff-skirted fan-tailed surtout-ho
looked like a Greenwich pensioner in miniature;
or might have been mistaken (had the colours
been gayer) for the little fat fairy-ooachman to
Cinderela's state-arriage.
It would have made a pretty picture to have
handed down to our time, could an artist have
stoched the boy, as he sat beside hi toy hip, in
old.fashioned, dark back parlour behind the
ow-ohandler-' store-" at the oarner of Ba-
Sand Union Streeta," in the city of Baston,
Now England.







2 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
Over the half-curtain of a glass-door, a long
deep fringe of white candles, varied with heavy
tassel-like bunches of "sixes" and "eights,"
might be seen dangling from the rafters of the
adjoining shop, with, hero and there, several small
stacks of yellow and white soap, in ingot-like
bars, ranged along the upper shelves; and the
eye could also catch glimpses of the square brown
paper cap which crowned the head of Josiah
Franklin (the proprietor of the establishment, and
father of our Benjamin), wandering busily about,
as the shop-bell was heard to tinkle-tinkle with
the arrival of fresh customers, seeking supplies of
the best mottled" or dips."
The back parlour itself, being lighted only from
the shop, was dim as a theatre by day, so that all
around was wrapt in the rich transparent-brown
shade of what artists call clear obscure." The
little light pervading the room shone in faint
lustrous patches upon the bright pewter platters
and tin candlesticks that were arranged as orna-
ments on the narrow wooden mantelpiece, whilst
it sparkled in spots in one corner of the apartment,
where, after a time, the eye could just distinguish
a'few old china cups and drinking-glasses set out
on the shelves of the triangular cupboard.
In this little room sat Benjamin's mother, spin-
ning till the walls hummed like a top with the
drone of her wheel, and his .sister Deborah, who
was busy making a main-sail for the boy's cutter
out of an old towel, now that she had finished
setting the earthen porriner for the family
supper of bread and milk; while young Ben him-
elf appeared surrounded with a litter of sticks
intended for masts and yards, and whipoord for
rigging, and with the sail-less hull of his home-
made vemel standing close beside him on its little
tocks (made out of an inverted wooden footstool)







"WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH THE BOY?" 3
and seeming as if ready to be laid up in ordi-
nary "-under the dresser.
The boy had grown tired of his daily work; for
the oandle-wicks which his father had set him to
cut lay in tufts about the deck of his boat, and the
few snips of cotton on the -sanded floor told how
little of his task he had done since dinner-time.*
Indeed, it did not require much sagacity to
perceive that Benjamin hated the unsavoury
pursuits of soap-boiling and candle-making, and
delighted in the more exciting enterprises of
shipping and seafaring. On the bench at his
elbow was the bundle of rushes that had been
given him to trim, in readiness for what was his
especial horror-the approaching "melting-day,"
together with the frame of pewter moulds that
required to be cleaned for the new stock of cast
candles." But both of these were in the same
state as he had received them in the morning:
whereas the coat of the boy, and the ground all
about him, were speckled with chips from the old
broomstick that he had been busy shaping into a
main-mast for his miniature yacht, and near at
hand were two small pipkins filled with a penny-
worth of black and white paint, with which he
had been striping the sides of the little vessel, and
printing the name of the rLvn DUTCUANI or
oero o upon her stern.
"At ten year old," ae Fanklin's own words, given i
the history of his boyhood written by himself "I was taken
to help my father in his bminem, which was that of a tallow-
chandler sad sompboiler-s business to which he was not
bred, but had asmed on his aral in Nbw glnd.
beouse .he found that his 4dyl tade, bI lit
rquert would not maintain hi AootudI
employed in getting wicks for the odaidlaeffii tn
fat at candles,' attending t the shop, and 00m uS61
he." At the opening t cor dtoy, the lad bfYppod to
have be soame ne at this ade.







4 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
The craft itself did no small credit to young
Benjamin's skill as a toy ship-builder, tough
certainly her "lines" were more in the washing-
tub style of naval architecture than the wave-
principle" of modern American clippers: for
the hull was fashioned after the shape of the
Dutch "Dogger-boats" in the Boston harbour,
and had the appearance of an enormous wooden
shoe.
It had taken one of the largest logs from the
wood-house to build the boat, for she was the
size of a doll's cradle at least. It had cost no
little trouble, too, and broken not a few gouges in
hollowing out a hold" for her-even as big as a
pie-dish; and now that the mighty task had been
accomplished, she had sufficient capacity under
her hatches to carry a crew of white mice, and
might, on an emergency, have stowed away
victuals enough for a squirrel skipper to winter
upon.
Yet, in his heart, Benjamin found little plea-
sure in the amusement. He knew he was
neglecting his work for it; he knew, too, that his
half-Puritan father regarded disobedience as the
prime cause of all error, so that playing at such a
time was, after all, but sorry, deadly-lively sport
to him. Instead of being delighted with the
pastime, he went about it in fear and trembling-
with one eye on the miniature mast he was shap-
ing, and the other intently watching the move-
ments of the dreaded brown-paper cap in the
shop without. Every turn of the door-handle
made his little heart flutter like a newly-trapped
bird, and every approaching footstep was like the
click of a pistol m his ear; so that the stick
almost fell from his hand involuntarily with the
fright, and the candle-wicks and sissors were
suddenly-mnatched up instead, while an air of the







"WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH THE BOY?" 5
most intense industry was assumed for the time

bIneed, the boy's life of late had been one
continual struggle and fight between his in-
clinations and his duty. For the last two years he
had been supposed to be engaged at his father's
business, though from the work being anything
but a labour of love to him, he had really been
occupied with other things. He was for ever
longing to get away to sea, and nothing delighted
him but what, so to speak, smacked of the tar;"
whereas he sickened at the smell of the melting-
days," and the mere sight of the tallow was awo-
oiated in his mind with a youthful horror of mut-
ton fat.*
Born and bred within a stone's throw of the
beautiful bay of Massachusetts, his earliest games
with the children of his acquaintance had been in
jumping from barge to barge, alongside the quay;
and ever since the little fellow had been breeched
he had been able to scull a boat across the basin ;"
whilst, in his schoolhood, he and his cronies
were sure every holiday to be out sailing or row-
ing over to some one of the hundred islands that
dappled the blue expanse of water round about
the city.
Steering had been the boy's first exercise of
power, and the pleasure the little cookswain had
felt in making the boat answer as readily as his
own muscles to his will, had charmed him with
the sailor's life; while the danger connected with
"I disliked the trade," Franklin tael us hb-a4 i the
amount of his early life and had a ustrka at go
to Us; my father however, deoland imt i Bt
reddi nea the water, I was maoh In it sad n it I
le6w to swim well, and to manage boat; ad whe em-
barked with other boyn I wm commonly allowed to gvtmer
espelally in e of any difficulty "







6 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
the pursuit served only to increase the delight of
triumphing over the diflioulties. Again, to his
young fancy, a ship at sea seemed as free as the
gull in the air* (though it has been well said, on
the contrary, that a ship is a "prison without any
chance of escape"). Nor did he ever see a vessel
with its white pouting sails, glide like a snowy
summer cloud across the bay towards the silver
ring of the horizon, without wondering what
the sailors would find beyond it, and longing to
be with the crew, to visit strange countries
and people, and see what the earth was like,
and whether it was really true that there was no
end to the world, nor any place where one could
stand on the brink of it, and look down into the
great well of space below.

For the last hour or two, however, the youth had
laid aside his ship tools, and having given his sister
instructions about the sail she had promised to
make for him, had taken from his pocket the book
which his brother-in-law, Captain Holmes-he
who had married his half-sister Ruth, and was
master of a sloop-had brought him that day (as
he ran in at dinner-time just to shake hands with
them all), on his return from his last voyage to
England. Benjamin had been burning to read
tha volume all the day long; for it was en-
titled The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, Mariner,
by Daniel De Foe," and the captain had told him that
it had only just been published in London" at
the time when he had set sail from that port.

The writer (who ws a midripna in hbi youth) would
seriously advice boys to abandon alsh /lly notions. tothe
pleasure of a sailor's life, for he can oonintiouly ay that
it is not only the hardest and most perlou of aolelin
but one in which the U ieg, the hog, d the g ot a at
the poorest possible kind.







"WHAT SHALL WE DO WrIT THE BOY?"
From his earliest childhood the little fellow had
been "passionately fond" of reading, and all the
halfpence his big brothers and his Unole Ben-
jamin gave him he was accustomed to devote to
the purchase of books.* A new book, therefore,
was the greatest treat that could possibly have
been offered him, and such a one as his brother-
in-law had brought him (for he had alreadyturned
over the leaves, and seen that it was about a sailor
cast away on a desert island) was more than he
could keep his eyes off till bedtime.
It had been like a red-hot coal in his pocket
all day.
So now that his mast was "stepped," and
Deborah was getting on with the sail, young
Benjamin had got the volume spread open on his
knees, and was too deeply absorbed in the mar-
vellous history of Crusoe's strange island life to
think either of the wicks, the rushes, or the
mould for the cast candles "-or even the punish-
ment that surely awaited him for his neglect.
Again and again his mother had entreated him
to put down the volume, and go on with the
wicks.
Benjamin!" she would cry aloud, to rouse the
lad from the trance he had fallen into, "do give
over reading till after work time, there's a good
child I"
"From my infancy," mys our hero, in the narrative of
his boyhood, "I was passiontely fond of reading, and ll
the money that came into my hands wa laid out in the
purchasing of books. I ws very fond of voyage... .M
other's little library consisted chiefly of works on pel&
dirty. mot of woh Iread. I have often IrIlt td.
at a time when I had uoh a thirt for k Iowf ,s i-r.
books hadnot hllen in myway. Thewam~
Plutarch's IAvs,' which I read sabmndntly, m i
time spent to great advantage. There was a
De Foe s called *An aqy on Projeos.'"







8 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
The eager boy, however, sat with his' nose
almost buried in the leaves, and, without raising
his eyes from the book, merely begged to be
allowed to read to the end of "that chapter;"
though, no sooner was one finished than the pages
were turned over to learn the length of the next,
and another begun.
"I wish Captain Holmes had never brought
you the book!" the kind-hearted mother would
exclaim with a sigh, while she tapped the treadle
of her wheel the quicker for the thought-interject-
ing the next minute, as she heard the shop-bell
tinkle, and stretched up her neck, as usual, to look
over the blind, and see who was the new comer:
" Why, there's your Uncle Benjamin got back
from meeting, I declare l-It will only lead, I'm
afraid, to fresh words between you and your
father. Your head, Ben, is too full of the sea
already, without any vain story-books of sailors'
adventures to lead you astray."
"I am sure it was very kind of the captain,"
little Ben would reply, to make me such a nice
present; but he always brings every one of us
something at the end of each voyage. I can't
talk to you, though, just now, mother; for if I
was to get the strap for it, I couldn't break off
in the middle of this story-it's so nice and
interesting, you can't tell;" and the lad again bent
his head over the pages, so that the long hair, that
usually streamed down upon his shoulders, hung
over the leaves: and he kept tossing the looks
peevishly back as he gloated over the text
In a moment he was utterly lost again in the
imaginary scenes before him; and then he no more
heard his mother tell him that she was sure it
was time to think about putting the shutters up,
than if he had been fast asleep. Neither could
sister Deborah get a word from him, even though








WHAT SHALL WE DO wrrH THE BOY ?" 9
she wanted instructions as to where to plaoe the
little "reef-points upon his mimic main-ail.
"Benjamin I Benjaminl" cried the mother, as
she rose from her wheel and shook the boy, to
rouse him from his trance, do you know, sirrah,
that your father will be in to supper directly,
and here you haven't cut so much as one bundle
of wicks all the day through ? How shall I be
able to screen you again from his anger, so strict
as he is ?"
The boy stared vacantly, as though he had been
suddenly waked up out of a deep slumber, and
began to detail the incidents of the story he had
just read, after the fashion of boys in general, from
the time when stories wore first invented. Crusoe
gets shipwrecked you know, mother," he started off,
" and then he makes a raft, and goes off to the
vessel, you know, and saves a lot of things from
the ship, you know, and then, you know- "
"There! there! have done, boy !" cried the
mother in alarm; this madness for the sea will
be the ruin of you. Just think of the life Josiah
Franklin has led since he went off as a cabin-boy,
shortly after your father's first wife died; for
though he was the late Mrs. Franklin's pet child,
I've heard your father say that he shut his doors
upon him when he came back shoeless and shirt-
less at the year's end; and whatever has become of
the poor boy now, the Lord above only knows."
"I continued thus employed," says Franklin, n hi
Autobiography, "in my father's business for two year; that
is, till I was twelve years old; and then my brother John, who
was bred to that business, having left my hat, and drted,
and set up for himself at Rhode Iland, there wasvr
appearance that I was destined to topply h plh e a
become a tsllow-ohandler. But my d Mlike to the atde
continuing, my father had apprhendo, that if he did ot
put me to one more agreeable,I should break loos to to
Ma, my brother Jodh had done, to his great venatio."







10 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
But, mother," persisted the lad, whose brain
was still so inflamed by the excitement of the
wondrous narrative that he could neither speak
-nor think of anything else, only let me tell you
about what I have been reading-it's so beauti-
ft--and then I'll listen patiently to whatever
you've got to say;" and without waiting for an
answer Ben began again: "Well, you know,
mother, Crusoe gets a barrel or two of gunpowder
from off the wreck, you know, and some tools as
well; and then he sets to work, you know, and
builds himself a hut on the uninhabited island."
The dame paid no heed to the incidents detailed
by the lad, but kept stretching her neck over the
curtain of the glass-door, and watching first the
figure of her husband in the shop, and then glanc-
ing at the wooden clock against the wall, as if she
dreaded the coming of the supper hour, when she
knew his father would be sure to demand of Ben-
jamin an account of his day's work.
She was about to snatch the book from the boy's
hands, and remove the cottons and the rushes out
of sight, when suddenly the voice of the father,
calling for Benjamin to bring him the wicks,
dispelled the boy's dream, and made the mother
tremble almost as much as it did the lad himself.
"Oh! mother you'll beg me off once more,
won't you ?" sobbed the penitent Benjamin, as
his disobedience now flashed upon him, for he
know how often his father had pardoned him for
the same fault, and that he had warned him that
no entreaties should prevent him punishing him
severely for the next offence.
Benjamin, I say I" shouted the voice, authori-
tatively, from the shop.
"Go to him, child, urged the mother, as she
patted her pet boy (for he was the youngest) on
the head to give him courage, and oonfes your







"WHAT SHALL WE DO WifT THU BOY?" 11
fault openly like a little man Yeu know the
store your father sets upon a' contrite heart,' he
added, in the conventicle cast of thought peculiar
to the early settlers in New England; and rest
assured, if he but sees you repentant, his anger
will give way; for the aim of all punishment, Ben-
jamin, is to chasten, and not to torture; and peni-
tence does that through the scourging of the spirit,
which the other, accomplishes through the suffer-
ing of the body."
Go you instead of me, mother-do now, there's
a dear. You will, won't you, ch?" begged the
little fellow, as he curled his arm coaxingly about
her waist, and looked up at her through his tears.
" Do you tell him, mother, I never shall be able
to keep to the horrid candle-work, for I hate it-
that I do; and though every night when I lie
awake I make vows that I will not vex him again,
but strive hard at whatever he gives me to do,
still when the next day comes my heart fails me,
and my spirit keeps pulling my body away" (the
boy had caught the puritanical phrases of the
time), "and filling my head with the delight
of'being on the water; and then, for the life of
me, I can't keep away from my voyage-books,
or my little ship, or something that reminds me of
the sea. If you'd only get him to let me go with
Captain Holmes-" and as the dame turned
her head away he added quickly, "just for one
voyage, dear mother-to see how I like it,--oh I
I'd-I'd-I don't know what I'd not do for you,
mother dear; I'd bring you and Deborah home
such beautiful things then, and-"
The boyish protestations were suddenly out
short by the sight of the brown-paper cap r the
shop moving towards the parlour; so, without
waiting to finish the sentence, the righted lad
dlmg open the side-door leading to the stairase,







12 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
and scampered up to his room, with an imaginary
parent following close at his heels.
Here the little fellow threw himself on the
"trestle-bed" that stood in one corer of the
garret, and lay for a time too terrified for tears;
for his conscience converted the least noise into
the approach of his father's footsteps; so that he
trembled like a leaf at every motion-his heart
beating the while in his bosom like a flail.
After a time, however, the lad, finding he was
left by himself, began to lay aside his fears, and
to talk, as boys are wont to do, about the hard-
ships he endured.
"He was sure he did everything he possibly
could," he would mutter to himself, as he whim-
pered between the words; "and he thought it
very cruel of them to force him to keep to that
filthy, nasty candlemaking, when they knew he
couldn't bear it; and what was more, he never
should like it-not even if he was to make ever
so much money at it, and be able to keep a pony
of his own into the bargain. Why wouldn't they
let him go to sea, he wondered? He called it
very unkind, he did." And the boy would doubt-
lessly have continued in the same strain, had not
the little pet guinea-pig, that he kept in an old
bird-cage in one corner of his room, here given a
squeak so shrill that it sounded more like the
piping of a bird than the cry of a beast.
In a moment Benjamin had forgotten all his
sorrows; and with the tear-drops still lingering
in the corer of his eyes-like goutes of rain in
flower-cups after a summer shower-he leapt from
the bed, saying:-" Ah I Master Toby Anderson,
you want your supper, do you?" and the next
minute his hand was inside the cage, dragging the
plump little piebald-thing from out its aest of hay.







"WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH THE BOY?" 18
Then, cuddling the pet creature close up in his
neck, while he leant his head on one side so as to
keep its back warm with his cheek, he bean
prattling away to the animal almost as a mother
does to her babe.
Ah I Master Tiggy, that's what you like, don't
you ?" said Benjamin, as he stroked his hand along
the sleek sides of the tame little thing till it
made a noise like a cry of joy, somewhat between
the chirruping of a cricket and the purr of a cat.
" You like me to rub your back, you do-you fond
little rascal! But I've got bad news for Toby;
there's no supper for him to-night; no nice bread
and milk for him to put his little pink tooties in
while he eats it-for he's got all the manners of
the pig, that he has. Ah! he'll have to go to bed,
like his poor young master, on an empty stomach-
for what do you think, Tiggy dear? Why, they've
been very unkind to poor Benjamin, that they
have;" and the chord once touched, the boy con-
fided all his sorrows to the pet animal, as if it had
been one of his cronies at school.
I wouldn't treat you so, would I, Toby ?" he
went on, hugging the little thing as he spoke, for
who gives the beauty nice apple-parngs? and
who's a regular little piggy-wiggy for them ?-who
but Master Toby Anderson here. Ay, but to-night
my little gentleman will have to eat his bed;
though it won't be the first time he has done that;
for he dearly loves a bit of sweet, new hay-don't
you, Tobe?"
Presently the boy cried, as the animal wriled
itself up the sleeve of his coat, Come down here,
sir; come down directly, I lay and then stand-
ing up he proceeded to shake his arm violently
over te bed, till the little black nd *hite bll
was dislodged from the new nestling-pl he had
chosen.







14 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
Come herp, you little rascal! Come and let
me look at you! There now, sit up and wash
yourself with your little paws, like a kitten, for
you're going to bed shortly, I can tell you. Oh,
he's a beauty, that he is!-with his black patch
over one eye like a little bull-dog, and a little
brown spot at his side, the very colour of a pear
that's gone bad. Then he's got eyes of his own
like large black beads, and little tiddy ears that
are as soft and pinky as rose-leaves. He's a nice
clean little tiggy, too, and not like those filthy
white mice that some boys keep, and which have
such a nasty ratty smell with them-no! Toby
smells of nice new hay instead. There I there's
a fine fellow for you," cried the lad, as he rubbed
up the tiny animal's coat the wrong way. Why,
he looks like a little baby hog with a mane of
bristles up his neck. But Toby's no hog, that he
isn't, for he wouldn't bite me even with my finger
at his mouth-no! he only nibbles at it, to have
a game at play, that's all. But come, Master
Anderson, you must go back to your nest, and
make the best supper you can off your bed-clothes;
for you can't sleep with the cat to-night, so you'll
have to keep yourself warm, old fellow, for I
couldn't for the life of me go down stairs to get
Pussy for you to cuddle just now."

The pet was at length returned to its cage,
and Benjamin once more left to brood over his
troubles; so he flung himself on the bed again,
and began thinking how he could best avoid the
punishment that he felt sure awaited him on the'
morrow. *
Yet it was strange, he mused, his father had
not called him down even to put the shutters up.
Who had closed the shop? he wondered. They
must have done supper by this time. Yes I that







"WHAT SHALL WE DO Wr THa BOY?" 15
was the clatter of the things being taken away.
Why didn't Deborah come to him ?-he always did
to her when she was in disgrace. Who had asked
a blessing on the food now he was away? Still
he could not make out why he wasn't called down.
Had mother begged him off as nusal No I that
couldn't be, for father had threatened last time
that he would listen to no more entreaties. Per-
haps one of the deacons had come in to talk with
fathr about thd affairs of the chapel in South-
street ; or else Uncle Ben was reading to them
his short-hand notes of the sermon he had gone
to hear that evening.t
Soon, however, the sounds of his father's violin
below-stairs put an end to the boy's conjectures as
to the occupation of the family, and as he crept
outside the door to listen, he could hear them all
joining in a hymn.t
Still Benjamin could not make out why his
punishment should be deferred. However, he
made his mind up to one thing, and that was to
be off to his brother-in-law, Captain Holmes, at

"I remember well," Franklin writes in the description
he gives of his father's ebaracter in his Autobiography, his
being frequently visited by leading men, who consulted him
for his opinion on public arsn, and those of the church he
belonged to; and who showd a great respect for his judg-
ment and advice."
t "He had invented a short hand of his own," say
Franklin in his life peaking of his Uncle Belamy.
which he taught me; but not having prctised it, I ha
now forgotten It. He was very p and an asduom
attendant at the semen of the ba preachers, which he
reduced to writing aeoordg to his method, ad had thm
collected several volumes of than."
S"My father was skilled a little In musio. Hisrvoe wa
smneowu and agreeable, o that when he played hi vioI1
and an withal, a he was ameoamed t do iaft It bl6-
neof the daywa over,it wa eemely agrabme bm.'
--Prwuin' AV.tebio.rG.-







16 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
daybreak on the morrow, and get him to promise
to take him as a cabin-boy on his next voyage-for
that would put an end to all the noises between
his father and him.
The plan was no sooner framed than the lad
was away in spirit again, sailing far over the sea,
while he listened to the drone of the sacred tune
below; until at last, tired out with his troubles,
he fell asleep as he lay outside the bed, and woke
only when the air was blue with the faint light
of the coming day.
His first thoughts, on opening his eyes, were of
the chastisement that he felt assured was in store
for him if he stayed till his father was stirring.
So without waiting to tidy himself, he crept with
his shoes in his hand as silently as possible down
stairs, and then slipping them on his feet, he was
off-like a frightened deer-to the water-side.
Come what might, little Ben was determined to
be a sailor.


CHAPTER II.
MISSING: A YOUNG GENTLEMAN- "
"If Benjainn Franklin uil return to his home, aU w7ll
befor-"
"No noI I won't have 'forgien' put down,"
doggedly exclaimed the father, seizing hold of
Uncle Benjamin's arm to stop his pen, as the latter
read out, word by word, the announcement he was
busy writing for the town-arer; while, in one
corner of the room, that important civic functionary
stood waiting for the bit of paper, with his big bell
inverted, so that it looked like an enormous brass
tlip in his hand.
"I ask your pardon, Master Frankling, but we







"M sEG: -A .-YOU G GnTim At--" 17
general says forgiven' in all uitch cases," meekly
observed the bellman, with a alight pull. of his
forelock.
"Oh, Josiah, remember the words of .your
morning prayer!" interposed the broken-hearted
mother, as for a moment she raised her face from
out her hands: "'forgive us as we-' you know
the rest."
Ay, oome, Josh," said Uncle Benjamin, "don't
be stubborn-hearted I Think of the young 'never-
do-well' you were yourself when you were 'pren-
tice to brother John, at Banbury."*
That's all very well!" murmured the Purifan
tallow-chandler, turning away to hide the smiles
begotten by the youthful recollection, and still
struggling with the innate kindness of his nature;
" but I've got a duty to perform to my boy, and
do it I wi, even if it breaks my heart."
"Yes, but, Josh," remonstrated Uncle Ben, as
he laid his hand on his brother's shoulder, think
of the times and times you and I have stolen away
on the sly to Northampton, to see the mummeri
there, unbeknown to father. Ah, you were a sad
young Jackanapes for the playhouse, that you
were, Master Josh, at Ben's age," he added,
nudging the father playfully in the side.
"I don't mean to deny it, Benjamin;" and the
would-be Brutus chuckled faintly, as his brother
reminded him of his boyish peooedilloes-" but,"
he added immediately afterwards, screwing up as
good a frown as he oould manage under the oir-
John, my net ule, was bred a der, beans of
we," Mys fBem a P nklin himl inh is HA. * *
r grandfather Thomas, who was bom in It1, Ived at
Bet Mihe vu too old to ooatnm his bIwtmi, whn he
swtbed to Banbury in OxfordDfh, to the boa of his .
John, with whom my Ather erred an .uuNlgi."-4.a
4ukMlgrsft, pp. 8 and 4.







18 YOUNG BIAMfIN M ANmKUE.
qumstances, that's no reason why I-should allow
my boy to be guilty of thesame sinm There, go
along with you--do," he exclaimed good-humour-
edly, as he endeavoured to shake off both the
mother and the uncle, who, seeing that the ice of
paternal propriety was fast thawing under the
warmth of his better nature, had planted them
selves one on either side of him. I tell you it's
my bounden duty not to overlook the boy's dis-
obedience any longer;" and, so saying, he beat
the air with his fist, as if anxious to hammer the
notion into his own mind as well as theirs.
Verily, Josiah, justice says all should be
punished, 'for there are none perfect-no not
one,'" whispered the religious wife impressively
in his ear; "but love and mercy, husband, cry
Forgive."
'" To be sure they do," chimed in the good-
natured uncle; for as the mummers used to say
in the play, Josh-' If all have their deserts, who
shall'scape whipping?' So, come, I may put down
'forgiven' eh?" added the peacemaker, as he shook
his brother by the hand, while Josiah turned away
as if ashamed of his weakness. "Ah II knew it
'pd be so," and quickly inditing the word, Uncle
Benjamin handed the paper to the crier, saymg,
"There, my man, you'd better first go round the
harbour with it; and if you bring the prodigal
back with you in an hour or two, why, you shall
have a mug of cider over and above your pay."
The crier, having nodded his head, and soraped
his foot back along the sanded floor, by way of
obeisance, took his departure, when in a minute
or two the family heard his bell Madin away at
the end of the street, and immedity aferwrd
caught the distant cry of "Oyee, oye, oyI hif
Bjamin Franklig will return to his :ome-"
"Do you hear, sister maid Uncle Benjamin,







MSBING: A YOIUM OmUTMA--" 19
consolingly, as he approached the weeping mother;
" your boy will be heard of all over the tow, and
you'll soon have your little pet bird bac again
in his cage, rest ssured."
"Heaven grant it may be so, and bless you for
your loving kindness, brother faltered out the
dame, half hysteric, through her tears, with delight
at the thought of regaining her lost son.
Hah it'll all come right enough by-and-by,"
said Uncle Benjamin, with a sigh like the blowing
of a porpoise, as he now prepared to copy into his
short-hand book the notes of the sermon he had
heard on the previous evening; and the young
good-for-nothing will turn out to be the flower of
the flock yet-take my word for it. Wasn't our
brother Thomas the wildest of all us boys, Josh?
and didn't he come after allto be a barrister, anda
great man? And when Squire Palmer advised
him to leave the forge, on account of his love of
learning, and become a student at law, didn't father
-you remember, Josh-vow he wouldn't listen to
it, and declare that the eldest son of the Franklins
had always been a smith, and a smith, and nothi
else than a smith, his eldest son should be? Well,
the good man proceeded, as he kept rubbing his
spectacles with the dirty bit of wash-leather he
usually carried in his pocket, "didn't Tom, I
say, in spite of father's objections and propheoies,
rise to be one of the foremost men in the whole
county, and a friend of my Lord Halifax?* sy,and
Tho.s, t e le," wrote nlm hk tu Tl to
his mon, William Tnpl trklin, o Wns th
of New JemWe W Meda '=lam tu himw W
tdeiang a we s .m tMo rh
j-d In m K=tt, p-a isb u h.B b* W
P th bSlt Mr hihalMM fI S
s htaMlfh ber DieBwradra iema im m Mb
the county, ws chief mover of al puMieepisMteauhless
o 2






20 YOUNG BZSJaNsn 7RANKLuE
so your Ben, mark my word, will come to be courted
by the great some day. For-though he's my own
godson, and called after me, too-he's the very
image of his unle the barrister, that he is; so like
him, indeed, that if Thomas, instead of dying, as
he did four years to a day before Benjamin was
born, had quitted this world for a better just four
years later, why I should have said-had I been a
heathen, and believed in such things-that the
spirit of the one had passed into the body of the
other; for your Ben has got the same clever head-
piece of his own, and is for all the world the same
greedy glutton at a book."
I grant he's a lad of some parts," exclaimed
the battered father, while slipping on, over the
arms of his coat, the clean linen sleeves his wife
had put to air for him, and, indeed, was always
quick enough at his learning. But I'm wanted in
e shop," he added, as the bell was heard to
tinkle without; "so do you, Benjamin, talk it
over with Abiah here, and please her mother's
heart by raising her hopes of her truant child.
Coming l" shouted the tallow-chandler, as he
ducked his head under the 'fringe of candles,
whilst the impatient visitor kept tapping on the
counter.
As the husband left the parlour, the tidy wife
cried in a half-whisper after him, Do pray stop,

for the county or town of Northampton, as well as of his own
village, of which many Intances were related of him, and
he was much taken notice of and patronized by my Lord
Halifx. He died in 1702, four year to a day before I was
born. The recital which some elderly penons made to us of
his charter, I remember struk you as something estaor-
dinary, from its milarity with what you know of me. Bad
he died,' mid you, 'four yea later, on the sme day, one
niht have supposed a tmnminala "-Ams o-eA rph4,
oBes' = W1-75. --







MISSING : A TOtIG GrTLN-MA-- 21
Josiah, and put on a clean apron, for really that
isn't ft to go into the shop with," and then,
finding she had spoken too late, she turned to
Uncle Benjamin (who was now scribbling away at
the table), and continued, with all the glory of a
mother's pride, I can hardly remember the time
when our Ben couldn't read: how, too, the little
fellow ever learnt his letters was always a mys-
tery to me, for I never knew of any one teaching
him.* But I can't get Josiah to bear in mind
that he was a boy himself once; for though Ben
may be a little flighty, I'm sure there's no vice in
the child."
And now that her thoughts had been diverted
into a more lively channel, she rose from her seat,
and began to busy herself with making the apple-
and-pumpkin pie that she had promised the chil-
dren for that day's feast.
It was only a packman with tapes and
ribbons," said Josiah, as he shortly rejoined the
couple: "but even he had got hold of the news
of our misfortune."
Well but, Josiah," expostulated the brother,
looking up sideways, like a bird, from the book
in which he was writing: don't you remember
the time, man alive, when you used to walk over
from Banbury to the smithy at Ectont every
My early readings in learning to read," says our hero,
in the ont he give* of himwe (and which mant have
been very early, as I anot remember the time whel oiad
not read) and the opinion of all hMeds that I hold er-
tainly make a good oholr, encouraged him (my ithr) in
thi pIupoe of his-of putting me to the ehmurd.-Jlh m.-
flis- p. 7.
t "ome notes which smn of my mglesro hea sae
cadioit in collecting family nedot,1 01 m t iato My
uebi lanied me with mevern prutiwoul nw to owr
anoestom. From them otes I leaned Sth H d in
village of Eotoa, in Northamptonab Ira a abodM .t






n22 OUNgm Bg AMUER RANAUl.
weekend go nutting and birs'-nesting with as
boys in Sywell Wood, on God'-day, without ever
setting foot in His house? and do you recolleot,
too, how we boys 'ud carry off the old iron from
the6 forge, and sell it to the travelling tinker,
who used to oome round with his cart once
a month, and put up at the World's End' (that
was the sign of the inn at Eoton, Abiah, he
added, parenthetically, "and the half-way house
between Northampton and Wellingborough, in
Old England), and how we let father accuse
Mat Wiloox,-you remember old Mat-who was
helping him at the forge then, of stealing his
metal, without ever saying a word to clear the
poor man. Ah! Josiah, Josiah! we can always
see the mote in another's eye-"
"Say no more, Ben," exclaimed the reproved
brother, we are but weak vessels at best."
"Now confess, husband," interrupted the wife,
as she continued rolling out the paste before her,
till it was like a sheet of buff leather," isn't it
better that I got you to sleep on your anger be-
fore punishing the poor lad. It is but fright, after
all, that has driven him from us; and when
he returns, let me beg of you to use reason
rather than the whip with him."
Yes, Abiah," drily observed the husband,
"'Spare the rod,' and-" (he nodded his head as
much as to say, I needn't tell you the conse-
quence,") "that is ever a woman's maxim."

about thirty acrs, for at least 800 yeam%, ad how much
longer oud not be aowrtained. This mall estate would
dt have ered fr their mabIntamm without the buine
of ba mh, whc hd cotiu n he tamiy down to my
unde' tbma the ldest Mn always beg brought up to that
mloynmt-- atom which he md myha followed with
= V to ak eldest sema."-JA4f WMi, pp. 8 and







MasG: A o0UNo azxTLxn --" 23
At this moment the side-door opened stealthily,
and Deborah (dreied for the morning's work
in a long checked pinafore reaching fom the
throat to the heels-so that the young woman
looked like a great overgrown girl) thrust
her head in the crevice, and gave her mother
"a look"-one of those significant household
glances which refer to a thousand and odd
little family matters never intended for general
ears.
"You can come in now, Deborah," cried the
mother, who, still engaged in the preparation
of her apple-and-pumpkin pie, was busy thumb-
ing patches of lard over the broad sheet of
paste, and converting it in appearance into a
hge palette covered with dabe of white paint.
"ave you finished all up stairs ?' she inquired,
looking round for the moment.
The girl, in her anxiety for her brother, did
not stop to answer the question, but said in an
undertone, as she drew close up to her mother's
side, Has father forgiven Ben ?"
The dame, however, on her part merely replied,
SThere, child I never mind about that just now-
you'll know all in good time," and immediately
ben to catechise her on her domestic duties.
" Have you put a good fire in the keeping-room,'
and sanded the floor nicely, and got out some
more knives and forks for the children-for, re-
member, we shall sit down upwards of a score to
dinner to-day?"
But Deborah was too intent to listen to anything
but the fate of the boy, whom she loved better
than all her brothers, for she had been allowed to
nme him when a baby, though but a mere child
herself at the time, and had oontined his toy-
maker in general up to the prart. moment. So
As, palled her mother tii by the apron, and






24 YOUNG Bv JAMut pFANn .
id, as she glanced hastily at her father, to assure
herself that he wa still arguing with Uncle
Benjamin, Will father let him come back home
-have you found out where he's gone to yet-and
do you really think, mother, he's run away to
sea ?" adding the next minute with a start, as the
thought suddenly flashed upon her, "Oh, dear
me! I quite forgot to tell you, mother, a man
brought this letter to the side-door, and said I was
to deliver it privately to you."
"What a head you have, child 1" exclaimed
the dame,-as, dusting the flour from her hands,
she snatched the note from the girl, and hastily
tore it open.
But her eye had hardly darted backwards and
forwards over the first few lines, before the mother
uttered a faint scream, and staggered back to the
bee-hive chair.
In a minute, the husband and Uncle Benjamin
were at her side, and Deborah, seizing the vinegar
cruet from the dresser-shelf, was bathing her
mother's temples with the acid.
God be praised I my boy's at Ruth's," the dame
at length gasped out in answer to the anxious
group around her; Holmes has sent a note here
to say he will bring him round in the evening,"
and she pointed languidly to the letter which had
fallen on the floor.


CHAPTER III.
THE FRANKuN FAMILY.
Joesu FIANKIx retained sufflient of the austere
habits of the Puritans and the early Nonoonframsts
to have made it a rule-even if his limited means
and large family (no fewer than thirteen of whom







TR1 T RARIMt L FAMILY. 25
noMionally at together at his table ) had not
made it a matter of necessity-that the food par-
taken of by the little colony of boy and girls he
had to support should be Qf the plainest poible
description. Simple fare, however, was so much
a matter of principle with Josiah (desp g, as
he did, all lusting after the flsh-pots ", that he
never permitted at his board any of thon un-
seemly exhibitions of delight or disgust, which
certain youngsters are wont to indulge in on the
entry of any dish more or les toothsome than the
well-known and ever-dreaded scholastic "stick-
jaw." t
In so primitive a household, therefore, there
must have been some special cause for the com-
pounding of so epicurean a dish as the before-men-
tionedapple-and-pumpkin pie,-aomeextraordinary
reason why Dame Franklin should have instructed
Deborah, as she did, "to be sure and put out
plenty of maple sugar for the children," besides
" a gallon of the dried apples and peaches to be
stewed for supper,"-and why that turkey and
: "By his frt wife my father had four children born in
America (beside three previously in England), and by a
second, ten others-in all, seventeen-of whom I remember to
have een thirteen sitting together at his table, who all grew
up to year of maturity, and were married"-AdtooIdmgrp y
p. 9.
t "Little or onotie was ever taken of what related to t
victuals on the table-whether well or ill ooked-in or ouM
season-of good or bad avour-preferable or inferior to tde
or that other thing of the kind: so that I wasbroug p in
sooh perfot intention to the matters as to be quif
different what kind at food was st bfdao me. Ia f,
am so unobrrant it t]at, to tis d ,lean seams t
a few bours afer dinner, of what dishes itt ehl.
has bme a great monvemaose to me in tnnaea whbp my
enmjaarhave r aeuoMies been vmy mhoA r wat m o
a graiseaton their mesm de iati- bttnr
Instrooed tastes ad ppestits."- f qIsIMs p. 9.







26 YOUNG. BIAMI FRA XIIJN.
those "oanvabaok ducks" (so highly priced
among the creatue-comforta of America) were ere
long twirling away in front of the bright, cherry-
red fire, and filling the whole home with their
savoury perfume *--nd why, too, the brisket of
corned-beef had been got up from "the cask"
below, and was now wabbling and steaming, with
its dozen of dough-nuts bumping against the lid of
the iron pot on the hob, and the corn-cakes
baking in the oven, and the huge bowl of curds
-white and cold-looking as marble-standing on
the dresser.
Why all this preparation for feasting in a house
where the ordinary food was almost as frugal as a
hermit's fare?
The Franklin family knew but one holiday in
the course of the year-the anniversary of the
father's safe landing in America in 1685, which
tih piou Josih had made a family Thanksgiving
Day." To commemorate this event, the younger
girs (those who had not yet finished their school-
ing) came home from.their maiden aunts, Hannah
and Patience Folger, who kept a day-school at
herbourne, in Nantucket; while the boys who
ware out in the world, serving their apprentice
The white, or eanvos-bak duck, derives its name from
the colour of the feathers between the wings being of a
light-brown tint, like canvas. Them birds breed on the
border of the great northern lake and in winter frequent
the Sunioebanr and Potomae riven in order that they
y feedon the blbous root of a gna that gmr on the
ate their ad which has much the favour ofoeler. It is
to the feedW eon ti root that the peduli deliou
Savr ofr tbhr lM is attributed. They M hdin a eat
eseia n Amenass greew with u, and are qutly
smt as a premst for hneda of miles. A erm
esk, minded, is rseeed one ot the geatet daaies in the
nti, b meng e delleate in baMr then a vti duck
thahOe larger. The Amurass st it with
emaunwstiy, -S i were region.







TU rANEKI PAIMLY. 27
aip, got leave to quit their masters house for
the day, to take part in the family festival; and
the Pgrown-up son, who were in business for
themselves, gave over their work, or shut up
their stores, and came with their wives and little
ones to join in the rejoicing.
So sacred a duty, indeed, did all the Franklins
regard it, to assemble onoe a year under the
paternal roof, that none but the most cogent
excuse for absence was ever urged or received;
so that even those who were away in distant lands
strove to return in time for the general meet-
'he morning was not far advanced, and Josiah
had hardly done putting up the shutters of his
store, as was his wont on this day preeia l at
ten in the forenoon, before the boys and the ,
and the grown-up young men and women o(b
family, began to swarm in like so many bees at
the sound of a gong.
First came Jabes and Nehemiah-two stout,
strapping lads, carpenter's and mason's apprew
tioes (the one had called for the other on his
road), dressed in their Sunday three-oornered hats
and bright-yellow leather breeches, and with their
thick shoes brown with the earth of the ploughd
fields they had trudged over, and carry in their
hands the new walking-sticks that they had out
from the oopee as they oame along.
Then young Esther and Martha made their
appearance, wrapped in their warm soalet cloaks,
and looking like a pair of "little Bed Ridg.
oods"-or they hd eome from school at Nam-
tooet, and h been brought the oor by the
mate of the New York sloop that plied between
Loag Island and Boston, touching at the intar
venig islands on the way, once a meath in thos
days. Under their cloaks they arrid a baNdle






28 YOUNG BEBJAMMN FRANKLIN.
containing the long worsted mitten* they had
knitted for the mother, and the warm patchwork
quilt they had made for the father, together with
the highly-pried samplers of that time-the latter
of which had been done expressly to be framed
for the keeping-room.
After these walked in John Franklin, the tal-
low-chandler (who was just about to set up in
Rhode Island), with his young Quakeress wife
on his arm; and then followed the married
daughter, Abiah, and her husband, the trader in
furs and beaver skins, who had always an inex-
haustible stock of stories to tell the children about
the Choctaw and Chickasaw Indians, including
wild tales of the chiefs "Blue Snake" or "Big
Bear," or even Nekig the "Little Otter."
Nor did Zachary, the ship-builder (he who had
sent the ducks from the Potomac river), absent
himself, even though he had to come all the way
from Annapolis for the gathering; and he brought
with him his motherless little boy, for his young
wife had died of the fever since the last family
meeting.
There was Ebenezer, too, the bachelor farmer;
and the swarthy and stalwart Thomas, the first-
born and hereditary smith of the family; and
Ruth, with her half-dozen little ones toddling
close after her, like a hen with her brood of chicks;
and Samuel Franklin, Uncle Benjamin's son from
London, who had recently set up as a cutler in
Boston city; and, indeed, every one of the Frank-
line that could by any means manage to reach the
house at the time.
Only three out of the multitudinous family
were absent: James, the printer, who had gone
to London to purchase a stock of typfe-J.ah,
the outcast-and Benjamin, the little runaway.
The absence of the elder brother created no







THB FRANKU F AMIT. 29
a.ttmamemt; for Josiah had not at at that boad
for year-many of the young children, indeed,
had never set eyes on his countenance-while all
had heard of James's trip to the mother-ountry.
But where was Ben?-where was Ben? was the
general cry, as the family came streaming in, one
after another.
Jabes and Nehemiah ran all over the house,
shouting after the little fellow. Esther and
Martha, too, kept teasing Deborah all the morning
to tell them where he had got to, for they fancied
he was hiding from them m play, and they were
itching to show him the little sailor's Guernsey
frock they had knitted for him at school. John
wished to hear how the lad got on at candle-
making, and whether he could manage the dips
yet, and Zachary to see what new toy-ship he had
got on the stooks-and, indeed, every one to say
something to him; for he was a general favourite,
not only because he was the youngest of the boys
but because he was the cleverest and best-natured
of them all.
The news that Ben was "in disgrace" made all
as sad as death for a time; but every one had a
kind word to say for him to the father. The
younger ones begged hard for him; the elder
ones pleaded well for him: so that Josiah had not
fortitude enough to hold out against such a
friendly siege, and was oblied to promise he
would let the boy off as lightlyas posile;
though, true to his pinciple, the would-be
disciplinrin vowed that ths Mat tU "he'd.-
he'd-but they should see."

Mistress Franklin (as the sons an.
ame pouring in one after another, tll th
was so fl of boys and ir d md
gra bWOldr-that it wasm J amo s imp m a







30 YOUNG BSENsUJ N Fur ra m.
has been well said, to shut the doom for them)
bad enoth to do between preparing the dinner
and tidying the young one for the oooaion;
though it almost broke her housewife's heart to
And how buttonless and stringless, and even
ragged, their clothes had become during their
long absence.
Scarcely had she kissed the boys before she
twisted them round by the shoulders, as she eyed
them from top to toe, and commenced pouring
down upon their unlucky heads a heavy shower
of motherly reproofs; whilst the lads, who were
thinking only of the feast, kept worrying her
as to what she was going to give them for dinner.
"Dear heart 1" she would begin to one, "why
don't you wash up at the roots of your hair, boy ?"
or else she would exclaim, as she threw up her
hands and eyebrows, "Is that your best coat?
Why, you've only had it a year, and it's not ft to
be seen. Where you fancy the clothes come from,
lad, is more than I can tell."
The boy, however, would merely reply, "What
pie have you made this year, mother?-I hope
it's a big 'un I Let's have a peep in the oven-
you might as well."
Then to another she would ry, as she seized
him by his leg like a sheep, "Why, I declare
there's a large hole in the heel of your stocking,
boy, big enough for a rat to get through; and
you were a swe's child, Im ure your linen
couldn't well be bck ."
But this one paid o more heed than the other
to the dame's obsration; for the only answer
A made was, Got any honey, mother, for after
dinner? Don't th dioks mEB jly, Jabs-
tb all I rsy, mother, givernaaop the pe."
mo did the girls und a ls iinte scrutiny.
U Why didn't a big chili l hs r uwise home-







*re aflA A E LT. 61
and say she wanted new flannea for those she'd
on were enough to perish her. She evewr mw
children grow o in all her lif."
Come here, girl; whatever i the matter with
your mouth ? next hei would hriek, as she
caught hold of Martha, and dragged her to the
light; "you want a good doing of nettle-tea to
sweeten your blood-that you do." Whereupon,
heaving a deep sigh, she would add, Hah I you
must all of you, children, have a spoonful or. two of
nice brimstone and treacle before you leave home
again."
Then, as soon as the dame caught sight of Ruth,
she began to question her about poor little Ben,
continuing her cooking operations the while. At
one moment she was asking whether the lad was
fretting much, and the next she was intent on
basting her ducks, declaring that there was no
leaving them a minute, or she'd have them burnt
to a cinder.
Now she would fall to stirring the potful of
"hominy," and skimming the corned beef; then
pausing for an instant to tell Ruth how frightened
she had been when she found that poor Ben had
left the house that morning, and begging of her
to get Holmes to do all he could to set the lad
against the sea
And when Ruth had told the mother that
Holmes was obliged to stay and see his cargo
discharged at the whr, and that he thout it,
would save words if Ben came round with him in
the evening; and when she had informed he,
moreover, that Ben had forgotten it was Thanks
gii at home, till he saw her and herlittle
ones eamig for the feast, and that thn he seemed
to take it to heart greatly-the mother popped
short in her examination of the p during the
proe of blking,and cried, u held it half







2 TnOM lI nJAMmNr nRAWLIN.
dawn out of the oven, 1 put by a bit of every-
thing for him, and he shall have the largest out
of the pie, that he shall;" adding the next minute,
" But he'll be round in the evening in time for the
stewed fruit and oorn-cakes-bless him I"
Immediately after this she began wondering
again whether that girl Deborah had thought
about tapping a fresh cask of cider, and fussing,"
as usual, now about her boy, and then about her
dinner.

CHAPTER IV.
THE FEAST, AND AN ARRIVAL.
WHEn all the family had assembled in the keep-
ing-room," it was the invariable custom of the
Puritan father on this day to offer up a prayer of
thanksgiving for his safe arrival in New England;
after which the violin was taken out, and he would
play while the family joined in a hymn. This
was usually followed by a short discourse from
Josiah, touching the great principles of religious
liberty, so dear to the early settlers of America;
for the sturdy old Nonoonformist loved to impress
upon the children gathered round him that he
had left the home where his forefathers had lived
for many generations-not to seek "treasures that
moth nd rust corrode," but merely to be able to
worship the Almighty as he thought fit, and which
as held to be a crime at that time in his native
land.*
M ther oured yomg, ad .ca d his wife with
tee eildrs o New iZnand about 1665. The ooane
t ab t a, at htie orbidd b law ad fquotiT
>ZmTa the mwmeet a Mem ofl ga hf
-ela~ma._ detemnnhaOd o elto that M, he was
iinUdd to sooompany thm thitb, wtn tb epe tsp







THE FEAST, AND AN ARRIVAL. 33
The family devotions and discourse were barely
ended ere the cuckoo clock" whooped twelve,
and immediately a crow of delight from the
younger branch of the Franklin family announced
the entry of the corned beef and dough-nuts.
Such manifestations of the pleasures of the
palate, we have before said, were highly dis-
approved of by the simple-minded Josiah; so, as
his eye suddenly lighted upon the young car-
pouter's apprentice, in the act of rubbing his
waistcoat, and drawing in his breath in youthful
ecstasy, the ascetic father cried, with a shake of
the head:
"Jabez! how often have I told you that this
giving way to carnal joys is little better than a
heathen!"
But scarcely had the parent finished chiding one
son, than he was startled by a loud smacking of
the lips from another: when, glancing in the
direction of the sound, he found the young mason
with his mouth and eyes wide open, in positive
raptures, as he sniffed the savoury odour of the

to enjoy the exercise of their religion with freedom. * *
Our humble family early embraced the reformed religion,"
writes Benjamin Franklin. Our forefathers had an English
Bible, and to conceal it, and place it in safety, it was
fastened open with tapes under and within the cover of a
joint-stool. When my [great another wished to read
it to his family, he placed the joint-eool on his knees, sa
then turned over the leaves under the tapes. One d.tlo
children stood at the door to give notice if he saw the apgr
ritor coming, who was an ofielr of thd Spiritual Comt .
This anecdote," Franklin adds, "I had tom namle Ben-
iamin. The family continued," he then proceeds to r,, "*la
of the Church of Eglnd, till about the end of GCars IL's
reign, when some of the ministers who had bemen 'oml' fr
their nonconformity, having opened a conventiele in Na
amptonshire, my Uncle Benjamin and my father d
to them, and so continued all their lives."-fPanadt's Ai-
blogrphy, p. 5.







4 TOUN BGuramMIN nFRAEN.
beowa and smoking canvs-back ducks that
Deborah was about to place at the bottom of the
table.
"Irm ashamed of you, Nehemiah," the tallow-
chandler shouted, as he frowned at the lad,
"giving up your heart to the vanities of this
world in such a manner" "
A secret pull at his coat-tails, however, from
Uncle Benjamin, cut short the lecture, for the
father knew that the friendly hint meant to imn
ply, It's only once a year, Josh!"
At length the dinner was ended, grace said, and
a button or two of the boys' waistcoats undone;
and then the table itself was got out of the way,
and the games commenced.
This, however, was a part of the entertainment
that the serioualy-inclined Josiah was but little
given to; and, indeed, it required some more of
Uncle Ben's good-humoured bantering before
he oould be induced to consent to it. Even then
he insisted that the children should play at
"Masters and Men," because there was a certain
amount of knowledge to be gained from the repre-
sentations of the various trades; for nothing
annoyed him more than to see youth wasting its
time in mere idle amusements.
But the ice of propriety once broken, Uncle Ben
and the children were soon engaged in the most
boistrous and childish gambols: not only wa
"dmppig the 'kerchief" indulged in-and the
grave Josah himself made to form part in the
ring-but even the wild frolic of "jingling"
was sorted to, and the father and mother, and
Uncle Ben-and Zachary the shipbuilder, and
oth too-as well as young Abih and her 'hu-
n, Othe trapperand John, and his young
a NreM wife-and, indeed, the entire company
-were all presed into the service, and every oe







MT rAsr AND AN AUVAL. 36
of them bindflded at the same' time whilt the
put of jinglerr" fell to thelot f Nehakh, who
ran about the keeping-room like a fantio young
town crier, ringing the hand-bell to give notice of
his whereabouts to the blind players, a they ept
rolling continually one over the other in their
eagerness to catch him.
It was at this moment, when the noise and
madness of the sport had reached their greatest
height, and the father and Uncle Benjamin lay
flat upon the floor, with a miscellaneous mound of
children and grandchildren piled on top of them,
that James Franklin-the young printer, who had
gone to London for a stock of types and presses-
burst into the room, fresh from the vesel that
had just dropped anchor in the bay, and with
his arms laden with packets of presents for the
several members of the family.
"Here's brother James come back ftom Old
En land!" shouted Nehemiah, throwing away his
In an instant the bandages were torn from all
the faces, and the half- named father daed
from under the bodies struggling on top of him
-th6 newly-arrived son laughig heartily the
while.
As the children and the grown brothers, and the
rest, came rambling up to kis or shake ds
with the printer, on his return, he told thet cme
after the other the gift he had brought them ftoa
the "old country;" and when he had greeted the
whole of the company prent, hbe ian menrd
and round, and then glanin'g at Jol"aho
* But where's little Ben, father? .
Joslah averted his head, for heIh o
War the general briapN
his hoy's disgrace, while the A
D2







36 Yo o BKiJAlmN FRAKLIN .
head significantly at the printer, and Uncle Ben-
jamin gave him a secret kick.
James knew by the pantomimic hints that
something was amiss; so he answered, "What!
not allowed to be present on Thanksgiving-day?
Surely, father, one outcast in the family is
enough I"
'here, say nothing about it, lad," cried Uncle
Ben; "it's all been looked over long ago, and the
little fellow will be here to supper shortly. But
come, let's have the news, Master James? You
went down to Ecton, of course?" he added: and
the young man had scarcely signified that he had
made the journey, when the father and uncle,
anxious to know all about their native village,
and the companions of their youth, fired off such
a volley of questions, that it was more than James
could do to answer them fast enough.
Had he been to the old smithy inquired one;
and had he got a slip of the golden pippin tree
in the orchard?
Was Mistress Fisher still living at the forge?
asked the other, and who carried on the busi-
ness now that their brother Thomas's son was
dead?
Dear, dear they both cried, as they heard
the answer, "the smithy sold to Squire Isted,
the lord of the manor'* and the old forge pulled
downP Well! well! what changes do come to
pass'
Next it was, How was their new German king,
George I., liked by the people at home? AM
did he go and have a mug of ale at the W ldd'
My grladhther's e ot Thea ime, ld a thioaM.
a Noto. sad lift it, with t h to his o dlyd r,
-W-ith hA ubao eI. herlofWt bo ,Mld
ltohMr. Ited nw led of the a.-or ,f
a"9 1 A







THEr FATr, AND A ANJBVAL. 87
End?" and did Dame Blason keep the old' inn
still? Did he go to meeting too at the North-
ampton Conventicle, and learn whether the
"Brownista" were increasing in numbers round
about? and was old Luke Fuller, who was outed "
for Nonconformity at the time when they them-
selves seceded from the Church, the minister there
still?
And when James had replied that the good
man had departed this life two years come
Michaelmas, the o)d people hung down their head
as they sighed, Hah! it will be our turn soon."
Then they wanted to know, Were the rebels in
Scotland all quiet when he left? and had he been
over to Banbury, and seen the dye-house, and had
John Franklin still got the best of the business
there?
Had he set eyes on their old schoolfellow,
Reuben of the Mill? and was old Ned, the travel-
ling butcher, still alive? And who held the
hundred-acre farm" of the young Lord Halifax
now? And did the Nonconformists seem con-
tented with the Toleration Act?" and was there
any stir among them about, getting "the Cor-
Sporation Act" repealed? And was Squire Palmer'
widow living at the Hall still? And had he been
over and seen the folk at Earls-Barton and Mea.
Ashby, and told them that they were all doing
well n New England. Hah I they woujd give the
world to set eyes on the old places and the old
people agin.
The gossip about their native vilaga.-p,
ancient friends would have ontimxld
le ly, until bedtime, hod not Jab s-who aa
tar far that extravagant
oaidler funny-here a
oomW a*r the asyle of the a
boatr--law, the trapper, had i.t







38 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
them about, and springing into the air with a
cry imitative of the war-whoop, announced to
the startled company that the "Big Bear" and
" Little Otter" were coming up the stairs to join
the party.
Whereupon Captain Holmes and the truant
Benjamin entered the room.



CHAPTER V.
THE FATHER'S LECTURE.
"Com this way, Benjamin! I wish to speak with
you below," said the father, gravely, as soon as the
lad had gone the round of his relatives, and just
at the interesting moment when the "carnal-
minded" Jabez was making Ben's mouth water
with a list of the many good things they had had
for dinner that day.
The paternal command caused no little excite-
ment among the youthful members of the family,
who knew too well what the summons meant.
But scarcely had Josiah removed one of the
lighted candles from the mantel-shelf to carry
with him to the parlour, than the mother rose and
followed close at the heels of the father and the
chafallen boy; whilst Jabez and Nehemiah
nudged one another aside, as they whispered,
" Let's come too, and see what father's going to do
with Ben."
To ratify their ouriodty, the anxious lads
availed themselves of the darkne of the shop,
where they stood-quiet as mutes-peeping over
the curtain into thelte back room, and wath-
ing the movements d tbir pmnt within.
"Father's letoring bbs U I can see," wib.





























































"Fatber's lecturing htm wc)U, 1 oan sce."-P. 39.







THE FATHi''S LECTUP. 89
pered Jabes, on tip-toe, to the brother at his aide,
" for he is shaking his head till his gray looks ly
about again, and holding up his forefinger as he
always does, you know, when he's talking very
seriously."
What's mother doing ?" asked the brother.
"Why, she's got Ben drawn close up to her, and
keeps peasing her hand ovet his cheek," answered
Jabez. "How aged father gets to look, doesn't he ?"
the boy added, almost in the same breath, for he
could not help remarking the change, now that
his .whole attention was riveted on his parent's
figure. "He's got to stoop dreadfully since last
Thanksgiving-day."
"Yes," observed the other, that Sunday gray
coat of his, that he's had ever since I can remember,
ets to hang about him like a smock frock, that it
o. I was thinin so only just before dinar,
Jabe."
Ah and mother isn't so young as she used'o
be," mournfully continued Jabe "for she gt to
look more like old grandfather Folgr in the tfae,
every-"
"What's that noise?" whispered lehemiah, as
a loud souffle was heard in the parlour.
"Why father's just dragged Benjamin frim
mother's arms," was the answer, "for she kept
huggg and kissing him all the time he was le-
tung him. HwhT I shall hear what he saip
direy, for he's talking much louder now."
a he lling him, eh ?" inquired theymg
mason, in an under tone, after holdiag his mlth
till he felt half afifed with his m-pea .
I can just make out that he's ve ry with
mother for petting Ben as ise doi e I the
little carpenter, becamee father sa *it make his
conduct appear undervedly harsh, ad *trip his
reproofs '-yes, those were his woads- aml the







40 YOUNG BnMJAMt I FRANKrIN.
foree that justice would otherwise give them.'
Isn't that like father, Nee ?'
"' Yes," added the brother; "h may be a little
severe at times, but he's always very just with us,
I'm nsre; and mother, you know, toi spoil Ben,
because he's the youngest of us boys."
"Be quiet, Nee!" said Jabez, as he kicked his
brother gently to enforce the command, and put
his ear closer to the door, "Father's saying now
that if Ben doesn't like the candle-making-yes"
-and the lad paused to catch the remainder of
the speech-" hell let him choose a trade for him-
self. What do you think of that ?"
"Why that comes of Uncle Benjamin being
here," interposed' Nehemiah. "Uncle's been
having a long talk with father about the matter, I
can see."
Do be quiet, will you, or I shall miss it all,"
cried Jabez, tetchily. What's that he's saying
now ?" the lad inquired,'talking to himself, as he
strove to catch the words. "Father's warning
]en" he added in measured sentences, as he fol-
lowed the old man's voice, that when he's chosen
another trade-if he ever runs away from his work
again-he'll lose his doors against him for ever-
the tame as he did with his outcast son, Josiah."
An hour or two after the above scene, the three
boy, fresh from their supper of stewed peaches and
hot coton-akes (of whichthe mother had given her
pet boy Ben double allowance), had retired to the
little attic for the night, and when Jabes and
Nehemiah had heard from their brother all about
bhL runing away, and the wonderful "lying
Dtch- n (aiper built) that he'd got nearly
ady for lanchmg,.they began to goop among
themselves, as boys are wont to do, while they
psieped for bed.






TH. FATHER'S LUCTm. 44
First Ben's guine-pig was taken out, and exhi
bited to the admiring brothers, who, boy-like,
were young fanciers," not only of guinqa igi,
but of every pet animal in creation-from white
mice to monkeys; whereupon they immediately
commenced discussing the comparative beauties of
the black," the tortoiseshell and the fawn "
kinds of African porkers-one saying that "too
many tea-leaves were not good for them, as they
made them pot-bellied," and the other remarking
that "he didn't like guinea-pig because they ate
their young like rabbits:" a circumstance which
suddenly reminded him of'a "double-smut" of
his acquaintance that had devoured her whole
litter of six-every bit of them except their tails,
but those she couldn't swallow because they were
so nufy."
This led to a long discourse on rabbits in general,
when Jabes dived very learnedly into the varieties
of" double-lops," and "horn-lops," and oar-lops,"
as well as the up-eared" species, and told tales
of wonderful Does, the tips of whose "fancy ear "
had touched the ground, and measured more than
a foot in length.
After this the convention branched of to
pigeons, young Benjamin observing, that if Jab
would only make uim a "snaptrap," he'd keep
some tumblers i their loft, for captain Holmes
had just brought Bobby a couple of be atifl
"soft-billed almonds from London: besides, the
was a prime place for a pigeon-house SinrttbA
melting-shed, and a schoolfellow of his at Id
Brownwell's. had promised to give him a pir of
splendid-hooded Jacobins," and aome Leghorn
runts" for took directly he'd got a plae to heep
tJm in; so Jabe might as well ma howe fr
him in his overtime.
Presently the young carpenter -" mnei







42 YOUNG BUJAm RAI NKN.
needed to compare notes as to the strength of the
" aky-blue," and the thickness of the butter on the
" scrape" at their respective marts, and to talk
of the wives of those gentlemen as Old Mother
So-and-So;" until, tired of this subject, the youth-
ful trio digressed into ghost stories, and so
frightened each other with their hobgoblin tales,
that, as the candle sputtered and flickered in the
socket, they trembled at every rattle of the win-
dow-sashes, till sleep put an end to their terrors
and their talk.
At length the morning arrived when the younger
branches of the Franklin family were to return to
their masters and mistresses; and then the dame
was in the same flurry as on the day of their
arrival, with the preparation of the hundred and
one things required at her hands.
On the table before her lay a small lot of brown
worsted tockings done up into balls that resembled
so many unwashed potatoes, and new canvas smocks
for the boys to work in (short as babies' shirts),
and new shoes too, the soles of which were studded
with nails almost as big as those on a church door
-es well as mob-caps, and tippets, and aprons for
the girls, after the style of our charity children of
the present day-and hanks of worsted yam for
citing, and seed-akes, and bags of spioed-nuts,
together with a jar of honey for each of them-
bsidee a packet of dried herbs to be made into
tea, to purify their blood" at the spring and fall
of the year.
When, too, the dreaded hour of departure lived
and the boys' bandlas had been made up, ad, the
mUdhand-basket dy p or the or
th tams of the mother a Wd little oea rolled down
their cheeks as fst and big as hail-stones down
a kylight; and, as the weeping children crossed






A TAX- ABeot TMI saA 4"
the reold, the egr dame stoodon the door-
t t, wtohin them down the narrow street, sad
,oi after hem to remind them of an intity
of small thinp they were to be sre and do
directly they reached their destination.
Ben, too, on his part, kept shouting to Jabez,
"not to forget to make him the pigeon-house as
soon as he could get the wood," and calling to the
young mason to remember to send him some prime
" bonces and alleys directly he got back to the
stone-yard.


CHAPTER VL
A TALK ABOUT THE EA.
ON the evening after the Thanksgivng-day pt.
Holmes came round, when they had "knocked of
work at the ship, to smoke his pipe with Joiah
and Uncle Benjamin-for the father wished the
captain to talk with young Ben about his love of
the sea; so the dame had made one of her afous
bowls of lambe'-wool" for the occasion.
The captain was a marked contrast, both in frm
and feature, to Josiah and his brother Benjamin.
His frame seemed, indeed, to be of east ren, hbe
chest being broad as a bison's, and the grip of his
big, hard hand like the equeese of a vie. His
face was gipsy-broe with the weather be hde
long been exposed to, and set in a hmreshee of
immense black whisker, the hair do whi,-iei
out from the oeek on either side.lke G* e
of ep's brushes; ad between thsw I w
teeth glsenead like the pearVy*in ofat osr
shell as he laughed, whiclh diw eiudl-h,
and almost without reason.







44 YOUNG BMAMIr TRANKLI .
The old men, on the other hand, were but the
noble ruins of humanity-graced rather than dis-
figured by age. At the time of the opening of
our story, Josiah was in his sixty-third year, and
Uncle Benjamin some few years his senior; and
yet neither gave signs of the approach of that
second childhood which is but the return of the
circle of life into itself-linking the gray-beard
with the infant, and foreshadowing the Eternal in
that mysterious round which brings us back (if
the furlough from Above be but long enough) to
the very babyhood from which we started.
The red Saxon blood, as contradistinguished
from the swarthier Norman sap, inherent in Eng-
lish.veins, was visible in the cheeks of both of
the old men; indeed, their complexion was so
pinky that one could well understand their boast
that "they had never known a day's illness in
their lives ;"* whilst their fresh colour contrasted
as pleasantly with their silver-white hair as the
crimson light of a blacksmith's forge glowing
amid the snow of a winter's day. The only sign
that the brothers gave of age was a slight crooking
of the back, like packmen bending beneath their
load-of years; for their teeth were still perfect,
neither was the mouth drawn in, nor were the
cheeks hollowed with the capacious dimples of
second childhood.
Had it not been for the "sad colour" and
formal.Quakr-like cut of their clothes, no one
would have fancied that they belonged to that
heroic and righteous body of men, who, foflowiag
imthe footsteps of the fit" pilgrims to Ameria,
had willingly rmitted to the martyrdom ao Oile
S"**' l mknw aMw mypalnr or tto a s am
b. tht of wMah they die-he t 8 So adabat7 r o" a
iap-4t.o-A ograph, p. 9..







A TALK ABOUT -THE A. 45
for the sake of enjoying the free exercise of their
religion; for the hale and hearty Josiah had the
cheerful and contented look of the English yeoman,
whilst the more portly and dumpy Benjamin had
so good-humoured an air that he might have been
mistaken, in another suit, for the jolly landlord ot
a road-side inn.*
Mistress Franklin, being some dozen years
younger than her husband--and looking even
younger than she was-seemed barely to have
reached the summit of life's hill, rather than to
have commenced her journey down it. True, a
quick eye might have discovered just a filament or
two of silver streaking the dark bands of hair that
braided her forehead; but these were merely the
hoar-frosts of Autumn whitening the spider's
threads-for as yet there was no trace of Winter
in her face.
At the first glance, however, there was a half-
masculine look about the dame that made her
seem deficient in the softer qualities of feminine
grace, for her features, though regular, were too
bold and statuesque to be considered beautiful
in a woman; and yet there was such exquisite
tenderness-indeed, a plaintiveness that was almost
musical-in her voice, together with such a good
expression, glowing like sunshine over her whole
countenance, that the stranger soon felt as assured
of her excellence as those even who had proved it
by long acquaintance.
The wife, too, belonged to the same Puritan
stock as Josiah; her father-" Peter Folger of
Sherbourne" in Nantucket-having been monst
the earliest pilgrims to New England, d be
S"I 0 ppos you may like to knw what bd of a n
mthatyr, wVil set, and iuy s otg .
son, "Re had an edleunt ooartita AM-
ta*M, WU met, and very trMo&"
*







46 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
styled a godly and learned Englishman" in the
chronicles of the country.*
The simplicity of her dress, h ever, consti-
tuted the chief mark of her conventicle training.
The main characteristic of her appearance was
the immaculate cleanliness as well as the fastidious
neatness of her attire. There was so much of
white, indeed, about her (what with the mob-cap,
the muslin kerchief crossed over her bosom, and
the ample linen apron covering her skirt) that
she always looked fresh and tidy as a dairy-
snowy as suds themselves. Her dress, too, was
as free as a moonlight scene from all positive
colour, for even the mere fillet of ribbon which
she wore round her cap was black, and her stuff-
gown itself gray as a friar's garment.
I've been pointing out to the youngster here,
father," proceeded the captain, as he punctuated
his speech with the puffs of his pipe, when the
subject of the evening's conversation had been
fairly broached; what a dog's life a sailor'y, and
asking him how he'd like to live all his time upon
maggoty biscuits and salt junk, that goes by the
name of mahogany' aboard a ship-because it's
so hard and red, and muol easier carved into
chess-men than it's chewed and digested, I can
tell you. I've been asking him, too, how he'd
like to have to drink water that's as black and
putrid, ay I and smells, while its being pumped
out of the casks in the hold, as strong as it was
beingdrawn out of a cesspool, so that one's glad
S" M mother (the second wife of my hher) ws Abih
1oIgeda#gbehr of Peter Folger, one o the frt setthr Q
e; of whom honaoble meatoa is ade by
OMIGbwlE iBn his eaed.msail UiAoy at ot eouty,
W I 1 hri AmiWs6a &as anod EMd
Nt r nammbr the wods War j."-Uf c
HgifiP***







A TALK ABOUT THB RBA 4T
to strain it through the corner of his ldkerchie
while drinking it from the 'tots.' And, what
more, youngster, you'd get only short allowance of
this stuff I can tell you; for over and over again
when I was a boy aboard the Francis Drake,
I give you my word I've been that dry in the
tropics (what with the salt food, that was like
munching solid brine, and the sun right overhead
like a red-hot warming-pan) that I've drunk the
sea-water itself to moisten my mouth, till I've
been driven nearly mad with the burning fury of
the thirst that was on me. Ah! you youngsters,
Ben, little know what we sailors have to put up
with; for mind you, lad, I'm not pitching you
any stiff yarn here, about wrecks, and being cast
away on rafts, and drawing lots as to who's to be
devoured by the others; but what I'm telling you
is the simple every-day life of the seaman, ay
and of half the 'reefers,' too,"
Here the captain paused to indulge in his
habitsul chuckle (for it was all the same to him
whetlpr the subject in hand was serious or
oomio,, while Mistress Franklin looked perfectly
horror-stricken at the account of the water her boy
had been, as it were, just on the point of drinking..
Little Ben himself, however, was not yet "at
home" enough to make any remark, bat sat on
the stool at his mother's feet, with his eyes count-
ing the grains of sand on the floor, for he was
ashamed to meet his father's gae.
As for Josiah, he was but little moved by
the captain's picture of the miseries of seafarig,
and merely observed, that as he. had taught h.
children to abstain from hankering after tb' s eh-
pots," Ben could bear the absence iof ratka
oamforts better than most boys-a armk that A et
the tain huckling again in goed erit.
hat you say, father, about hankerirb& t,







48 YOUNG: BlEJAMIN FBANKIN.
the 'flesh-pote,' is all very well" continued the
good-humoured sailor, as he tittered, while he
'tapped the ashes from the bowl of\his pipe, but
if you'd had a twelvemonth on mahogany and sea-
biscuits as hard and dry as tiles, you yourself would
get hankering after a bit of soft tommy' (that's
our name for new bread, Ben) and a out of
roast-beef, I'll be bound: ayl ay! and think the
fat old bum-boat woman that comes off to the ship
with a cargo of fresh quarter loaves, directly you
make the land, the loveliest female in all creation.
But," added Captain Holmes, after a long pull at
a fresh mug of the delicious lambs'-wool," "there
are worse things aboard a ship, let me tell you,
Ben, than even the rations. Youngsters think
seafaring a fine life because it's full of danger,
and looks pretty enough from the shore; but only
let them come to have six months of it 'tween
decks, cooped up in a berth little bigger than a
hutch, and as dark and close as a prison-cell,
directly the wind gets a little bit fresh and the
aouttles and port-holes have to be close; and
to be kept out of their hammocks half the night,
with the watches that must be kept on deck wet
or dry, fair or foul-ay and to be roust out too,
Soon as they get off to sleep-after the middle-
watoh, may be-to reef topsa'ls, or take in to'-gal-
-lan'-als, or what not, whenever a squall springs
up-only let them have a taste of this, I say, and
they soon begin to sing another song, I can tell
you. Why, when I was 'prentice on board the
Francis Drake,' I've often been put to walk the
deck with a capsta'n-bar over my shoulder, and a
buoket of water at the end of it to keep me awake,
api even then I've been that drowsy that 'I've
p ded up and down by the anyway as fast
as if rd been a am- rnm--what do you
OR?"







SA TALK ABOUT THI. SI. 49
"-nambolist" ggested Unole Benjamin.
S"Ay sy that's it, mate," nodded'tb esapain,
with another laugh. "And over and over ain
when I've sneaked away to pick out a soft plak
between the henooops, and have just droppedoff,
the second-mate has found me out, and come
and emptied two or three buckets of salt water over
me, and set me off striking out as if I was swim-
ming, for I'd be fancying in my sleep, you see,
that the vessel had got on a reef, and was filling
and going fast to the bottom.
But the worst of all, lad," the sailor went
on, when he had done puffing away at his pipe, so
as to rekindle its half-extinguished fire, "is to be
roust out of your sleep with the bo's'ain's whistle
ringing in your ears, and the cry of' A man over-
hoard a man overboard shouted on every side."
Ah, that raut be terrible indeed," shuddered
Mrs. Franklin, as she covered her face with her
palms in horror at the thought.
Little Ben, however, sat with his mouth open,
staring up in the captain's face, and mute with
eagerness to hear the story he had to tell. The
father and uncle, too, said not a word, for they
were loth to weaken the' impression that the
captain's simple narrative was evidently making
on the sea-craued boy. *
Ay, ay, mother I" Captain Holmes proceeded;
"it is terrible, I can assure you, to rush on deck
in the darkness of night, when even your half
wakened senses tell you that there is nothing but
a boundless watery desert round about the ship,
and to find the canvas beating furiously aPtid A
the fatets, as the sails are put suddenly al 'to
oheok the way upon the vessel. Then, as'yu
instintively to the ship's side, youi ee, Oi.
hap., some poor fellow struggling with the %
waves, and, strong to say, apparently swimmt
2







50 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
as hard as he can away from the vessel itself
before it is well brought to-for one forgets, at the
moment, you see, the motion of the ship: and so
as it dashes past the wretched man in the water,
it seems as if he, in the madness of his fright,
was hurrying away from the hull rather than the
hull from him. 'Who is it? who is it? cry a
score of voices at once. Tisdale,' answers one.
' No, no; it's Swinton,' says another. I tell you
it's Markham,' shouts a third; he fell from the
main-chains as he was drawing a bucket of water;'
and while this goes on, some one, more thoughtful
than the rest, runs to the starn and cuts adrift the
life-buoy that is always kept hanging there over
the taffrel. Then, as the buoy strikes the water,
the blue light that is attached to it takes fire, and
the black mass of waves is lighted up for yards
round with a pale phosphoric glow. But scarcely
has this been done, before some half-dozen brave
fellows have rushed to the davits, and jump-
ing into the cutter over the ship's quarter, low-
ered the boat, with themselves in it, down into the
sea. The next minute the oars are heard in the
silence of the night to rattle quickly in the
rullocks, while the cox'ain cries aloud, Give
way, boys; give way,' and the ha figure of the
receding boat is seen to glide like a shadow
towards the now-distant light of the life-buoy
dancing on the water. Then how the sailors
crowd about the gangway, and cluster on the
poop, peering into the darkness, which looks
doubly dark from the very anxiety of the gazers
to see farther into it The sight of the sea, Ben,
miles away from land on a starles nht is
always terrible enough; for then the dark ng of
water encompassing the lonely vessel looks like a
vast black pool, and the sky, with its dull dome of
clouds, like a huge overhanging valt of lead. But







A TALK ABOUT THE SeA. 51
when you know, lad, that one of your own shiy
mates s adrift in that black pool-where there i
not even so much as a rock, remember, to cling to
-and battling for very life with the great waste
of waters round about him, why, even the rogh-
est sailor's bosom is touched with a pity that
makes the eyes smart again with something like a
tear. You may fancy then how the seamen watch
the white boat, as it keeps searching about in the
pale light of the distant buoy; and how the crowd
at the ship's side cry first-' Now they see him
yonder;' and next, as the cutter glides away in
another direction-' No, they're on the wrong
track yet, lads;'-and then how the men on
board discuss whether the poor fellow could swim
or not, and hw long he could keep up in the
water; until at length the buoy-light faes, and
even the figure of the cutter itself suddenly
vanishes from the view. Nothing then remains
but to listen in terrible suspense for the pulse of
the returning oars; and as the throbbing of the
strokes is heard along the water, every heart beats
with eagerness to learn the result. What cheer,
boy, what cheer?* cries the offer, as the boat's
crew draw up alongside the vessel once more, and
every neck is craned over the side to see whether
the poor fellow lies stretched at the bottom of
the cutter. And when the ugly news is told that
the body evm has not been found (for that i
the usual fas in the dark), you am form,
haps, some fint idea, Ben, of the gloom
comes over the whole crew. 'Whose tuim t
be net,-who is to be left like that i
&ghting with the ocean in the dark ?
meof him? is he Willl to the
was thrown to hima,-ndsti ad
the blp as he sees t ah Sail 6.g
his sight? or was he seized by ae shar lhdi
u2







52 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
in the ship's wake, and dragged under as soon as
he struck the waves? Who cm say?' And the
very mystery gives a greater terror to such an end."
The Lord have mercy on the lost one's soul,"
sighed Benjamin's mother, as she hugged her boy
close to her knees, grateful even to thanksgiving
that he had escaped so ghastly a doom. As for
Ben himself his eyes were glazed with tears, and
as he still looked up in the captain's face, the big
drops kept rolling over his long lashes till his
little waistcoat was dappled with the stains.
The good-natured captain did not fail to note
how deeply the lad had been touched with the
story, and jerking his head on one side towards
the boy, so as to draw the father's attention to
the youngster, he indulged in one of his habitual
chuckles as he said, Come, come, Ben, swab the
decks. You haven't heard half of the perils of a
sailor's life yet. Ah I you lads think a long
voyage at sea is as pleasant as a half-hour's oruize
in the summer-time; so I did once, but a few
weeks in the middle of the ocean, where even the
sight of a gull, or a brood of Mother Carey's
chickens seems a perfect God-send in the intense
solitude of the great desert about you-and where
the same eversting ring of the horizon still
pursues you day after day, till the sense of the
distance you have to travel positively appeals the
mind--a few weeks of such a life as this, lad, is
sufficient to make the most stubborn heart turn
back to home and friends, and to pray God in
the dead of the night, when there is nothing but
the same glistening cloud of stars set in the
same eternal forms to keep one company, that
he may be spared to clasp all those he loves
to his bosom once agin You think a sailor,
youngster, a thoughtlen dare-devil of a fellow,
with hardly a tender spot to his nature-the







A TALK ABOUT THE PSA.- 8
world speaks of his heart as a bit of oak; but I
can tell you, boy, if you could hear the yarns that
are spun during the dog-watches on the fo'cadl,
there is hardly a tale told that isn't homeward
bound, as we say, and made up of the green
scenes of life, rather than the ugly perils at sea.
Ay! and what's more, Ben, if we could but know
the silent thoughts of every heart on deck during
the stillness of the middle watch, I'd wager there
is not one among them that isn't away with
mother, sister, or sweetheart, prattling all kinds
of fond and loving things to them. Your father
Josiah, too, would tell you that sailors are a god
less, blaspheming race; but I can tell you, lad,
better than he (for I know them better), that a
seaman, surrounded as he always is with the very
sublimity of creation-with the great world of
water by day, which seems as infinite and incom-
prehensible as space itself, and with the lustrous
multitude of stars by night-the stars that to a
sailor are like heaven's own beacon-lights et
up on the vast eternal shore of the universe, as
if for the sole purpose of guiding his ship along
a path where the faintest track of any previous
traveller is impossible-the sailor, I say, amid
such scenes as these, dwells under the very tem-
ple of the Godhead himself, and shows in the
mconquerable superstition of his nature-despite
his idle and unmeaning oaths-how deeply he
feels that every minute of his perilous life ia
vouchafed him, as it were, through the mercy of
the all-Merciful."
The pios brothers bent their heads in revmree
at the thoughts, while the mother looked tendery
and touchingly towards her son-in-law, and ai
as if to tell him how pleased she w to Sf& that
even he, sailor as he was, had not fngottm the
godly teahing of his Puitan parent







54 YOUNG BENJAMIN FBRANKN.
or a moment or two there was a marked eilenog
eong the family. The captain had touched the
most solemn chord of all in their heart, and they
sat for a while wrapt in the sared reverie that
killed their mind like the deep-toned vibration of
"a passing bell."
P esmenty Captain Holmes, who was unwilling
to leave his brother Ben without fairly rooting
out every thread of the romance that bound the
little fellow to the sea proceeded once more with
his narrative.
But I'll tell you what, Master Ben, is the most
shocking sight of all that a sailor has to witness, ay,
and one that makes a stark coward of the bravest,
and a thoughtful man of the most thoughtless-
death, youngster !-death, where there are no
churchyards to store the body in, and no tomb-
stones to record even the name of the departed;
death, amid scenes where there is an everlasting
craving for home, and yet no home-face near to
soothe the last mortal throes of the sufferer. Why,
lad, rve seen a stout, stalwart fellow leave the deck
in the very flush of life and health, as I came on
duty at the watch after his, and when I've gone
below again, some few hours afterwards, I have
found him stricken down by a sun-stroke as sud-
denly as if he had been shot, and the saimaker
sitting by his berth, and busy sewing the corpse
up in his hammock, with a cannon-bal at the feet.
he rst death I had ever witnessed, lad, was
under such circumstances as theme. I was a mere
youngster, like yoursel, at the time, andhad been
te man's ide day after day-had listened to
his yarns night after ight-had heard him talk.,
with a hitch in his breath, about the wife and
little baby-boy he had left behind-had seen her
ame (ay, and som half. a don others) with
hearts and love-knot* uder thm, prikea in blue







A TAxI ABOUT THZ sA. 6b
on bis great brawny arms. I had known him,
indeed, a closely as men looked within the same
calls for months together, and suffering the same
Common danger, get to know and like one another.
I had mined sight of his face for but a few hours,
and when I saw it next, the eye was fixed and
glued, the features s if cut in stone, the hand
heavy and cold as lead; and I felt that, boy as I
wa, I had looked for the first time deep down
into the great unfathomable sea of our common
being. he hardest thing of all, lad, is to believe
in death; and when we have been face to face with
a man day by day, there seems to be such a huge
gap left in the world when he is gone, that the
mind grows utterly sceptical, and can hardly
be convinced that an existence, which has been
to it the most real and even palpable thing in
all the world, can have wholly passed away.
To look into the same eyes and find them return
no glanoe for glance-to speak and find the ear
deaf, the lips sealed, and the voice hushed, is so
incomprehensible a change that thejudgment posi-
tively reels again under the blow. Ashore, lad,
you can get away from death; you can shut it out
with other scenes, but on board ship it haunts you
like a spectre; and then the day after comes the
most dreadful sene of all-burial on the high as."
The captain remained silent for a moment or
two, so that Ben might be able to "chew the cud"
of his thoughts. Hoes had noticed the little
fellow's head drop at the mention of the death at
sea, and he was anxious that the lad should realize
to himself all the horror of suoh a atstmophe.
Presently Captain Holmes b n again:-", As
the bel toll, the poor a fellow's s &a eme
streamingup the hatchways, with their had bare
and their necks bent down; fa few oa-bear to
look upon the lifeless body of their former com-







56 YOUNG RINJAXIN FRANKLIN.
anion, stretched, as it is, on the hatches beside
the ship's gangway, pointing to its last home-
the sea; whilt the ship's colo0 with which it
is covered, scarcely serve to conceal the outline
of the mummy-like form stitched in the ham-
mock underneath. It needs no elocution, Ben,
to make the service for the dead at sea the most
solemn and impressive of all prayers-an outpour-
ing that causes the heart to grieve and the soul
to shudder again in the very depth of its emotion;
for with the great ocean itself for a cathedral, and
the wild winds of heaven to chant the funeral
dirge, there is an awe created that cannot pos-
sibly be summoned up by any human handi-
work. And when the touching words are uttered,
of 'ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,' and the body
is slid from under the colours into the very
midst of the ocean-as if it were being cast back
into the great womb of Nature itself-a horror
falls upon the senses like a deep absorbing
stupor."
Another long pause ensued. The captain him-
self was absorbed in recalling all the sad associ-
ations of the scenes he had described. Josiah
and Uncle Benjamin had long forgotten the little
lad whose love of the sea had been the cause of
the discourse, and were silently nursing the pious
thoughts that had been called up in their minds;
while poor Mrs. Franklin sat sobbing and mutter-
ing to herself disjointed fragments of prayers.
Presently the mother rose from her seat, and
flinging herself on the captain's shoulder wept half
hystercally; at last, with a strong effort, she
cried through her sobs: "The Lord in heaven
reward you, Holmes, for saving my boy from such
a fate."
Next Uncle Benjamin started from his chair,
and going toward hi little namesake, aid, a he







A TALK ABOUT Te sM. 57
led him to his weeping parent, Come, dear lad,
promise your mother here you will abandon all
thoughts of the ae from this day forth"
"I do mother," cried the boy, I promise you
I wilL"
The mother's heart was too fall to thank her
boy by words; but she seized him, and throwing
her arms about his neck, half smothered him with
kisses, that spoke her gratitude to her son in
the most touching and unmistakable of all lan-
guage.
Give me your hand, sir," said Josiah to little
Benjamin; let us be better friends than we yet
have been, and to-morrow you shall choose a trade
for yourself."
"Oh, thank you, father, thank you," exclaimed
the delighted lad; and that night he told his joy
to his guinea-pig, and slept as he had never done
before.


Eo 0o PABT L













PART IL


YOUNG BEN'S LESSON IN LIFE, AND WHAT
HE LEABNT FBOM IT.


CHAPTER VII.
GOING OUT IN THE WORLD.
IT was arranged by Josiah and his wife, after part-
ing with the captain overnight, that young Ben-
jamin should be intrusted to the care of his uncle
for a few days, before being called upon to select
his future occupation in life.
Uncle Benjamin had pointed out to the father
that he was too prone to look upon his boy as a
mere industrial machine, and had begged hard to
be allowed to take his little godson with him out
in the world" for a while, so as to give him some
light insight into the economy of human life and
labour.
"The lad at present," urged the uncle, "is
without purpose or object He knows absolutely
nothing of the ways of the world, and has no more
sense of the necessity or nobility of work-nor,
indeed, any clearer notion of the great scheme of
oivilised society, than an Indian Papoose. What
can a child like him," the godfather sid, under-
stand of the value of prudence, of the over-
whelming power of mere pereverane-or of
the magic influence of simple energy and will-







GOEIN our a TUr WOaa 59
till he is made to see sad oomprhend the dif-
ferent pri and movements that give fore,
pay, aad direction to the vast machinery of in-
datry and commerce? So far as the great world
of human enterprise is concerned," added the uncle,
"the lad is but little better than a pup of eight
days old; and until his mind's eye is fairly opened,
it is idle to expect him to have the least insight
into the higher uses and duties of life."
As soon as the morning meal of the next day
was finished, little Benjamin, to his utter astonish-
ment, was presented by his uncle with a new fish-
ing-rod and tackle, and told to get himself ready
to start directly for a day's sport.
"What ever can this have to do with the choice
of a trade?" thought the boy to himself
There was no time, however, for wondering; for
the next minute the mother was busy brushing
his little triangular hat, while his sister was
helping him on with his thick, big-buckled
shoes. Then a packet of corned beef and bread
was slipped into the pocket of his broad-skirted
coat; and without a hint as to what it all meant,
the little fellow was dismissed with a kis and a
" Godspeed upon his mysterious journey.
The boy and hs uncle were not long in travers-
ing the crooked and narrow streets of Boston.
The quaint old-fshioned State House in front
of the large park-like "common" was son left
behind, and the longwooden bridge crossed in the
direction of the igbouri sburbof Dorobaer.
Young Benjamin, though pleased enoua to be
free for a day's pleasure, s so eager to be put
to sme new occupation, that he kept eaatig in
his own simple manner, as he trotte ama ith
his rd on his shoulder, as to why his h had
broken his promise with him.







60 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRBANLIN.
The uncle guesed the reason of his little
nephew's silence, but said not a word as to the
real object of the excursion; aad as they made
towards the heights of Dorche ter, he recounted
to the lad, in order to divert his thoughts, stories
of the persecutions of the Franklin family in the
old country; till at length, having reached a
small streamlet at the foot of the heights them-
selves, the rod and line were duly mounted, and
the day's sport commenced.
Then, as the boy sat on the green bank, with
his fshing-rod speared into the ground, and watch-
ing the tiny float that kept dancing like a straw in
the current, the old man at his side took advan-
tage of the quietude of the spot to impress his
little nephew with his first views of life.
It was a lovely autumn day. The blue vault
of the sky was like a huge dome of air upspring-
ing from the distant horizon, and flecked with
large cumulus clouds that lay almost as motion-
lees, from lack of wind, as if they were mounds
of the whitest and softest snow piled one above
another. From an opening between two such
clouds the sun's rays came pouring down visibly,
in distinct broad bands of fire mist"- such as
are seen streaming through a cathedral window-
and fell upon the earth and water in large sheets
of dazzling phosphorescence. Out at sea, the
broad ocean-expanse constituting the Bay of
Masachusett looked positively solid as crystal
in its calmness, while the shadows of the clouds
above, dulling in parts the bright surface of
the water, swept over it almost as imperceptibly
as breath upon a mirror. In the distance, the
little smacks that seemed to be revelling in the
breeze far away from land had each left be-
hind them a bright trail, which looked like a long
shining sar upon the water; and from the sooM of







GOING OUT IN THE WOBLD. 61
islands, dappling the great ooe-ake, ferry boats
freighted with a many-coloured load of market
women, peasants, and soldiers kept plying to and
from the shore.
Looking towards the home they had left, the
town of Bostn itself was een crowding the
broad peninsular pedestal on which it was
set, and the three hills that gave it its an-
cient name of "Tri-mountain," swelling high
above the tide at its base. In front of the city,
the masts of the many vessels in the harbour were
like a mass of reeds springing out of the water,
and from the back and sides of the town there
stretched long wooden bridges, which in the dis-
tance seemed as though they were so many cables,
mooring the huge raft of the city to the adjacent
continent.
The country round about was dappled with
many a white and cosy homestead, and the earth
itself variegated as a painter's palette with all the
autumn colours of the green meadows and the
brown fallow lands-the golden orchards, the
crimson patches of clover, and the white Books and
red cattle with which it was studded; whilst
overhead, on the neighboring Dorchester heights,
there rose a fine cloud of foliage that was as rich
and yet sombre in its many tints as the sky at
sunset after a storm.
"Look round about you, lad," sid Unole Ben-
amin to the youth at his side, "and see what
usy scene surrounds us. There is not a ld
witn ompess of the eye that the humbandum
are not at work in. Yonder the pliogh
scooring the earth, as the yoke of oxen pa slowly
over it, and changmg the green soil ito a rich
umber brown, so thte ehadasd grond may
drink in fresh life fom the air awove. nml
rm oartis in the field studding it wth lois of







Ta YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANILIN.
manage at regular distanoea to serve a nutriment
fir th future grain. The smoke from the p-
rooted heaps of stabble buning yonder goes drit-
ing over the dark plain, in order that even the
ashes from the at crop may tend to feed the
coming one. That warthy-looking fellow you
see over there, Ben, with a basket on his arm, is a
sweep, sowing soot broadcast, for the same purpose.
Down by the shore, again, the people are out with
their waggons colleotn seaweed, with a like
object. At the salt-marshes, too, you perceive the
cowherd is busy opening the sluices, so that the
tide as it flows may moisten the rich meadows
upon which the cattle are grazing.
On the other hand," continued the old man, as
he pointed to the several objects about him, "the
tiny vessels yonder, that look like so many white
gall as they skim the broad bay, are those of
the shermen gathering supplies for to-morrow's
market. That noble-looing ndiaman, with the
men, like a wrm of bees about its yards, gather-
ing in the posting mails a it enters the harbour, is
lade with tesa and spies from the East; and that
line of craft moored beside the 'Long Wharf'
wi& the ores dippi into their holds, is landing
bags of sgr from theWestern Idies The drove
of. cattle hltig there to drink at the road-side
pool, and with their reflected images coloring the
wa lie a panting, have come from the distant
p ra to swe our buafters' stores. The white
fgeyo ear see at the top of yo mill is
that f the m iles ma, guidig the danglig
sass oft or on their way down to be coated of
to the eity. The very ib etthe air--e arows
now cawing as tba fly ovne hd; the swallows
twitbring as rtey skin a the s~rfoL
(i the pools; thswite g edr 'that has just
asettl down oa th wevm ; t hawk poked abov







GOING OUT IN TH WOBLD. 3
the wood waiting for the coming pigeon; ae, ne
and all, in quest of food. Even the very insots
beside us are busy upon the same errand. The big
bee busing in the flower cup at our feet; the
tiny ants, that are hardly bigger than motes in
the sunbeam, hurrying to and fro 'ihe grass; the
spider that has spun his silken net bros the twigs
of the adjacent hedge-are all quickened with the
cravings of their bigger fellow-creatures. Indeed,
the sportsman on the hills above, whose gun now
makes the woods chatter again, is there only
from the same motive as is stirring the insects
themselves. And you yourself, Ben,-but look at
your flot, lad! look at your float! The bobbing
of it tells you that the very fish-like the birds
and the insects, the sportsmen and the husband-
men round about-have left their lurking-places
on the same hungry mission. Strike, boy,
strike I"
As the uncle said the words, the delighted
youngster seized the rod, and twitched a plump-
looking chub, struggling, from the pooL
In a few minutes the prize was stored away in
the fih-basket they had brought with them, and
the float once more dancing in the shade above the
newly-baited hook in the water.
And when the rod was speared anew in the
ground beside the brook, Uncle Ben mid to his
nephew, as the little fellow flung himself down oe
the bank ope, "Can you understand now, my
little man wy I brought you out to ksh?"
The lad looked up in his nole's good-hanrmed
face, and smiled as the solution of the inom-q
riddle flashed aore his mind.
Why, to teah me, .unoe, that ertl n tha
lives seeks alfer its food," muanmw m r
Benjamin, delighted with the sma all es yli
had made; for asyet he had nw a-6dis







f YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
hi mind, the cravings of creatures into anything,
approximating to a general law.
"Hardly that, my little man," replied the uncle,
"for I should have thought your own unguided
reason would have shown you as much ere this.
What I reallyant to impress upon you, Ben, is
rather the ita necessity for work. The lesson I
wish to teach you is not a very deep one, my lad;
but one that requires to be firmly and everlast-
ingly engraven on the mind. Now look round
again, and see what difference you can notice be-
tween the lives of animals and plants. Observe
what is going on in the fields, and what among the
insects, the birds, the fishes, the beasts, and even
the men, that throng the land, the air, and the
water about us."
The boy cast his eyes once more over the broad
expanse of nature before him, and said, hesitat-
ingly, "The animals are all seeking after food,
and-and--"
The husbandmen are busy in the fields, taking
food to the plants," added Uncle Benjamin, help-
ing the little fellow to work out the problem.
"The one form of life goes after its food, and the
other has it brought to it."
The old man paused for a minute, so that the
lad might well digest the difference.
The distintive quality of an animal," he then
went on, i that it seeks its own living, whereas
a plant must have its living taken to it.
"I ee," maid Benamin, thoughtfully.
"Ananimal," aid the uncle, "cannot thrust its
lower extremities into the pound and drink up the
elements of its trunk and imbs from the soil, like
the willo*-tree there on the opposite bank, whose
roots you can see, like a knot of wthimg snakes,
ieedI the ear l rod aitbot t Unlike the
Sthe shab, Ben, the animal is endowed







00ING OMT IN THE WOULD.
with a suoeptibiliy of feeling, as well a fitted
with a special and exquisitely beautiful app-
ratus for motion. The sentient creature is thus
not only gifted with a sense of hunger to tell him
instinctively (far better than any reason could pos-
sibly do) when his body needs refreshment; but in
order to prevent his sitting still and starving with
pleasure (ashe assuredly would have done if hunger
had been rendered a delight to him) this very
sense of hunger has, most benevolently, been made
painful for him to suffer for any length of time.
Now it is the pain or uneasiness of the growing
appetite that serves to sting the muscles of his
limbs into action at frequent and regular in-
tervals, and to make him stir in quest of the
food that is necessary for the reparation of his
frame. And what is more, the allaying of the
pain of the protracted appetite itself has been ren-
dered one of the chief pleasures of animal nature."
"How strange it seems, uncle, that I never
thought of this before! for, now you point it out to
me, it is all so plain that I fancy I must have beme
blind not to have noticed it," was all that the
nephew could say; for the new train of thought
started in his brain was hurrying him away with
its wild crowd of reflections.
"Rather it would have been much stranger,
Ben, could you have discovered it alone; for such
matters are visible to the mind only, and not to be
noted by the mere eyes themselves," the unole
made answer.
"I understand now," exclaimed the boy, half
musing; "all animals must stir themselves in
order to get food."
"Ay, my lad bat there is another mwed dif-
ference between animals and plm *," antin.ad
the unole, and that will eplain to v why evn
food itself is neoe ary for animal auldsml i A







Of YOUNG .BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
tree, you. know, boy, is inactive-that willow
would remain where it is till it died unless moved
by some one-and there is, therefore, little or no
waste going on in its frame. Henoe the greater
part of the nutriment it derives from the soil and
air is devoted to the growth or strengthening of its
trunk and limbs. But the chief condition of
animal life is muscular action, and muscular action
cannot go on without the destruction of the tissues
themselves. After a hard day's exercise, men are
known to become considerably lighter, or, in other
words, to have lost several pounds weight of their
bodily substance. Physicians, too, assure us that
the entire body itself becomes changed every
seven years throughout life: the hair, for in-
stance, is for ever growing, the nails are being
continually pared away, the breath is always
carrying off a certain portion of our bulk, the
blood is hourly depositing fresh fibre and absorb-
ing decayed tissues as it travels through the sys-
tem ; transpiration, again, is for ever going on, and
can only be maintained by continual drains upon
the vital fluids within. Even if we sit still, our
body is at work-the heart beating, the lungs
playing, the chest heaving, the blood circulating;
and all this, as with the motion of any other
engine (even though it be of iron), must be
attended with more or less friction or rubbing
away of the parts in motion, and consequently
with a slower er quicker wearing out or waste of
the body itself."
I should never have thought of that, uncle,"
observed the youth.
"It is this waste, lad, which, waking or sleep-
ing, moving or rating, is for ever going on in the
animal frame, that makes a continual supply of
food a ital neoeity with us all. Food, in-
deed, is to the human meohine what coals are to







GOING 01r IN THE WORLD. WY
Savery's wonderful steam-engine-the fuel that is
necessary to keep the app tus in motion; and,
as a chaldron of coal applied to a steam-boiler will
do only a certain amount of work, so a given quan-
tity of bread and bacon put into a man's stomach
is equal to merely a definite quantity of labour.
But since we can only get food by working, why
work itself, of course, becomes the supreme neces-
sity of our lives. Our blood, our heart, our lungs
are, as I said, for ever at work, and we must there-
fore work, if it be only to keep them working. It
is impossible for such as us to stand still without
destroying some portion of our substance; and
hence one of three things becomes inevitable."
"And what are they, uncle ?"
"Why, work, beggary, or death!" was the over-
whelming reply. "You may choose which of the
three you will adopt, but one or other of them there
is no escaping from. You must either live by your
own labour, lad, or by that of others, or else yoa
must starve-such is the lot of all."
Work, beggary, or death!" echoed the boy, as
he chewed the cud of his first lesson in life.
Work, beggary, or death!"
Then suddenly turning to his uncle, the little
fellow exclaimed, "You have given me thoughts
I never knew before. Let me go home and tell
my father and mother how different a boy you
have made me, and my future life shall show you
how much I owe to this day's leson."

The journey home wa soon performed, for yoong
Benjamin was too fall of what he had heard tob
the distance they journeyed.
Well, Ben, my boy I" exchamed tb fbhr, as
the little fellow entered the candle stoo, wht
sport have you had? What' haW y. brouot
home?"







68 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
"I have brought one ish," answered his son,
demurely.
Is that all ?" asked the old man.
"No," replied the altered youth. I have come
back with one fish and one strong determination,
father."
"Eh, indeed! A strong determination to do
what, my lad ?" said the parent.
To lead a new life for the future," was the
grave response of the little man.



CHAPTER VIII.
"A HIT! A HIT!"
THAT night, after the evening hymn had been
chanted by the family, to the accompaniment of
the father's violin as usual, and young Benjamin
had retired to rest, the conversation of the
brothers and the wife turned upon the marked
change that had occurred in the little fellow's
behaviour.
He certainly seems a different lad," observed
the father, as he arranged the table for the hit at
backgammon that he and his brother Benjamin
occasionally indulged in after the day's work:
"quite a different lad. I really don't think hq
uttered a word beyond 'asking the blessing' all
supper-time."
And when I went up to his room to take his
light," chimed in the mother, who had now settled
down to her knitting, and was busy refooting a
pair of the young carpenter's worsted stocking,
"the dear child was praying to God to give him
grace and strength to cary out his new purpose."
"Well! well! that looks all healthy enough,







"A HIr IA Hrr l" 69
mother," exclaimed Josiah, rattling away at the
dice-box, "if it'll only last. You see the fleshis
weak with all of us, and children are but'reeds in
the wind; poor little reeds, mother."
"Last I" echoed Benjamin, as he raised his eye
for a moment from his brother's game, why, with
God's blessing, it's sure to last, that it is. What
I've told you all along, Josh, is that you hadn't
faith in that boy's mind. He's as like our own
brother Tom, I say again, as one grain of sand
is to another; and as our Thomas came to be
the foremost man of our family, why, mark my
words, Josh, your Ben will grow up to be the
greatest man in all yours-though I dare say none
of us here will ever be spared to see the day.
The boy has a fine common-sense mind of his own,
and where there's a mind to work upon, you can
do anything, brother, within reason. With Jack-
asses, of course you must give them the stick to
make them go the way you want; but with
rational creatures, it's only a fool that believes
blows can do more than logic. What first set you
and me thinking about our duties in life, Josh ?" he
asked, and gave the dice-box an extra rattle as he
paused for a reply. Was it kicks, eh? kicks and
cuffs ? No! but it was sitting under good old Luke
Fuller at the Northampton Conventicle, and listen-
ing to his godly teachings-that it was, if I know
anything about it. And now I'll tell you what I
mean to do with my godson Ben. I've made my-
self responsible for the errors of his youth, you
know, and what I mean to do is this-"
The mother stopped her needles for the moment,
as she awaited anxiously the conclusion of the
speech; but Benjamin, who by this time had got
by far the best of the hit at batokmmon, pa
to watch the result of the throw he was to
make; and when the dice were cast upon the


Mi'







T0 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
board, Josiah, who, like his brother, was divided
between the discourse and the contest, inquired-
"Well, and what do you mean to do, Master
Ben ?"
Why, I mean to gammon you nicely this time,
Master Josh," he replied with a chuckle as he
" took up" the "blot" his antagonist had left on
the board.
"Tt I tut! man alive," returned Josiah in a
huff at the ill luck which pursued him. "But
what do you mean to do with the boy, I want to
know ?"
"Why, I mean," answered brother Benjamin,
abstractedly, as the game drew to a close, and he
kept gazing intently at the board, I mean "-and
then, as he took off his last man, and started up
rubbing his palms together as briskly as if it were
a sharp frost, with exultation over his victory, he
added-" But you shall see-you shall see what
I mean to do with him. Come, that's a hit to me,
brother."
It was useless for Josiah or his wife to attempt
to get even a clue to the method Uncle Benjamin
intended to adopt with their son.
The godfather, on second thoughts, had judged
it better to keep his mode of proceeding to him-
self, and so, finding he could hardly hold out
against the lengthened siege of the father and
mother, he deemed it prudent to beat a retreat;
and accordingly, seizing his rushlight and the
volume of manuscript sermons, that he never let
out of his sight, he wished the couple good-night,
and retired to his room.













CHAPTER IX.
THE WILL AND THE WAY.
A SMALL sailing vessel lay becalmed next morn-
ing far out in the offing of the Massachusetts bay.
The fresh breeze that had sprung up at sunrise
had gradually died away as the day advanced
towards noon, and now the mainsail hung down
from the yard as loose and straight as a curtain from
a pole, while the boom kept swinging heavily from
side to side as the boat rolled about in the long
and lasy swell of the ocean. At the helm sat one of
the smartest young cookswains out of Boston har-
bour-Young Benjamin Franklin; and near him
was the uncle who had undertaken to shape the
little fellow's course through life.
The lad was again at a los to fathom the reason
of the trip.
So long as the breeze had lasted he had been
too deeply engrossed with the management of the
craf-too pleased with watching the bows of the
tiny vessel plough their way through the foaming
water, like a sledge through so much snow-to
trouble his brains much about the object of an
excursion so congenial to his heart. So long s
the summer waves rushed swiftly as a mill-suioe
pat the gunwale of the boat, and ti hall lay
over almost on its side under the preumr of the
pouting sail, the blood went dsam g, almost
a cheerily a the waves, through the ven of
th excited boy a and his hand p e the tiller
with the same pride as a ho1rmun hl the mrin of







72 YOUNG BENJAMIN FBANKLN.
a swift and well-trained steed. But when the wind
flagged, and the sail began to beat backwards and
forwards with each lull in the breeze, like the
fluttering wing of a wounded gull, the little fellow
could not keep from wondering why Uncle Benja-
min had brought him out to sea. What could any
one learn of the ways of the world in an open boat
far away from land?
The boy, however, lacked the courage to inquire
what it all meant.
Presently he turned his head to note the dis-
tance they had run, and cried as he looked back
towards Boston, "Why, I declare, uncle, we can
hardly see the State House!"
"Yes, lad," was the answer, "the town has
faded into a mere blot of haze; but how finely
the long curving line of the crescent-shaped bay
appears to rampart the ocean round, now that the
entire sweep.of the shore is brought within grasp
of the eye! What a vast basin it looks: so vast,
indeed, that the capes which form the horns of the
crescent coast, seem to be the very ends of the
earth itself! And yet, vast as it looks to us, lad,
this great tract of shore is but a mere span's length
in comparison with the enormous American conti-
nent; that continent, which is a third part of the
entire earth-one of the three gigantic tongues of
land that stretch down from the North Pole,* and
ridge the ocean as if they were so many mighty
sea-walls raised to break the fury of the immense
flood of water enveloping the globe. Now tell
SThe three tongue of land spoken of are,-, North and
South America; 2, Europe and Afica; 8, Asia and Aura-
laia. Each oftheseegreattract is m or or le divided mid-
ay into two porious. Between the two Amerdea flow the
SofMezioo sudthe Caribbean e; between Europe and
Afica, on the other zhd, runs the Meditesrean; whilst
Asia ad Austral are sepated by tbe.Ohinse See and
laIdia Archipelago.







.THE WLL AND THB WAY. 7T
me, who was it that discovered the great continent
before us, Benjamin?"
SCristofaro Colombo, the Genoese sailor, on the
11th of October,intheyear 1492," quiclyanswered
the nephew, proud of the opportunity of displaying
his knowledge of the history of his native lan.
And that is but little more than two hundred
years ago," the other added. "For thousands of
years one third of the entire earth was not even
known to exist by the civilized portion of the globe;
and had it not been for the will of that Genoese
sailor, you and I, Ben, most likely, would not have
beenazing at this same land at this same moment."
"The w/i of Columbus echoed the nephew
in wonderment at the speech.
Yes, boy. I have brought you out in this boat
to-day, to show you what the mere will of a man
can compass," continued the uncle, "for I want
to impress upon you, my little fellow-now that
we are here, with the mighty American shore
stretching miles away before our eyes-how the
will of a simple mariner gave these mighty shores
an existence to the rest of the habitable globe."
The will repeated the boy.
"Yes, Benjamin, the will!" the uncle iterated
emphatically; "for the finding of this great
country was not a mere accidental discovery-not
a blind stumbling over a heap of earth in the dark
-but the mature fruition of a purpose long con-
ceived and sustained in the mind. When did
Columbus first form the design of reaching India
by a westward course?" asked the old man, de-
lighted to catechise his little godson ooneening the
chronicles of America
Young Ben reflected for a moment, and then
stammered out, as if half in doubt about the date
"As early as the-as the year 1474, I think the
book says, uncle."







74 YOUNG BWJAMIN IRARKLIN.
Yes, boy, he formed the design nearly twenty
years before he made the discovery. To reach India
by sea," proceeded the mentor, "was the great
problem of navigation in those days. Marco Polo
had travelled overland as far even as China and
Japan; but the boats of our forefathers, flat-
bottomed as they were, and impelled only by
oars, were unable to venture far out of sight of
land; for in those days sailors hadn't even the
knowledge of the compass, nor of any instrument
to measure the altitudes of the stars, whereby to
guide a vessel in its course. Even the passage to
India round by the Cape of Good Hope was a
voyage that none as yet had had the hardihood to
undertake. Well, and what were the reasons
Columbus had for believing that land lay across
the Atlantic?"
The objects cast on the shores of Europe after
westerly winds," spoke out the boy, for the
interesting story of the discovery of America had
been scanned over and over again by him.
" Besides, you know, uncle, after Columbus married
Philippa de Palestrello, he supported himself, and
kept his old father too, at Genoa by drawing
maps and charts."
"There's a brave lad I" returned the uncle pat-
ting his godson encouragingly on the head, till
each kindly touch from the old man thrilled
through every nerve of the youngster; "and in the
old charts by Andrea Bianco and others of Venice,
Columbus had doubtlessly been struck by the long
range of territory that was vaguely indicated as
lying to the west of the Canary Islands. Well,
when the sailor had once formed the idea of cross-
ing the Atlantic in quest of land, what did he
do? Did he sit down and grieve that he was too
poor to fit out the fleet that was neoesary to put
.the project into execution, eh, lad?"







TEI WIrL AND TUI WAY. 79
"No, uncle," wthe readyreply; "he jorneyed
with his little son Diego, who wa then, if I
remember rightly, only eleven years old (for
his wife Philippa, you know, ncle, had died
some time before to the different courts of
Europe, in the hope of getting some of the kings
to give him ships and men for the voyage."
Ay, and when he found himself foiled by the
intrigues of the courtiers of John the Second of
Portugal, and the great scheme of crossing the
Atlantic rejected by the council of the State, did
the sailor give way to despair, and abandon the
project for ever in disgust?" again the old man
interrogated the youth.
No, Uncle Benjamin; he set out with his little
son to Spain, though in the greatest poverty at
the time, and there sought the assistance of Ferdi-
nand and Isabella."
And how long did he remain there, lad, danc-
ing attendance on the lacqueys of a government,
many of whom even laughed to scorn the notion
of the world being round ?" was the next query.
"Five years he stayed in Spain," the youth
replied.
And when all hope failed him there, what did
he afterwards? 'Did he lose heart, and pluck his
long-cherished purpose out of his mind?"
"No, no I" exclaimed the lad, whom the uncle
had now worked up to a sense of the sailor's
indomitable determination; "Columbus then got
his brother Bartholomew to make proposal for
the voyage to Henry VII. of England."
Yes," exclaimed the elder Benjamin, "and to
England this man of stern will would met s-
suredly have gone had not the Queen Iabella,
when she heard of it, been persuaded to send for
him back."
And then, you know, she oouented to pledge







76 YOUNG BENJAuI FRANKLIN.
her jewels so as to raise money enough for the
expedition," chimed in little Benjamin.
So she did, my little man," the godfather re-
turned with an approving nod; "and by such
means, at last, three small vessels, the 'Santa
Maria,' the Pinta,' and the' Nina' (two of them,
remember, being without decks), were fitted for
sea, and one hundred and twenty hands to man
them, collected, by hook or by crook, with the
greatest difficulty, owing to the general dread
of the passage. And when the tiny fleet of fish-
ing smacks (for it was little better, boy), ulti-
mately set sail-on the 3rd of August, 1492, it
was-out of the port of Palos, in the Mediter-
ranean, and made straight away for the broad
havenleas ocean itself, did the will of the bold
adventurer-the will that he had nursed through
many a long year of trial, want, and scorn-did it
waver one jot then, or still point to the opposite
shore, steady as the compass itself to the pole ? ay,
and that even though he knew that the crew he
commanded were timid as deer, and the boats
he had to navigate almost as unseaworthy as
cradles?"
"I never read the story in this way before,uncle,"
exclaimed the thoughtful boy, now that the object
of his teacher began to dawn upon his mind.
"I dare say not, lad; but hear the grand tale to
its end," was the answer. Well, for some months,
you know, Ben, the wretched little fleet of open
boats bad been beating about the wide and appa-
rently-boundless Atlantic, and the sailors, worn
with fatigue and long want of shelter and proper
food, had grown mutinous and savage at searching
for what seemed to them like the very end of space
itself; and then the great admiral (for you re-
member he had been made one), though still
fortifqd by the same indomitable purpose as ever,







THE WILL AND THE WAY. 77
was obliged, after exhausting every other reource,
to beg of his rebellious sailor a few days' g oe,
and to promise to return with them then, if un-
succesful. Night and day afterwards, did this
man of iron resolution gaze into the clouds that
rested on the horizon, and believe he saw in them
the very land that his fancy had discovered there
nearly twenty years before; but at last this same
cloud-land had so often cheated the sight, that all
hope of seeing any shore in that quarter had been
banished from every breast-but his own. One
night, however,-the memorable night of the 15th
of October, 1492,-as the admiral sat on the poop
of the 'Santa Maria' peering into the darkness
itself, he thought he beheld moving lights in the
distance; then the crew were called up to watch
them, and eye after eye began to see the same
bright fiery specks wandering about in the haze
as the admiral himself; until, at length, doubt
grew into conviction, and a wild exulting cry of
' land! land!' arose from every voice.
And when the morning dawned, and the eyes
of Columbus gazed upon that strange coast, crim-
soned over and gilt with the rays of the rising
sun, who shall describe the passions that crowded
in his bosom? who shall tell the honest pride he
felt at the power of the will which had led him
to summon, into existence as it were, the very
land before him? or how even he himself mar-
velled over that staunch fortitude of purpose
which had sustained him through years of trial to
such an end ?
It tos then," said the boy, half stricken down
with wonder at the thought, now that he could
grasp it in all its grandeur, the will of Colubus
that gave America to us."
It was, lad, the will of the heroic Genoese
sailor-expressing the will of God; and if it wa







78 YOUNG I BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
the: will of a simple mariner that first made known
this enormous continent-this new world as we
call it-why, it was merely the same inflexible
resolution that first peopled it, with the very race
that now possesses it."
Indeed!" cried the boy in greater amazement
than ever.
"Yes, Ben," was the answer. The same iron
determination was in the souls of the Pilgrim
Fathers as in that of Columbus himself; but theirs
was one of a holier nature. They sought these
lands, neither quickened by a life of adventure
nor stirred by the lust of riches. They had merely
one immovable purpose in their heart-to worship
the Almighty after the dictates of their own con-
science-and it was this that led the pious band
to quit the shores of the Humber in the old coun-
try; this that sustained them for years as exiles
in Holland; and this which ultimately bore them
across the Atlantic in the 'Speedwell' and the
'Mayflower,' and gave them strength to fight
through the terrors of the first winter here in
their adopted father-land."
"How strange!" exclaimed the musing lad;
~wi discovered the land, and i peopled it."
Yes, Benjamin; it was to make you compre-
hend the power of this same wh in man that I
brought you out here to-day. I wanted to let you see
almost with a bird's eye the mighty territory that
has been created by it. The plains, which a few
years back were mere wild and half-barren hunt-
ig grounds possessed by savages, are now studded
with large and noble town--the fields striped
with roads and belted with amals-the ooast
pierced with harbours-rthe land rich with vegeta-
tion-the cities busy with factories-the havens
bristling with shipin-. and all called into
eistenoe by the i=ma'" will of the one mamn







HOW TO MAKE WORK EIASANT. 79
who originally discovered the country, and ,that
of the conscientious band who afterwards came
from England to make a home of it. It was the
will of the Almighty that first summoned the
land out of the water, lad; and it is the samo
God-like quality in man-the great creative and
heroic faculty-that changes barren plains into
fertile fields, and builds up cities in the wilder-
ness."


CHAPTER X.
HOW TO MAKE WORK PLEASANT AND PROFITABLE.
Ir was now time for the uncle and nephew to
think about returning to Boston harbour. They
had promised to be home to a late dinner at two;
but the promise had been made irrespective of the
wind and the tide, and the couple were then
some miles out at sea, without a breath of wind
strong enough to waft a soap-bubble through
the air, and with a strong ebb-current drifting
them farther from land.
The head of the vessel was at length, by dint of
sculling, brought round to the shore; but still
the sail hung down as limp and straight as the
feathers of barn-door fowls after a heavy shower,
and even the paper that the uncle threw over-
board (as he opened the packet of bread and'
meat they had brought with them) floated per-
petually by the ship's side, as motionless as the
pennant at the mast-head.
Heyday, my man we seem to be ia tt
fix here," cried Uncle Beiamuin, apip
the bread and beef, while he
riveted on the e of the old rte. lM
swimming bede them in the water. W4** lad







80 YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
yOU ay, my little captain-what's to be done?
Bemeber, I'm in your hands, youngster."
There's nothing to be done that I see, uncle,"
returned the youth, as he smiled with delight at
the idea of being promoted to the captaincy of the
vessel-" nothing but to wait out here patiently
till sundown, and then a breeze will spring up
most likely; it generally does, you know, at that
time. But I thought it 'ud be so, to tell you
the truth, while you were talking; and I should
have whistled for a wind long ago, but I
fancied you might think I wasn't attending.
It's impossible to pull back with this heavy tide
against us; and if you look out to sea, uncle,
there isn't a puff of wind to be seen coming
up along the water anywhere;" and as he said
the words the little monkey put his hand up
before his brows, in imitation of his old sailor
friends, and looked under them in all directions,
to observe whether he could distinguish in the
distance that ruffling of the glassy surface of the
water which marks te approach of a breeze in a
calm.
Well, captain, what must be must," said the
godfather, calmly resigning himself with all the
gusto f a philosopher at once to the position and
the victuals. "There's no use railing against
the wind, you know, and it's much better having
to whistle for a breeze than a dinner, I can
tell you. So come, lad, while you fall foul of
the meat and the cider, I can be treating you to
a little snack of worldly philosophy by way of
salt to the food; and so, you see, you can be
digesting your dinner and your duty in life both
at the same time."
The youngster proceeded to carry out his
nole's order in good earnest, for the see-trip
Wia whetted his bodily appfet as much as the







HOW TO MtAKE WORK P.uASAT. 81
story of Columbiu had sharpened the edW of
his wits; so, pulling out his clasp knife, he fell
to devouring the buffalo hump and the old man's
discourse almost with equal heartiness s
Well, my son," proceeded the elder Benjamin,
" I have shown you the power of the will in
great things, and now I want to point out to you
the use of it in what the world call little things.'
1 have made you understand, I think, that the
prime necessity of life is labour. But labour
is naturally irksome to us. You remember, boy,
it was the primeval curse inflicted upon man."
So it was I" exclaimed the lad, in haste to
let his uncle see that he knew well to what he
referred. "' In the sweat of thy face shalt thou
eat bread' were the words, uncle."
"Good, good, my son I'll make a fine, upright
man of you before I have done-that I wiU,"
added the delighted godfather. "But labour,
though naturally irksome and painful, still admits,
like hunger itself, of being made a source of
pleasure to us."
I4ow can that be?" the nephew inquired.
"Well, Ben," the uncle went on, "there are
three means-and only three, so far as I know-by
which work may be rendered more or less da-
lightful to all men. The first of these means
variety; the second, Wbit; and the third, purpow,
or object "
I don't understand you, uncle," was all the
boy said.
"You know, my little man," the other went
on, "that as it is hard and difioult to rnatin
at the same occupation for any length t l so
does it become a matter of more rl to
shift from one employment to anot a eno
as we grow tired of what we haevJbs biela
doing. Child's-play is merly labor made ,
9




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