is
the occasion of all the unhappiness.

Let the reader ask himself how much he has contributed to make
conversation at the table proper and instructive. Has he thought more
of the quality of his food than of anything else at the family board?
If the review of the past reveals an error in this respect, let him
learn a valuable lesson from this part of Benjamin Franklin's life.
Though it may seem to be an unimportant matter, accept the testimony
of Benjamin himself, and believe that it leaves its impress upon the
future character.

CHAPTER VII.

CHOOSING A TRADE.

"You will have to be a tallow-chandler, after all, when your brother
gets married and goes away," said one of Benjamin's associates to him.
He had heard that an older son of Mr. Franklin, who worked at the
business with his father, was about to be married, and would remove to
Rhode Island, and set up business for himself.

"Not I," replied Benjamin. "I shall work at it no longer than I am
obliged to do."

"That may be, and you be obliged to work at it all your life. It will
be, as your father says, till you are twenty-one years old."

"I know that; but my father does not desire to have me work in his
shop against my wishes--only till I can find some other suitable
employment. I would rather go to sea than anything."

"Are your parents not willing that you should go to sea?"

"No; they won't hear a word about it. I have talked with them till it
is of no use. They seem to think that I should be shipwrecked, or
that something else would happen, to prevent my return."

"Then, if you can't go to sea, and you won't be a tallow-chandler,
what can you do?"

"I hardly know myself; but almost anything is preferable to this
greasy business. If people had no more light than the candles I should
make, unless I was obliged, they would have a pretty dark time of it."

"I don't think it is a very disagreeable business," continued his
companion. "It is quite easy work, certainly,--much more to my liking
than sawing wood, and some other things I could name."

"It may be easy," replied Benjamin; "but it is dirty and simple. It
requires no ingenuity to do all that I do. Almost any simpleton could
cut wicks and fill candle-moulds. A fellow who can't do it couldn't
tell which side his bread is buttered. _I_ prefer to do something that
requires thought and ingenuity."

"There is something in that; but I guess it will take all your
ingenuity to work yoursel