ed to please everybody, and having little to give, he
gave expectations. He was otherwise an ingenuous, sensible man, a pretty
good writer, and a good Governor for the people, though not for his
constituents, the Proprietaries, whose instructions he sometimes
disregarded. Several of our best laws were of his planning, and passed
during his administration."

He found work as a journeyman printer in London, and we are sorry to say
lived like most journeymen printers there. But Silence Dogood had to
make himself useful even among these unsettled people. He instituted new
ways of business and life of advantage to journeymen printers, and so
kept the chain of his purpose lengthening.

There was a series of curious incidents that happened during the last
part of this year of residence in London that came near changing his
career. It was in 1726; he was about twenty years old. He had always
loved the water, to be on it and in it, and he became an expert swimmer
when he was a lad in Boston town.

He had led a temperate life among the London apprentices, and had kept
his physical strength unimpaired. He drank water while they drank beer.
They laughed at him, but he was able to carry up stairs a heavier case
of type than any of them. They called him the "American water-drinker,"
but there came a day when he performed a feat that became the admiration
of the young London printers. He loved companionship, and had many
intimate friends, and among them there was one Wygate, who went swimming
with him, probably in the Thames, and whom he taught to swim in two
lessons.

One day Wygate invited him to go into the country with him and some of
his friends. They had a merry time and returned by water. After they had
embarked from Chelsea, a suburb which was then some four and a half
miles from St. Paul's Cathedral, Wygate said to him:

[Illustration: "ARE YOU GOING TO SWIM BACK TO LONDON?"]

"Franklin, you are a water boy; let us see how well you can swim."

Franklin knew his strength and skill. He took off his clothing and
leaped into the river, and probably performed all the old feats that one
can do in the water.

His dexterity delighted the party, but it soon won their applause.

He swam a mile.

"Come on board!" shouted they. "Are you going to swim back to London?"

"Yes," came a voice as if from a fish in the bright, sunny water.

He swam two miles.

The wonder of the party grew.

Three miles.

They cheered.

Four