THE GINGERBREAD WOMAN.

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lington. She further manifested her kindness by giving him a nice dinner of ox-cheek, "accepting only a pot of ale in return."

To the youth of seventeen, weary, lonely, far from home for the first time in his life, with a dim and uncertain prospect before him, the kindness of that poor woman must have given unwonted efficacy to the refreshing virtues of the ox-cheek and the ale; for "better is a dinner of herbs, where love is, than a stalled ox, and hatred therewith." It was a pleasant stage in his wet and dreary journey; and he was expecting, not discontentedly, to remain with the hospitable gingerbread-woman till Tuesday, when, as the day was closing and he was walking by the side of the river, he saw a boat coming down on its way to Philadelphia, with several persons on board, and with them he obtained a passage.

There was no wind, and it was necessary to row. About midnight, having seen nothing ahead betokening their approach to the city, some of the company, fearing they had passed it in the dark, would row no further; and as none of them knew precisely where they were, they turned into a creek, landed near an old fence, of the rails of which they made a fire that chill October night, and like Paul and his companions at Melita, they "wished for day." When the day came, one of the company recognised the place as Cooper's creek, a short distance above Philadelphia; whereupon, embarking and pulling out a little from the cover of the high banks of the creek, the city became visible, and they reached it about 9 o'clock, landing at the Market street wharf.

4*

CHAPTER V.

PROCURES EMPLOYMENT IN PHILADELPHIA.

THE personal condition of our hero, on his arrival at Philadelphia, and the appearance he made as he took his first walk in the streets of that city, derive so much interest from the lustre of his subsequent position in that community, and present so strong a contrast therewith, that his own description of himself, at that time, is here copied; and a vivid and graphic one it is :

"I was," says he, "in my working-dress, my best clothes coming round by sea. I was dirty from my being so long in the boat. My pockets were stuffed out with shirts and stockings, and I knew no one, nor where to look for lodging. Fatigued with walking, rowing, and the want of sleep, I was very hungry; and my whole stock of cash consisted of a single dollar, and about a shilling in copper coin, which I gave to the boatmen for my passage. At first they refused it, on account of my having rowed; but I insisted on their taking it. Man is sometimes more generous when he has little money, than when he has plenty; perhaps to prevent his being thought to have but little."

Having thus satisfied his self-esteem by paying for his passage, he walked into the city. Near Market street he met a boy with bread, and learning from him

ROLLS OF BREAD- -QUAKER MEETING.

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where he obtained it, he went directly to the baker's, to satisfy his hunger, as he had often done before, with a meal of dry bread. He first inquired for biscuits, expecting to find such as he had been accustomed to eat in Boston; but as the Philadelphia bakers did not make them, he asked the baker for three-pence worth of bread in any form.

"He accordingly gave me," says Franklin, "three great puffy rolls. I was surprised at the quantity, but took it, and, having no room in my pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and eating the other. Thus I went up Market street as far as Fourth street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when she, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward and ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went down Chest

nut street and part of Walnut street, eating my roll all the way and coming round, found myself again at Market street wharf, near the boat I came in, to which I went for a draught of the river water; and being filled with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a woman and her child that came down the river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go further."

Having done this act of kindness-an act, which, if measured, as it ought to be, by his own personal circumstances at the time, should not be regarded merely as testimony of the unreflecting sympathy of youth, but as an earnest of that deliberate bounty of disposition, which distinguished him through life—and having been himself refreshed by his bread and water, he set forth again, and walking up the same street, he now found it thronged with neat well-dressed people, all going one way. “I joined them," says he, "and thereby was led into the great Meeting-House of the Quakers, near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking round