"Buy my ballads!" shouted Benjamin, as he trudged through the streets with a basketful on his arm.

"Who'll buy a ballad about Black Beard?
A penny apiece! a penny apiece! Who'll buy my ballads ?" If one of those roughly composed and rudely printed ballads could be discovered now, it would be worth more than its weight in gold.
In this way our friend Benjamin spent his boyhood and youth, until, on account of some disagreement with his brother, he left his native town and went to Philadelphia.

He landed in the latter city, a homeless and hungry young man, and bought three-pence worth of bread to satisfy his appetite.

Not knowing where else to go, he entered a Quaker meeting-house, sat down, and fell fast asleep.

He has not told us whether his slumbers were visited by any dreams.