At the age of fifteen, Newton had acquired all that could be imparted to him by the pedagogue of the vicinity, and had then, until something better should turn up, shipped himself on board of a coasting vessel, in which, during the last two years, he had made several trips, being usually absent about six weeks, and remaining in port about the same time, until another cargo could be procured.

Young as he was, the superiority of his education had obtained him the situation of mate of the vessel; and his pay enabled him to assist his father, whose business, as Mrs Forster declared, was not sufficient to “make both ends meet.”  Upon his return, his love of knowledge and active habits induced him to glean as much as he could of his father’s profession, and he could repair most articles that were sent in.  Although Newton amused himself with the peculiarities and eccentricity of his father, he still had a high respect for him, as he knew him to be a worthy, honest man.  For his mother he certainly had none:  he was indignant at her treatment of his father, and could find no redeeming quality to make amends for her catalogue of imperfections.  Still he had a peculiar tact, by which he avoided any serious altercation.  Never losing his own temper, yet quietly and firmly resisting all control, he assumed a dominion over her, from which her feelings towards him, whatever they may have been in his early years, were now changed into those of positive hatred.  His absence this morning had been occasioned by his assistance being required in the fitting of a new main-stay for the sloop to which he belonged.  “Please God what, father?” said Newton, as he came in, catching his father’s last words.

“Why, your mother says that we must starve, or be dishonest.”

“Then we’ll starve, father, with a clear conscience; but I hope that things are not so bad yet, for I am devilish hungry,” continued Newton, looking at the dinner-table, which offered to his view nothing but a table-cloth, with the salt-cellar and the snuff-box.  “Why, mother, is it dead low water, or have you stowed all away in the locker?” and Newton repaired to the cupboard, which was locked.

Now Mrs Forster was violent with others, but with Newton she was always sulky.

“There’s nothing in the cupboard,” growled the lady.

“Then why lock up nothing?” rejoined Newton, who was aware that veracity was not among Mrs Forster’s catalogue of virtues.  “Come, mother, hand me the key, and I’ll ferret out something, I’ll answer for it.”

Mrs Forster replied that the cupboard was her own, and she was mistress of the house.

“Just as you please, mother.  But, before I take the trouble, tell me, father, is there anything in the cupboard?”

“Why, yes, Newton, there’s some mutton.  At least, if I recollect right, I did not eat it all—­did I, my dear?”

Mrs Forster did not condescend an answer.  Newton went into the shop, and returned with a chisel and hammer.  Taking a chair to stand upon, he very coolly began to force the lock.