to morrow, and there is a strong presentiment on my mind that it may be a long time before we meet again, I beg you to believe of me that I shall never lose sight of my great obligations to an active pursuit of knowledge and usefulness. This, if persevered in, will give me some humble resemblance of the great Author of my being in loving and doing all the good I can to mankind. And then, if I live, I hope, my dear father, I shall give you the joy to see realized some of the fond expectations you have formed of me. And if I should die, I shall die in hope of meeting you in some better world, where you will no more be alarmed for my welfare, nor I grieved to see you conflicting with age and labour and sorrow: but where we may see in each other all that we can conceive of what we call ANGELS, and in scenes of undeserved splendour, dwell with those enlightened and benevolent spirits, whose conversation and perfect virtues, will for ever delight us. And where, to crown all, we shall perhaps, at times, be permitted to see that UNUTTERABLE BEING, whose disinterested goodness was the spring of all these felicities." Thus ended this curious dialogue, between one of the most amiable parents, and one of the most acute and sagacious youths that our country, or perhaps any other has ever produced. CHAPTER XVIII. THE three days of Ben's promised stay witn his father being expired, the next morning he embraced his parents and embarked a second time for Philadelphia, but with a much lighter heart than before, because he now left home with his parents' blessing, which they gave him the more willingly as from the dark sanctified frown on poor James' brow they saw in him no disposition towards reconciliation. The vessel happening to touch at Newport, Ben gladly took that opportunity to visit his favourite brother John, who received him with great joy. John was always of the mind that Ben would one day or other become a great man; "he was so vastly fond," he said, " of his book." And when he saw the elegant size that Ben's person had now attained, and also his fine mind-illuminated face and manly wit, he was so proud of him that h until he had introduced him to all his friends was a gentleman of the name of Vernon, wh with Ben during an evening's visit at his gave him an order on a man in Pennsy pounds, which he begged he would colled readily accepted the order, not without being that nature had given him a face which this readily credited with thirty pounds. Caressed by his brother John and by hi friends, Ben often thought that if he were out the time in his whole life that had pleasantly than the rest, he would, withou on this his three days' visit to Newport. But alas! he has soon brought to cry out "The brightest things beneath the sky, We should suspect some danger nigh, His thirty pound order from Vernon, wa among his dear honied delights enjoyed at soon presented, as we shall see, a roughstin was but a flea bite in comparison of that was within an ace of receiving from this sa The story is this: Among a considerable ber which they took on board for Philadel females, a couple of gay young damsels Quaker lady. Following the natural bent Ben paid great attention to the old Quaker. for him that he did; for in consequence of it ly interest in his welfare that saved him scrape. Perceiving that he was getting r the two young women above, she drew h and with the looks and speech of a moth man, I am in pain for thee: thou hast no over thy conduct, and thou seemest to be the world and the snares to which youth is thee rely upon what I tell thee.-These character; I perceive it in all their actio not take care they will lead thee into dan As he appeared at first not to think so did, the old lady related of them many th and heard, and which had escaped his at On their arrival at New-York the girls told him where they lived, and invited him to come and see them. Their eyes kindled such a glow along his youthful veins that he was on the point of melting into consent. But the motherly advice of his old quaker friend happily coming to his aid, revived his wavering virtue, and fixed him in the resolution, though much against the grain, not to go. It was a most blessed thing for him that he did not; for the captain missing a silver spoon and some other things from the cabin, and knowing these women to be prostitutes, procured a search warrant, and finding his goods in their possession, had them brought to the whipping-post. As God would have it, Ben happened to fall in with the constable and crowd who were taking them to whip. He would fain have run off. But there was a drawing of sympathy towards them which he could not resist: so on he went with the rest. He said afterwards that it was well he did: for when he beheld these poor devils tied up to the stake, and also their sweet faces distorted with terror and pain, and heard their piteous screams under the strokes of the cowhide on their bleeding backs, he could not help melting into tears, at the same time saying to himself-now had I but yielded to the allurements of these poor creatures, and made myself an accessary to their crimes and sufferings, what would now be my feelings!” From the happy escape which he had thus made through the seasonable advice of the good old quaker lady he learn ed that acts of this sort hold the first place on the list of charities: and entered it as a resolution on his journal that he would imitate it and do all in his power to open the eyes of all, but especially of the young, to a timely sense of the follies and dangers that beset them. How well he kept his promise, will, 'tis likely, gentle reader, be remembered by thousands when you and I are forgotten. CHAPTER XIX. On the arrival of the vessel at New-York, Ben went up to a tavern, and lo! who should he first cast his eyes on there, out his old friend Collins, of Boston! Collins had, it seems, been so charmed with Ben's account of Philadelphia, that he came to the determination to try his fortune there also; and learning that Ben was shortly to return by the way of New-York, he had jumped into the first vessel, and was there before him, waiting his arrival. Great was the joy of Ben at the sight of his friend Collins, for it drew after it a train of the most pleasant recollections.—But who can describe his feelings, when flying to embrace that long esteemed youth, he beheld him now risen from his chair equally eager for the embrace, but alas! only able to make a staggering step or two before down he came sprawling on the floor, drunk as a lord! To see a young man of his wit-his eloquence-his edu cation-his hitherto unstained character and high promise, thus overwhelmed by a worse than brutal vice, would have been a sad sight to Ben, even though that young man had been an entire stranger. But oh! how tenfold sad to see such marks of ruinous dishonour on one so dear, and from whom ne had expected so much. Ben had just returned from assisting to put poor Collins to bed, when the captain of the vessel which had brought him to New-York, stepped up and in a very respectful manner put a note into his hand.-Ben opened it, not without considerable agitation, and read as follows: "G. Burnet's compliments await young Mr. Franklin— and should be glad of half an hour's chat with him over a glass of wine.' 99 "G. Burnet!” said Ben, "who can that be ?" "Why, 'tis the governor," replied the captain with a smile. I have just been to see him, with some letters I brought for him from Boston. And when I told him what a world of books you have, he expressed a curiosity to see you, and begged I would return with you to his palace." Ben instantly set off with the captain, but not without a sigh as he cast a look back on the door of poor Collins' bed-rocm, to think what an honour that wretched young man had lost for the sake of two or three vile gulps of filthy grog. But The governor's looks, at the approach of Ben, showed somewhat of disappointment. He had, it seems, expected considerable entertainment from Ben's conversation. his fresh and ruddy countenance showed him so much younger than he had counted on, that he gave up all his promised entertainment as a lost hope. He received Ben, however, with great politeness, and after pressing on him a glass of wine, |