In a late Boston paper, the friends of humanity have read with much pleasure that doctor Franklin's legacy to the indigent young married tradesmen of that town, of $4444 44 cents, is now increased to $10,902 28 cents, after having been the means of setting up 206 poor young men, besides 75 others, who are now in the use of the capital. CHAPTER XLV. _The Death of Doctor Franklin._ One cannot read the biography of this great man without being put in mind of those sweet though simple strains of the bard of Zion. "Happy the man, whose tender care Relieves the poor distrest; When he's with troubles compass'd round, The Lord shall give him rest." "If, he in languishing estate, Oppress'd with sickness, lie, The Lord shall easy make his bed, And inward strength supply." The latter end of doctor Franklin affords glorious proof that nothing so softens the bed of sickness, and brightens the gloom of the grave, as a life spent in works of love to mankind. See George Washington, who by an active and disinterested benevolence, was called "THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY." See Martha Washington, who by domestic virtues, and extensive charities, obtained to herself the high character of "THE MOTHER TO THE POOR."--Both of these found the last bed spread as it were with roses; and the last enemy converted into a friend. Such is the lot of all who love; "not in _word, but in deed and in truth_." The friends of doctor Franklin never entered his chamber without being struck with this precious text, _"Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace."_ Though laid on the bed whence he is to rise no more, he shows no sign of dejection or defeat. On the contrary, he appears like an aged warrior reposing himself after glorious victory; while his looks beaming with benevolence, express an air pure and serene as the Heaven to which he is going. Death, which most sick people are so unwilling to mention, was to him a favourite topic, and the sublime conversations of Socrates on that great subject, were heard a second time, from the lips of our American Franklin, pregnant with "_immortality and eternal life_." No wonder then that with such views doctor Franklin should have been so cheerful on his dying bed; so self-possessed and calm, even under the tortures of the gravel, which was wearing him down to the grave. "_Don't go away_," said he to the Rev. Dr. Colline, of the Swedes' church, Philadelphia, who, as a friend, was much with him in his last illness, and at sight of his agonies and cold sweats under the fits of the gravel, would take up his hat to retire--"_O no! don't go away_," he would say, "_don't go away_. These pains will soon be over. They are for my good. And besides, what are the pains of a moment in comparison of the pleasures of eternity."