and take his
wheelbarrow with him! What times these are!"

Franklin was sent to England again greatly to the discomfort of Mr.
Calamity.

The English Parliament passed an act called the Stamp Act, taxing the
colonies by placing a stamp on all paper to be used in legal
transactions. It was passed against the consent of the colonies, who
were allowed to have no representatives in the foreign government, and
the measure filled the colonies with indignation. There were not many in
America like Mr. Calamity who believed the doctrine that the king could
do no wrong. King George III approved of the Stamp Act, not only as a
means of revenue, but as an assertion of royal authority.

The colonies were opposed to the use of the stamped paper. Were they to
submit to be governed by the will of a foreign power without any voice
in the measures of the government imposed upon them? Were their lives
and property at the command of a despotism, without any source of
appeal to justice?

The indignation grew. The spirit of resistance to the arbitrary act of
tyranny was everywhere to be met and seen.

From the time of his arrival in London, in 1764, at the age of
fifty-nine, Franklin gave all his energies for a long time to opposing
the Stamp Act, and, after it had passed, to securing its repeal. He was,
as it were, America in London.

The Stamp Act, largely through his influence, was at last repealed, and
joy filled America. Processions were formed in honor of the king, and
bonfires blazed on the hills. In Boston the debtors were set free from
jail, that all might unite in the jubilee.

Franklin's name filled the air.

Old Mr. Calamity heard of it amid the ringing of bells.

"Franklin, Franklin," he said on the occasion, turning around in
vexation and taking a pinch of snuff, "why, I have seen him carrying
printing paper in a wheelbarrow!"

Philadelphia had a day of jubilee in honor of the repeal of the Stamp
Act, and Mr. Calamity with cane and snuffbox wandered out to see the
sights. The streets were in holiday attire, bells were ringing, and here
and there a shout for Franklin went up from an exulting crowd. As often
as the prudent old gentleman heard that name he turned around, pounding
his cane and taking a pinch of snuff.

He went down to a favorite grove on the banks of the Schuylkill. He
found it spread with tables and hung with banners.

"Sir," he said to a local officer, "is there to be a banquet here?"

"Yes, your