worth more than gold or diamonds. You can't
buy it with gold or diamonds, and if you should ever happen to get
hold of it, you would be foolish to part with it, for all the gold in
California and all the pearls in the tower of London. I have often
thought, that if the apostle Paul were to be envied for anything, it
might be for the contented spirit which he had, after he got to be an
old man. "I have learned," said he, "in whatsoever state I am,
therewith to be content." What a precious lesson! I wish you would try
to learn it, reader. You can learn it. You ought to learn it. Set
yourself about the task, then, at once.

Samuel Bissell was content with his factory life. It was not quite so
pleasant as some others were. He could not help seeing that. But he
did not spend his time or any part of his time in wishing he was
somewhere else, doing some other kind of business. He did not say or
sing, "There's a good time coming, boys." The good time _had come_,
according to his notion. Still, he held on to that resolution--the
resolution he formed when he got a glimpse of some of the wonders away
off in the blue sky. If you had watched him during the few leisure
hours he had, you would have seen that he had not forgotten that old
text of his, "I'll be somebody." Many and many a time, after he got
home from the factory at night, he would go to his little room, and
spend an hour or two reading and thinking. There was a small library
in the village where he lived, and by paying a small sum every week,
he was allowed to read some very valuable books. With what eagerness
he picked up every kernel of knowledge he could find about the sun,
and the planets, and the stars. When most of the boys were playing in
the streets, he was reading and studying in his chamber. While he was
a factory boy, he learned from the books which fell into his hands, to
dive a great deal deeper into the heart of many studies than he was
taught to do in the school to which his father had sent him. He had
become quite a master of the art of book-keeping; and as to geography
and astronomy, I am not sure but he could have told some things about
them which his former teacher never dreamed of.

CHAP. XII.

A GLANCE AT FREDERICK.

Before I wind up my story, I have a good mind to go back, and tell you
what became of that companion of our friend, the Peddler's Boy, who
drank the glass of gin. Poor Frederick! It makes my heart sad, to
think what he might