great reputation, and its early catalogues are rich with names of those who
made an empire. This task I leave to other pens, and hasten to tell my own
personal story.

In my friend Jack Warder's journal there is a kind page or two as to what
manner of lad I was in his remembrance of me in after-years. I like to
think it was a true picture.

"When Hugh Wynne and I went to school at the academy on Fourth street,
south of Arch, I used to envy him his strength. At twelve he was as tall as
are most lads at sixteen, but possessed of such activity and muscular power
as are rarely seen, bidding fair to attain, as he did later, the height and
massive build of his father. He was a great lover of risk, and not, as I
have always been, fearful. When we took apples, after the fashion of all
Adam's young descendants, he was as like as not to give them away. I think
he went with us on these, and some wilder errands, chiefly because of his
fondness for danger, a thing I could never comprehend. He still has his
mother's great eyes of blue, and a fair, clear skin. God bless him! Had I
never known him I might perhaps have been, as to one thing, a happier man,
but I had been less deserving of such good fortune as has come to me in
life. For this is one of the uses of friends: that we consider how such and
such a thing we are moved to do might appear to them. And this for one of
my kind, who have had--nay, who have--many weaknesses, has been why Hugh
Wynne counts for so much to me.

"We, with two other smaller boys, were, at that time, the only sons of
Friends at the academy, and were, thanks to the brute Dove, better grounded
in the humanities than were some, although we were late in entering."

I leave this and other extracts as they were writ. A more upright gentleman