About the same time, his beloved cousin, Joseph Whitall, was sent to
Trenton to study law. This was rather a severe trial to Isaac's
feelings. Not that he envied his superior advantages; but he had sad
forebodings that separation would interrupt their friendship, and that
such a different career would be very likely to prevent its renewal.
They parted with mutual regret, and did not meet again for several
years.

When Isaac bade adieu to the paternal roof, his mother looked after him
thoughtfully, and remarked to one of his sisters, "Isaac is no common
boy.--He will do something great, either for good or evil." She called
him back and said, "My son, you are now going forth to make your own way
in the world. Always remember that you are as good as any other person;
but remember also that you are no better." With this farewell
injunction, he departed for Philadelphia, where he soon acquired the
character of a faithful and industrious apprentice.

But his boyish love of fun was still strong within him, and he was the
torment of all his fellow apprentices. One of them, named William
Roberts, proposed that they should go together into the cellar to steal
a pitcher of cider. Isaac pulled the spile, and while William was
drawing the liquor, he took an unobserved opportunity to hide it. When
the pitcher was full, he pretended to look all around for it, without
being able to find it. At last, he told his unsuspecting comrade that he
must thrust his finger into the hole and keep it there, while he went to
get another spile. William waited and waited for him to return, but when
an hour or more had elapsed, his patience was exhausted, and he began to
Halloo!--The noise, instead of bringing Isaac to his assistance, brought
the mistress of the house, who caught the culprit at the cider-barrel,
and gave him a severe scolding, to the infinite gratification of his