anklin, that time would show points of
resemblance between the great Franklin's career and his own. Yet
these seem now rather striking. Like Franklin, he had been taken
out of school very young and put at the printer's trade; like
Franklin, he had worked in his brother's office, and had written for
the paper. Like him, too, he had left quietly for New York and
Philadelphia to work at the trade of printing, and in time Samuel
Clemens, like Benjamin Franklin, would become a world-figure,
many-sided, human, and of incredible popularity. The boy Sam
Clemens may have had such dreams, but we find no trace of them.

There is but one more letter of this early period. Young Clemens
spent some time in Washington, but if he wrote from there his
letters have disappeared. The last letter is from Philadelphia and
seems to reflect homesickness. The novelty of absence and travel
was wearing thin.

To Mrs. Moffett, in St. Louis:

PHILADELPHIA, Dec. 5, '53.

MY DEAR SISTER,--I have already written two letters within the last
two hours, and you will excuse me if this is not lengthy. If I had
the money, I would come to St. Louis now, while the river is open; but
within the last two or three weeks I have spent about thirty dollars for
clothing, so I suppose I shall remain where I am. I only want to return
to avoid night-work, which is injuring my eyes. I have received one or
two letters from home, but they are not written as they should be, and I
know no more about what is going on there than the man in the moon. One
only has to leave home to learn how to write an interesting letter to
an absent friend when he gets back. I suppose you board at Mrs. Hunter's
yet--and that, I think, is somewhere in Olive street above Fifth.
Philadelphia is one of the healthiest places in the Union. I wanted to
spend this winter in a warm climate, but it is too late now. I don't
like our present prospect for cold weather at all.

Truly your brother

SAM.

But he did not return to the West for another half year. The
letters he wrote during that period have not survived. It was late
in the summer of 1854 when he finally started for St. Louis. He sat
up for three days and nights in a smoking-car to make the journey,
and arri