and sell a sheet in the streets. I
have no doubt that it would sell well."

"I will see what I can do," replied Benjamin, "though I suspect my
poetry won't read very well in print."

Benjamin was not long in producing two street ballads, better,
perhaps, than anything he had written before, but still susceptible of
very great improvement. One was entitled "The Lighthouse Tragedy," and
was founded on the shipwreck of Captain Worthilake and his two
daughters. The other was a sailor's song, on the capture of the famous
"Teach," or "Bluebeard," the pirate. James read them with approbation.

"Now," said he, "you shall put them into type, and sell them about the
town, if you are willing. I have no doubt that a good number of them
may be disposed of."

"How many copies of them would you print?" inquired Benjamin.

"We can print a few to begin with, and let the type remain standing
until we see how they go. Then we shall run no risk."

"Shall I do it immediately?"

"As soon as you can," answered James. "The quicker the better."

Benjamin was not long in printing the two ballads, and having them
ready for sale. Under the direction of his brother, he went forth, in
due time, to offer them about the town. Whether he cried them about
the streets, as the newsboys do the daily papers now, we have no means
of knowing. But he met with very good success, particularly in the
sale of the first, "The Lighthouse Tragedy." That commemorated an
event of recent occurrence, and which excited much public feeling and
sympathy at the time, so that people were quite prepared to purchase.
It sold even beyond his expectations, and his success inflated his
vanity somewhat. It caused him to believe, almost, that he was a
genuine poet, and that distinction and a fortune were before him. If
he had not been confronted by his father on the subject, it is
possible that the speculation might have proved a serious injury to
him. But his father learned of his enterprise, and called him to an
account. Perhaps he stepped into his shop, as he was selling them
about town, and gave him a copy. At any rate, his father learned the
fact, and the following interview will show what he thought of it.

"I am ashamed to see you engaged in such a business, Benjamin," said
he.

"Why so, father?"

"Because it is not an honourable business. You are not a poet, and
can write nothing worthy of being printed."

"James approved of the pieces," said Benjamin, "and p