At their head stood their senior officer, Captain Wadsworth, the same bold patriot who had so signally defeated a royal governor six years before.  He was now to add to his fame by as signally defeating another royal governor.

When the New York potentate, accompanied by the governor and a number of the assemblymen, and by the members of his staff, reached the place, they found the valiant captain walking up and down before his men, busily engaged in putting them through their exercises.

Governor Fletcher stepped forward importantly, produced his commission and instructions, and ordered them to be read to the assembled troops.  The person to whom he handed them unfolded the commission, advanced to the front of the line, and prepared to read.  He did not know with whom he had to deal.

“Beat the drums!” cried Captain Wadsworth, in a stentorian voice.

Instantly there broke out a roar that utterly drowned the voice of the reader.

“Silence!” exclaimed Fletcher, angrily advancing.

The drums ceased their rattling uproar.  Silence once more prevailed.  The reader began again.

“Drum! drum, I say!” thundered Wadsworth.

Again such an uproar filled the air as only drum-heads beaten by vigorous arms can make.

“Silence! silence!” cried Fletcher, furiously.  The drums ceased.

“Drum! drum, I say!” roared Wadsworth.  Then, turning to the governor, and handling his sword significantly, he continued, in resolute tones, “If I am interrupted again I will make the sun shine through you in a minute.”

This fierce threat ended the business.  Governor Fletcher had no fancy for being riddled by this truculent captain of militia.  King William’s commission doubtless had its weight, but the king was three thousand miles away across the seas, and Captain Wadsworth and his trainbands were unpleasantly near.  Governor Fletcher deemed it unwise to try too strongly the fiery temper of the Hartford militiaman; he and his suite returned hastily to New York, and that was the last that was heard of a royal commander for the militia of Connecticut.

HOW FRANKLIN CAME TO PHILADELPHIA.

To-day we may make our way from New York to Philadelphia in a two-hour “Flyer,” with palace-car accommodations.  To-morrow, perhaps, the journey will be made in ninety minutes.  Such, at least, is the nearly-realized dream of railroad-men.  A century and a half ago this journey took considerably more time, and was made with much less comfort.  There is on record an interesting narrative of how the trip was made in 1723, which is worth giving as a contrast to present conditions.

The traveller was no less notable a personage than Benjamin Franklin, who, much to the after-advantage of the Quaker City, had run away from too severe an apprenticeship in Boston, failed to obtain employment in New York, and learned that work might be had in Philadelphia.  The story of how he came thither cannot be told better than in his own homely language, so we will suffer him to speak for himself.