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world of questions, such as how old he wag-and what was his name-aid whether his mother was alive and how far he lived from Burlington? Ben told her every thing she asked him. He told her his name and age. He also told her that his mother was alive, and that he had left her only seven days ago in Boston, where she lived. The old lady could hardly believe him that he ever came from Boston. She lifted up her hands, and stared at him as though he had told her he had just dropped form the North Star. From Boston! said she, with a scream, now only to think of that! O dear, only to think of that! And then, O how she pitied his mother. Poor dear soul! She, all the way yonder in Buiston, and such a sweet looking, innocent child, wandering here at such a distance by himself: how could she stand it?
Ben told her that it was a great affliction to be sure; but could not be helped. That his mother was a poor woman, with sixteen children, and that he the youngest boy of all, was obliged to leave her to seek his livelihood, which he hoped he should find in Philadelphia, at his trade, which was that of a printer,
On hearing that he was a printer, she was quite delig'ited and pressecl hin to come and set up in Burlington, for that she would be bound for it 'he would do mighty well there. Ben told her it was a costly thing to set up printing; that, it would take two hundred pounds; and he had not two hundred pence.
Well then, said she, nou that you have got no money, it will give me more pleasure to have you stay
you can get a good opportunity to go Philadelphia. I feel for your poor mother, and I know it would give her such a pleasure if she knew you were here with me.
Soon as Ben had enjoyed his beef stakes, which he did in high style. having the double sauce of his own good appetite and her motherly welcome, he drew out his last dollar to pay the good old lady. But she told him to put it up, put it up for she would not take a perny of it. Ben told her that he was young, and able to work. and hoped to do well when he got into business, and therefore could not bear that she who was getting old and weak should entertain him for nothing.
Well, said she, never mind that, child, never mind that. I shall never miss what little I lay out in entertaining you while you stay with me. So put up your money. However, while she was busied in putting away the dishes, he slipped out and got a pint of ale for her: and it was all that he could prevail on her to accept.
From the pleasure with which Ben ever afterwards spoke of this good old woman, and her kindness to him, & poor strange boy, I am persuaded as indeed I have always been, that there is nothing on which men reflect with so much consplacency as on doing or receiving offices of love from one another.
Ben has not left us the name of this good old woman, por the sect of christians to which she belonged. But it is probable she was a Quaker Most of the people about Burlington in those days were Quakers. And besides such kindness as hers seems to be more after the spirit of that wise people, who instead of wrangling about faith, which even devils possess, give their chief care to that which is the end of all faith, and which the poor devils know nothing about, viz. "love and goed works."
BEN now sat himself down to stay with this good old woman till the following Tuesday, but still Phila. delphia was constantly before him, and happening, in the in patience of his mind, to take a stroll along the river side,' he saw a boat approaching with a number of passengers in it. Where are you bound? said he.
To PHILADELPHIA, was the reply..
His heart leaped, for joy. Can't you take a passen. ger aboard? I'll help you to row.
O yes, answered they, and bore up to receive him. With all his heart he would have run back to his good old hostess to bid her farewell, and to thank her for her kindness to him, but the boat could not wait; and carrying tortoise like his all upon his back, in he stepped and went on with them for Philadelphia, where, after a whole night of hard rowing, they arrived about eight o'clock next morning, which happened to be Sunday.
Soon as the boat struck the place of landing, which was Market-street wharf, Ben put his hand into his pocket, and asked, what was the damage. The boatmen shook their heads, and said, oh no; he had nothing to pay. They could never take pny from a young fellow of his spirit, who had so cheerfully assisted them to row all the way,
As his own stock now consisted of but one Dutch dollar, and about a shilling's worth in coppers, he would have been well content to accept his passage on their own friendly terms; but seeing one of their crew who appeared to be old and rather poorly dressed, he hauled out his coppers and gave them all to him. Having shaken hands with these honest hearted fellows, he leaped ashore and walked up Market-street in search of something to appease his appetite, which was now abundantly keen from twenty miles rowing and a cold night's air. He had
but a short distance before he met a child bearing in his arms that most welcome of all sights to a hungry man,
line loaf of bread. Ben eagerly asked him where he had got it. The child, turning around, lifted his little arm and pointing up the street, with great simplicity and sweetness said, dont you see that little house--that liitle white house, way up yonder?
Ben said, yes.
Well then, continued the child, that's the baker's house; there's where my mamy sends me every morn. ang to get bread for all we children.
Ben blessed his sweet lips of innocence, and hastening to the house, boldly called for three pence worth of bread. The baker threw him down three large rolls.
What, all this for three pence! asked Ben with surprise
Yes, all that for three pence, replied the baker with a fine yankee snap of the eye, all that only for three pence! Then measuring Ben from head to foot, he said, with a sly quizzing sort of air, and pray now my little man where inay you have come from?
Here Ben felt bis old panic, on the runaway servant score, returping strong upon him again. However, putting on a bold face, he promptly answered that he was from Boston.
Plague on it, replied the man of dough, and why did'nt
tell me that at first, I might so easily have cabbaged you out of one whole penny; for you know you could not have got all that bread in Yankee-TOW for less than a yood lour pencer Very cheap, said Ben, three large rolls for three pence; quite dog cheap! So taking them up, began to stow them away in his pockets; but soon found it impossible for lack of room - $0 placing a roll under each arm, and breaking the third, he be. gan to eat as he walked along up Market-street. On the way he passed the house of that beautiful girl, Miss Deborah Read, who happening to be at the door, was so diverted at the droll figure he made, that she could not help laughing outright. And indeed no wonder.-A stout fleshy boy, in his dirty working dress and pockets all puckered out, with four linens and stockings, and a loat of bread under each arm, eating and gazing around him as he walked, no wonder she could not help laughing aloud at him as one of the greatest gawkies she had over seen. Very little idea had she at that time that she was presently to be up to her eyes in love with this young gawky; and after many a deep sigh and heart ache, was to marry him and to be made a great woman by him. And yet all this actually came to pass, as we shall presently see, and we hope greatly to the comfort of all virtuous young men, who though they may sometimes be laughed at for their oddities; yet, if like Franklin, they will but stick to the main chance, i. e. BUSINESS and EDUCATION, they will assuredly, like him, overcome at the last, and render themselves the admiration of those who once despised them.
But our youthful hero is in too interesting a part of the play for us to lose a moment's sight of him; so after this short moral we turn our eyes on bim again, as there, loaded with his bundles and his bread, and eating and gazing and turning the corners of the streets, he goes on without indeed knowing where he is going. At length, however just as he had finished his first roll, bis reverie was broken up by finding himself on Marketstreet wharf, and close to the very boat in which he had come from Burlington. The sight of the silver streann,
as it whirled in dimpling eddies around the wharf, awakened his thirst; so stepping into the boat, ht took a hearty draught, which, to his unvitiated palate, tasted sweeter than ever did mintsling to any young drurikard. Close by him in the boat sat a poor woman with a little ragged girl leaning on her lap. He asked her if she' had breakfasted. With a sallow smile of hunger hoping reliet, she replied no, for that she had nothing to eat. Upon this he gave her both his other loaves. At sight of this welcome supply of food, the poor woman and her child gave him a look wliich he never afterwards for. got.
Having given, as we have seen, a tythe of his money in gratitude to the poor boatman, and two thirds of his bread in clarity to this poor woman and her child, Ben skipped again upon the whart, and with a heart light and gay with conscious duty, a second time took up Market-street, which was now getting to be full of well dressed people all going the saine way. He cut in and following the line of march, was thus insensibly led to a Jarge Quaker meeting house. Sans ceremonie, he pushed in and sat down with the rest, and looking around trim soon felt the motions, if not of a devout, yet of a pieasantly thoughtful spirit. It came to his recollection to have heard that people inust go abroad to see strange things. And here it seerned to be verified.
What, no pulpit! Whoever saw a meeting house before without a pulpit? He couid not for his life conceive where the preacher was to stand. But hts attentiou was quickly turned froin the meeting house to the congregation, whose appearance, particularly that of the young femaies, uelighted him exceedingly. Such simplicity of dress with such an air of purity and neatness.!
He had never seen any thing like it belore, and get all adınirabiy suited to the gentle harmony of their tooks And then their eyes! for meekness and sweetness of express101, they looked like dove's eyes. With a deep sigh he wished that his brother James and many others in
Boston were but gentle and good as these people appeared to be. Young as he was, he thought the world would be a great deal the happier for it. As dvaniug back he indulged these soothing sentiments, without any sound of singing or preaching to disturb him, and