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. [Illustration: PRINTING-PRESS AT WHICH FRANKLIN WORKED WHEN A BOY.] "Philadelphia was one hundred miles farther; I set out, however, in a boat for Amboy, leaving my chest and things to follow me round by sea. In crossing the bay, we met with a squall that tore our rotten sail to pieces, prevented our getting into the Kill, and drove us upon Long Island. In our way a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, fell overboard; when he was sinking, I reached through the water to his shock pate and drew him up, so that we got him in again. His ducking sobered him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first out of his pocket a book, which he desired I would dry for him." The book proved to be the "Pilgrim's Progress," in Dutch, well printed, and with copper-plate illustrations, a fact which greatly interested the book-loving traveller.