Franklin looked quietly and deeply into the secrets of nature.  His clear understanding was never perverted by passion, nor corrupted by the pride of theory.  The son of a rigid Calvinist, the grandson of a tolerant Quaker, he had from boyhood been familiar not only with theological subtilities, but with a catholic respect for freedom of mind.  Skeptical of tradition as the basis of faith, he respected reason rather than authority; and, after a momentary lapse into fatalism, he gained with increasing years an increasing trust in the overruling providence of God.  Adhering to none of all the religions in the colonies, he yet devoutly, though without form, adhered to religion.  But though famous as a disputant, and having a natural aptitude for metaphysics, he obeyed the tendency of his age, and sought by observation to win an insight into the mysteries of being.  The best observers praise his method most.  He so sincerely loved truth, that in his pursuit of her she met him half-way.  Without prejudice and without bias, he discerned intuitively the identity of the laws of nature with those of which humanity is conscious; so that his mind was like a mirror, in which the universe, as it reflected itself, revealed her laws.  His morality, repudiating ascetic severities and the system which enjoins them, was indulgent to appetites of which he abhorred the sway; but his affections were of a calm intensity:  in all his career, the love of man held the mastery over personal interest.  He had not the imagination which inspires the bard or kindles the orator; but an exquisite propriety, parsimonious of ornament, gave ease, correctness, and graceful simplicity even to his most careless writings.  In life, also, his tastes were delicate.  Indifferent to the pleasures of the table, he relished the delights of music and harmony, of which he enlarged the instruments.  His blandness of temper, his modesty, the benignity of his manners, made him the favorite of intelligent society; and, with healthy cheerfulness, he derived pleasure from books, from philosophy, from conversation,—­now administering consolation to the sorrower, now indulging in light-hearted gayety.  In his intercourse, the universality of his perceptions bore, perhaps, the character of humor; but, while he clearly discerned the contrast between the grandeur of the universe and the feebleness of man, a serene benevolence saved him from contempt of his race or disgust at its toils.  To superficial observers, he might have seemed as an alien from speculative truth, limiting himself to the world of the senses; and yet, in study, and among men, his mind always sought to discover and apply the general principles by which nature and affairs are controlled,—­now deducing from the theory of caloric improvements in fireplaces and lanterns, and now advancing human freedom by firm inductions from the inalienable rights of man.  Never professing enthusiasm, never making a parade of sentiment, his practical wisdom was sometimes mistaken for the offspring