of the village, ſtruck you, I remember, as extraordinary, from its analogy to what you knew of myſelf. "Had he died," ſaid you, "juſt four years later, one might have ſuppoſed a tranſmigration of ſouls."
John, to the beſt of my belief, was brought up to the trade of a wool-dyer.
Benjamin ſerved his apprenticeſhip in London to a ſilk-dyer. He was an induſtrious man: I remember him well; for, while I was a child, he joined my father at Boſton, and lived for ſome years in the houſe with us. A particular affection had always ſubſiſted between my father and him; and I was his godſon. He arrived to a great age. He left behind him two quarto volumes of poems in manuſcript, conſiſting of little fugitive pieces addreſſed to his friends. He had invented a ſhort-hand, which he taught me, but having never made uſe of it, I have now forgotten it. He was a man of piety, and a conſtant attendant on the beſt preachers, whoſe ſermons he took a pleaſure in writing down according to the expeditory method he had deviſed. Many volumes were thus collected by him. He was alſo extremely fond of politics, too much ſo perhaps for his ſituation. I lately found in London a collection which he had made of all the principal pamphlets relative to public affairs, from the year 1641 to 1717. Many volumes are wanting, as appears by the ſeries of numbers; but there ſtill remain eight in folio, and twenty-four in quarto and octavo. The collection had fallen into the hands of a ſecond-hand bookſeller, who, knowing me by having ſold me ſome books, brought it to me. My uncle, it ſeems, had left it behind him on his departure for America, about fifty years ago. I found various notes of his writing in the margins. His grandſon, Samuel, is now living at Boſton.
