The idea that this great man began by being a _printer_ interested our hero in his history; and whilst he followed him, step by step, through his instructive narrative, Forester sympathized in his feelings, and observed how necessary the smaller virtues of order, economy, industry, and patience were to Franklin's great character and splendid success. He began to hope that it would be possible to do good to his fellow-creatures, without overturning all existing institutions.
About this time another fortunate coincidence happened in Forester's education. One evening his friend, Tom Random, who was printing a pamphlet, came, with a party of his companions, into Mr.----, the bookseller's shop, enraged at the decision of a prize in a literary society to which they belonged.
All the young partisans who surrounded Mr. Random loudly declared that he had been treated with the most flagrant injustice; and the author himself was too angry to affect any modesty upon the occasion.
"Would you believe it?" said he to Forester--"my essay has not been thought worthy of the prize! The medal has been given to the most wretched, tame, commonplace performance you ever saw. Every thing in this world is done by corruption, by party, by secret influence!"
At every pause the irritated author wiped his forehead, and Forester sympathized in his feelings.
In the midst of the author's exclamations, a messenger came with the manuscript of the prize essay, and with the orders of the society to have a certain number of copies printed off with all possible expedition.
Random snatched up the manuscript, and, with all the fury of criticism, began to read aloud some of the passages which he disliked.
Though it was marred in the reading, Forester could not agree with his angry friend in condemning the performance. It appeared to him excellent writing and excellent sense.
"Print it--print it then, as fast as you can--that is your business--that's what you are paid for. Every one for himself," cried Random, insolently throwing the manuscript at Forester; and, as he flung out of the shop with his companions, he added, with a contemptuous laugh, "A printer's devil setting up for a critic! He may be a capital judge of pica and brevier, perhaps--but let not the compositor go beyond his stick."