ace.

"A burden? No, brother. One of the greatest joys of my life was to have
you come here, and it will be the greatest blessing to my life if you
can make the life of little Ben a blessing to the world. I am not much
of a musician, but I like to sound the fiddle, and if you have any
poetic light, let it shine--but as a tallow dip, like my fiddling. You
are right, brother, in teaching little Ben never to be laughed down. I
don't blame any one for crying his goods if he has anything to sell. But
if he has not, he had better be content to warm his hands by his own
fire."

"Brother Josiah, listen to me. Little Ben here has something to
sell.--Hoi, Ben, hoi! you listen.--There have thoughts come to me that I
know did not rise out of the dust. I have been too poor to publish them.
You may laugh at me, and call me a poor philosopher and say that my
philosophy has kept me poor. But Benjamin here is going to give my
thoughts to the world, and the things that I put into my pamphlets are
going to live. It was not you that gave Ben to me: it was Heaven. A veil
hangs over us in this world, and if a man does good in his heart, the
hand behind that veil moves all the events of his life for good.

"Don't laugh at us, Josiah; we are weaving together thoughts that will
feed the world. That we are.--Hoi, Ben, hoi!"

"Well, Brother, your faith makes you a happy old man. I hope that you
will be able to make something of Ben, and that he may do credit to your
good name. It may be so. Faith sees.

"I love to see you go into the South Church, Brother. As soon as your
face appears all the people look very happy, and sit still. The
children all sit still. The tithingman stands still; he has nothing to
do for a time.

"It is something, Brother Ben, to be able to cast such an influence as
that--something that money can not buy. I am sorry if I have hurt your
feelings. Heaven be praised for such men as you are, Brother Ben! I hope
that I may live to see all that you see by faith. I think I may, Brother
Ben. 'Men do not gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles,' but they
do gather grapes of grapes and figs of figs. I hope that Ben will be the
book of your life, and make up for the pamphlets. It would be a good
book for men to read."

"Hoi, Ben, hoi!" said the old man, "I can see that it will."

One Sunday, after church, in summer, Uncle Ben the poet and Silence
Dogood went down on Long Wharf to enjoy the breezes from the sea. Uncle
B