a blessing to the whole world.

Besides being a wonderful inventor, Robert Fulton was a polished
gentleman. He was tall and handsome, like his mother, as gentle as a
child, and he had a charming way of talking, so whether he spoke of
America, France, steamboats, or pictures, there was always silence in
the room.

Think of the old Quaker teacher, Caleb Johnson, trying to ferule a few
ideas into Robert Fulton's head! No doubt Mr. Johnson was worried, but
Robert's head proved to be an uncommonly wise one.

GEORGE PEABODY

It was quite a while before you and I were born that a boy by the name
of George Peabody lived in Danvers, Massachusetts. He had such good
lessons in school that his teachers rather thought he would go to
college, but one day he took his books out of his desk and said he must
leave school and go to work, because his mother was very poor. The
teacher said: "We shall miss you, George, and hope you will have much
good luck!"

George was only eleven when this happened. He was a round-faced, plucky,
little fellow, with the good manners that generally go with a kind
heart, and there wasn't a lazy bone in his body. Mr. Proctor, the
grocer, thought he was just the kind of a boy he needed in his store. So
he hired him.

Right away the housekeepers in Danvers agreed that George Peabody was
the nicest grocer-boy they ever saw. They said to each other it was
worth the walk to the store to have him hand out their packages with his
sunny smile, his pleasant words, and polite bow. When he carried the
heavier things, like a bag of meal, or a gallon of molasses home for
them, they would coax him to rest awhile and eat some fruit or cake.
They all liked to talk with him.

George stayed with Mr. Proctor four years. Then he went to Vermont to
help his grandfather. Mr. Proctor almost cried when he saw the big
stage-coach rattle away in a cloud of dust, while the boy who had been
so faithful to his duties waved good-by with his handkerchief as long as
he could see.

When George was sixteen, he joined his brother David, who had a store in
Newburyport. The young people in this old sea-port town made friends
with him at once. They asked him to every fishing-party and picnic they
had, but he was usually too busy to go, for besides selling goods all
day, he often wrote cards in a clear, neat hand, in his room evenings.
He spent almost nothing on himself, but was as happy as could be when
his letters to his mother