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 THE NEW EDITION OF 
 
 WOROBSTB IR/S DICTIOITABY 
 
 Contains Thousands of Words not to be found in any other Dictionary. 
 
 " Worcester's is, in the estimation of all scholars, the best dictionary extant for 
 general use. There is certainly no real comparison possible between it and its most 
 popular rival. The office of a dictionary is, of course, not to make innovations, but 
 simply to register the best usage in spelling and pronunciation. This Worcester does, 
 and this its rival conspicuously fails to do." — New York World. 
 
 " Years ago Worcester's Dictionary was recognized, in England as well as in the 
 United States, as the best in existence by the very best writers and students. It has a 
 still higher claim to this distinction in this new edition, which makes other dictionaries 
 superfluous, and serves also as a cyclopaedia; a text-book on the language; a vocabu- 
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OF. THE 
 IWiVERSITV OF iUJNOIS 
 
OF 
 
 ISENJAMIN FRANKLIN? 
 
 WITH MANY 
 
 CHOICE ANECDOTES 
 
 AND 
 
 DM IRA RLE SAVINGS OF THIS GREAT MAN, 
 
 NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED BY ANY OF HIS BIOGRAPHERS. 
 
 BY M. 1^. WEEMS, 
 
 AUTHOR OF THFi LIFE OF WASHINGTON 
 
 ** Sage Franklin next arose in cheerful mien, 
 And srmTd, unruffled, o'er the solemn scene; 
 High on his locks of age a wreath was brac'd, 
 Palm of all arts that e'er a mortal grac'd ; 
 Beneath him lay the sceptre kings had borne, 
 And crowns and laurels from their temples torn.** 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
 1 883. 
 
REMOTE STORAGE 
 
 LIFE OF FRANKLIN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, president of thk 
 
 AMERICAN PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY; FELLOW OF THE ROYAL 
 SOCIETY OF EDINBURGH, LONDON AND PARIS; GOVERNOR OP 
 THE STATE OF PENNSYLVANIA; AND MINISTER PLENIPOTEN- 
 TIARY FROM THE UNITED STATES TO THE COURT OF FRANCE, 
 
 was the son of an obscure tallow-chandler and soap-boiler, 
 of Boston, where he was born on the 17th day of January, 
 1706. 
 
 Some men carry letters of recommendation in their looks, 
 and some in their names. 'Tis the lot but of few to inherit 
 both of these advantages. The hero of this work was one 
 of that favoured number. As to his physiognomy, there 
 was in it such an air of wisdom and philanthropy, and con- 
 sequently such an expression of majesty and sweetness, as 
 charms, even in the commonest pictures of him. And for 
 his name, every one acquainted with the old English history, 
 must know, that Franklin stands for what we now mean by 
 '* Gentleman," or "clever fellow." 
 
 In the days of Auld Lang Syne, their neighbours from 
 the continent made a descent "on the fast anchored isle," 
 and compelled the hardy, red-ochred natives to buckle to 
 their yoke. Among the victors were some regiments of 
 Franks, who distinguished themselves by their valor, and 
 still more by their politeness to the vanquished, and espe- 
 cially to the females. By this amiable gallantry the Franks 
 acquired such glory among the brave islanders, that when- 
 ever any of their own people achieved any thing uncom- 
 monly handsome, he was called, by way of compliment, a 
 Franklin, i. e. a little Frank. As the living flame does 
 not more naturally tend upwards than does every virtue to 
 exalt its possessors, these little Franks were soon promoted 
 *o be great men, such as justices of the peace, knights of the 
 
 1* 
 
 679744 
 
6 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 shire, and other such names of high renown. Hence thost 
 pretty lines of the old poet Chaucer — 
 
 w This worthy Franklin wore a purse of silk 
 Fix'd to his girdle, pure as morning milk ; 
 Knight of the shire; h\st justice ot'th' assize, 
 To help the poor, the doubtful to advise. 
 In ail employments, gen'rous just he prov'd ; 
 Renown'd for courtesy ; by all belov'd." 
 
 But though, according to Dr. Franklin's own account of 
 nis family, whose pedigree he looked into with great dili- 
 gence while he was in England, it appears that they were 
 all of the "well born," or gentlemen in the best sense of the 
 word; yet they did not deem it beneath them to continue the 
 same useful courses which had at first conferred their titles. 
 On the contrary, the doctor owns, and indeed glories in it, 
 that for three hundred years the eldest son, or heir apparent 
 in this family of old British gentlemen, was invariably 
 brought up a blacksmith. Moreover, it appears from the 
 same indubitable authority, that the blacksmith succession 
 was most religiously continued in the family down to the 
 days of the doctor's father. How it has gone on since that 
 time I have never heard; but considering the salutary effects 
 of such a fashion on the prosperity of a young republic, it 
 were most devoutly to be wished that it is kept up: and that 
 the family of one of the greatest men who ever lived in this 
 or any other country, still display in their coat of arms, not 
 the barren gules and garters of European folly, but those 
 better ensigns of American wisdom— the sledge-hammer 
 and anvil. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 1 Were f so tall to reach the pole, 
 
 And grasp the ocean in my span, 
 I must he measut'd by my soul; 
 
 For 'tis the MIND that makes the man." 
 
 From the best accounts which I have been able to pick 
 up, it would appear that a passion for learning had a long 
 run in the family of the Franklins. Of the doctor's three 
 uncles, the elder, whose name was Thomas, though con 
 scientiously brought up a blacksmith, and subsisting his 
 family by the din and sweat of his anvil, was still a great 
 reader. Instead of wasting hi? leisure hours, as too many 
 of the trade do, in tippling and tobacco, he acquired enough 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 7 
 
 of the law to render himself a very useful and leading man 
 among the people of Northampton, where his forefathers had 
 lived in great comfort for three hundred years, on thirty 
 acres of land. 
 
 His uncle Benjamin, too, another old English gentleman 
 of the right stamp, though a very hard -working man at the 
 silk-dying trade, was equally devoted to the pleasures of the 
 mind. lie made it a rule whenever he lighted on a copy 
 of verses that pleased him, to transcribe them into a large 
 blank book which he kept for the purpose. In this way he 
 collected two quarto volumes of poems, written in short 
 hand of his own inventing. And, being a man of great 
 piety, and fond of attending the best preachers, whose ser- 
 mons he always took down, he collected in the course of his 
 life, eight volumes of sermons in folio, besides near thirty 
 in quarto and octavo, and all in the aforesaid short hand ! 
 Astonishing proof, what a banquet of elegant pleasures even 
 a poor mechanic may enjoy, who begins early to read and 
 think ! 'Tis true, he was a long time about it. His piety 
 afforded him a constant cheerfulness. And deriving from 
 the same source a regular temperance, he attained to a great 
 age. In his seventy-third year, still fresh and strong, he 
 left his native country, and came over to America, to see 
 his younger brother Josias, between whom and himself there 
 had always subsisted a more than ordinary friendship. On 
 his arrival in Boston, he was received with unbounded joy 
 by Josias, who pressed him to spend the residue of his days 
 in his family. To this proposition the old gentleman readily 
 consented; and the more so as he was then a widower, and 
 his children, all married oft', had left him. He had the 
 honor to give his name, and to stand godfather to our little 
 nero, for whom, on account of his vivacity and fondness for 
 learning, he conceived an extraordinary affection. And 
 Ben always took a great delight in talking of this uncle. 
 Nor was it to be wondered at; for he was an old man who 
 wore his religion very much to win young people — -a pleasant 
 countenance — a sweet speech — and a fund of anecdotes 
 always entertaining, and generally carrying some good moral 
 in the tail of them. His grandfather before him must have 
 been a man of rare humour, as appears from a world of droll 
 stories which uncle Benjamin used to tell after him, and 
 which his New England descendants to this day are wont to 
 repeat with great glee. I must let the reader hear one or 
 two of them. They will amuse him, by showing what strange 
 
8 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 things were done in days of yore by kings and priests m 
 the land of our venerable forefathers. 
 
 It was his grandfather's fortune to live in the reign of 
 Queen Mary, whom her friends called holy Mary, but her 
 enemies bloody Mary. In the grand struggle for power be- 
 tween those humble followers of the cross, the catholics anf' 
 the protectants, the former gained the victory, for which ; Te 
 Deums' in abundance were sung throughout the land. And 
 having been sadly rib-roasted by the protestants when in 
 power, they determined, like good christians, now that the 
 tables were turned, to try on them the virtues of fire and 
 faggot. The Franklin family having ever been sturdy pro- 
 testants, began now to be in great tribulation. " What 
 shall we do to save our Bible?" was the question. After 
 serious consultation in a family caucus, it was resolved to 
 hide it in the close-stool; which was accordingly done, by 
 fastening it, open, on the under side of the lid by twine 
 threads drawn strongly across the leaves. When the grand- 
 father read to the family, he turned up the aforesaid lid on 
 his knees, passing the leaves of his Bible, as he read, from 
 one side to the other. One of the children was carefully 
 stationed at the door, to give notice if he saw the priest, or 
 any of his frowning tribe, draw near. In that event, the lid 
 with the Bible lashed beneath it, was instantly clapped down 
 again on its old place. 
 
 These things may appear strange to us, who live under a 
 wise republic, which will not suifer the black gowns of one 
 church to persecute those of another. But they were com- 
 mon in those dark and dismal days, when the clergy thought 
 more of creeds than of Christ, and of learning Latin than 
 of learning love. Queen Mary was one of this gnostic ge- 
 neration, (who place their religion in the head, though Christ 
 places it in the heart,) and finding it much easier to her 
 unloving spirit, to burn human beings called heretics, than 
 to mortify her own lust of popularity, she suffered her catho- 
 lic to fly upon and worry her protestant subjects at a shame- 
 ful rate. Good old uncle Benjamin use . to divert his friends 
 with another story, which happened i the family of his own 
 aunt, who kept an inn at Eaton, Northamptonshire. 
 
 A most violent priest, of the name of Asquith, who 
 thought, like Saul, that he should be doing " God service" 
 by killing the heretics, had obtained letters patent from 
 queen Mary against those people in the county of War- 
 wick. On his way he called to dine at Eaton, where he was; 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 9 
 
 quickly waited on by the mayor, a strong catholic, to ask 
 how the good work went on. Asquith, leaping to his sad- 
 dle-bags, (hew forth a little box, that contained his commis- 
 sion, which he flourished before the mayor, exclaiming with 
 high glee, " Aye I there 9 s that that will scorch the rogues!" 
 Old Mrs. Franklin, under the rose a sturdy protestant, over- 
 hearing this, was exceedingly troubled; and watching her 
 opportunity when the priest had stepped out with the mayor, 
 slipped the commission out of the box, and put in its place 
 a pack of cards, wrapped in the same paper. The priest 
 returning in haste, and suspecting no trick, huddled up his 
 box, and posted off for Coventry. A grand council of the 
 saints was speedily convoked to meet him. He arose, and 
 having with great vehemence delivered a set speech against 
 the heretics, threw his commission on the table for the secre- 
 tary to read aloud. With the eyes of the whole council on 
 nim, the eager secretary opened the package, when in place 
 of the flaming commission, behold a pack of cards with the 
 knave of clubs turned uppermost ! A sudden stupefaction 
 seized the spectators. In silence they stared at the priest 
 and stared at one another. Some looking as though they 
 suspected treachery: others as dreading a judgment in the 
 case. Soon as the dumb-founded priest could recover 
 speech, he swore by the Holy Mary, that he once had a 
 commission; that he had received it from the queen's own 
 hand. And he also swore that he would get another com- 
 mission. Accordingly he hurried back to London, and having 
 procured another, set off again for Coventry. But alas! 
 before be got down, poor queen Mary had turned the coi- 
 ner, and the protestants under Elizabeth got the rule again. 
 Having nothing now to dread, our quizzing old hostess, 
 Mrs. Franklin, came out with the knavish trick she had played 
 the priest, which so pleased the protestants of Coventry 
 that they presented her a piece of plate, that cost fifty pounds 
 sterling, equal, as money now goes, to a thousand dollars. 
 
 From an affair which soon after this took place there, it 
 appears that Coventry, however famous for saints, had no 
 great cause to brag of her poets. — When queen Elizabeth, to 
 gratify her subjects, made the tour of her island, she passed 
 through Coventry. The mayor, aldermen, and company 
 hearing of her approach, went out in great state to meet her. 
 The queen being notified that they wished to address her, 
 made a full stop right opposite to a stage erected for the 
 purpose, and covered with embroidered cloth, from which :% 
 
so 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ready orator, after much bowing and arms full extended, 
 made this wondrous speech — " We men of Coventry are 
 glad to see your royal highness — Lord how fair you be!" 
 
 To this the maiden queen, equal famed for fat and fun, 
 rising in her carriage, and waving her lily white hand, made 
 this prompt reply — " Our royal highness is glad to se*i you 
 men of Coventry — Lord what Fools you be!" 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Our hero, little Ben, coming on the carpet — Put to school 
 very young — Learns prodigiously — Taken home and set 
 to candle-making — Curious capers, all proclaiming "the 
 Achilles in petticoats. 99 
 
 Dr. Franklin's father married early in his own country, 
 and would probably have lived and died there, but for the 
 persecutions against his friends the Presbyterians, which so 
 disgusted him, that he came over to New England, and set- 
 tled in Boston about the year 1682. He brought with him 
 his English wife and three children. By the same wife he 
 had four children more in America; and ten others after- 
 wards by an American wife. The doctor speaks with plea- 
 sure of having seen thirteen sitting together very lovingly at 
 his father 9 ? table, dfid all married. Our little hero, who was 
 the fifteenth child, and last of the sons, was born at Boston 
 the 17th day of January, 1706, old style. 
 
 That famous Italian proverb, " The Devil tempts every 
 man, but the Idler tempts the Devil," was a favourite canto 
 with wise old Josias; for which reason, soon as their little 
 lips could well lisp letters and syllables, he had them all to 
 school. 
 
 Nor was this the only instance with regard to them, 
 wherein good Josias . "shamed the Devil;" for as soon as 
 their education was finished, they were put to useful trades. 
 Thus no leisure was allowed for bad company and habits. 
 Little Ben, neatly clad and comb'd, was pack'd off to school 
 with the rest; and as would seem, at a very early age, for 
 he says himself that, " he could not recollect any time in his 
 life when he did not know how to read," whence we may 
 infer that he hardly ever knew any thing more of childhood 
 than its innocency and playfulness. At the age of eight he 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 I ! 
 
 was sent to a grammar school, where lie made such a figure 
 in learning, that his good old father set him down at one** 
 lor (he church, and used constantly to call him his * little c/ufjj- 
 fatft." He was confirmed in this design, not only by the ex- 
 traordinary readiness with which he learned, but also by the 
 praises of his friends, who all agreed that he would certainly 
 one day or other become a mighty scholar- His uncle Ben- 
 jamin too, greatly approved the idea of making a preacher 
 of him: and by way of encouragement, promised to him all 
 his volumes of sermons, written, as before saitl, in his own 
 short hand. 
 
 This his rapid progress in learning he ascribed very much 
 to an amiable teacher who used gentle means only, to en- 
 courage his scholars, and make them fond of their books. 
 
 But in the midst of this gay career in his learning, when 
 in the course of the first year only, he had risen from the 
 middle of his class to the head of it; thence to the class im- 
 mediately above it; and was rapidly overtaking the third 
 class, he was taken from school! Mis father having a large 
 family, with but a small income, and thinking himself unable 
 consistently with what he owed the rest of his children, to 
 give him a collegiate education, took Ben home to assist him 
 in his own humble occupation, which was that of a soap-boiler 
 and tallow-chandler; a trade he had taken up of his own 
 head after settling in Boston; his original one of a dyer being 
 in too little request to maintain his family. 
 
 I have never heard how Ben took this sudden reverse in 
 his prospects. No doubt it put his little stock of philosophy 
 to the stretch. To have seen himself, one day, on the high 
 road to literary fame, flying from class to class, the admira- 
 tion and envy of a numerous school; and the next day, to have 
 found himself in a filthy soap-shop; clad in a greasy apron, 
 twisting cotton wicks! — and in place of snuffing the sacred I 
 lamps of the Muses, to be bending over pots of fetid tallow, 
 dipping and moulding candles for the dirty cook wenches! 
 Oh, it must have seem'd a sad falling off*! Indeed, it ap- 
 pears from his own account that he was so disgusted with 
 it that he had serious thoughts of going to sea. But his fa- 
 ther objecting to it, and Ben having virtue enough to be du- 
 tiful, the notion was given up for that time. But the am 
 bition which had made him the first at his school, and which 
 now would have hurried him to sea, was not to be extin- 
 guished. Though diverted from its favourite course, it still 
 burned for distinction, and rendered him the leader of the 
 
THE LIFE OK 
 
 juvenile band in every enterprise where danger was to bt« 
 confronted, or glory to be won. In the neighbouring mill- 
 pond he was the foremost to lead the boys to plunge and 
 swim; thus teaching them an early mastery over that dan- 
 gerous element. And when the ticklish mill-boat was launch- 
 ing from the shore laden with his timid playmates, the pad- 
 dle that served as rudder, was always put into his hands, as 
 the fittest to steer her course over the dark waters of the 
 pond. This ascendancy which nature had given him over 
 the companions of his youth, was not always so well used as 
 it might have been. He honestly confesses that, once at 
 least, he made such an unlucky use of it as drew them into 
 a scrape that cost them dear. Their favourite fishing shore 
 on that pond was, it seems, very miry. To remedy so 
 great an inconvenience he proposed to the boys to make a 
 wharf. Their assent was quickly obtained: but what shall we 
 make it of? was the question. Ben pointed their attention 
 to a heap of stones, hard by, of which certain honest ma- 
 sous were building a house. The proposition was hailed by 
 the boys, as a grand discovery; and soon as night had spread 
 her dark curtains around them, they fell to work with the 
 activity of young beavers, and by midnight had completed 
 their wharf. The next morning the masons came to work, 
 but, behold! not a stone was to be found ! The young rogues, 
 however, detected by the track of their feet in the mud, 
 were quickly summoned before their parents, who not being 
 so partial to Ben as they had been, chastised their folly with 
 a severe flogging. Good old Josias pursued a different 
 course with his son. To deter him from such an act in fu- 
 ture, he endeavoured to reason him into a sense of its im- 
 morality. Ben, on the other hand, just fresh and confident 
 from his school, took the field of argument against his fa- 
 ther, and smartly attempted to defend what he had done, on 
 the principle of its utility. But the old gentleman, who was a 
 great adept in moral philosophy, calmly observed to him, 
 that if one boy were to make use of this plea to take away 
 his fellow's goods, another might; and thus contests would 
 arise, filling the world with blood and murder without end. 
 Convinced, in this simple way, of the fatal consequences of 
 " doing evil that good may come, " Ben let drop the weapons of 
 his rebellion, and candidly agreed with his father that what 
 was not strictly honest could never be truly useful. This dis- 
 covery he made at the tender age of nine. Some never make 
 *t in the course of their lives. The grand angler, Satan, 
 
Dft. FRANKLIN. 
 
 • 3 
 
 throws out his bail of immediate gain ; and they, like silly 
 Jacks, snap at i( at once; and in the moment of running off, 
 fancy (hey have got a delicous morsel. Hut alas! the fatal nook 
 soon convinces them of their mistake, though sometimes toe 
 late. Ami then the lamentation of the prophet serves as 
 the epilogue of their tragedy — *< ^Twas honey in the mouthy 
 hut gall in the bowels. 99 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Picture of a wise father — To which is added a famous rt 
 ceipt for health and long life. 
 
 The reader must already have discovered that Ben was* 
 uncommonly blest in a father. Indeed from the portrait oS 
 him drawn by this grateful son, full fifty years afterwards, 
 he must have been an enviable old man. 
 
 As to his person, though that is but of minor consideration 
 in a rational creature — I say, as to his person, it was of 
 the right standard, i. e. medium size and finely formed — 
 his complexion fair and ruddy — black, intelligent eyes — and 
 an air uncommonly graceful and spirited. In respect of 
 mind, which is the true jewel of our nature, he was a man 
 of the purest piety and morals, and consequently cheerful 
 and amiable in a high degree. Added to this, he possessed 
 a considerable taste for the fine arts- particularly drawing 
 and music; and having a voice remarkably sonorous and 
 sweet, whenever he sung a hymn accompanied with his vio- 
 lin, which lie usually did at the close of his day's labours, 
 it was delightful to hear him. He possessed also an extra- 
 ordinary sagacity in things relating both to public and pri- 
 vate life, insomuch that not only individuals were constant- 
 ly consulting him about their affairs, and calling him in as an 
 arbiter in their disputes; but even the leading men of Bos- 
 ton would often come and ask his advice in their most im- 
 portant concerns, as well of the town as of the church. 
 
 For his slender means he was a man of extraordinary hos- 
 pitality, which caused his friends to wonder how he made 
 out to entertain so many. But whenever this was mentioned 
 to him, he used to laugh and say, that the world was good 
 Matured and gave him credit for much more than he de- 
 
 2 
 
[4 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 served; for that, in fact, others entertained ten times as 
 many as he did. By this, 'tis thought he alluded to the os- 
 tentatious practice common with some, of pointing their 
 hungry visitant to their grand buildings, and boasting how 
 many thousands this or that bauble cost; as if their ridicu- 
 lous vanity would pass with them for a good dinner. For 
 his part, he said, he preferred setting before his visitors a 
 plenty of wholesome fare, with a hearty welcome. Though 
 to do this he was fain to work hard, and content himself 
 with a small house and plain furniture. But it was always 
 nis opinion that a little laid out in this way, went farther 
 both with God and man too, than great treasures lavished on 
 pride and ostentation. 
 
 But though he delighted in hospitality as a great virtue, 
 yet he always made choice of such friends at his table as 
 were fond of rational conversation. And he took great care 
 to introduce such topics as would, in a pleasant manner, 
 lead to ideas useful to his family, both in temporal and 
 eternal things. As to the dishes that were served up, he / 
 never talked of them; never discussed whether they were 
 well or ill dressed; of a good or bad flavour, high seasoned or 
 otherwise. 
 
 For this manly kind of education at his table, Dr. Frank- 
 lin always spoke as under great obligations to- his father's 
 judgment and taste. Thus accustomed, from infancy, to 
 a generous inattention to the palate, he became so perfectly 
 indifferent about what was set before him, that he hardly 
 ever remembered, ten minutes after dinner, what he had 
 dined on. In travelling, particularly, he found his account 
 in this. For while those who had been more nice in their 
 diet could enjoy nothing they met with; this one growling 
 over the daintiest breakfast of new laid eggs and toast floated 
 in butter, because his coffee was not half strong enough! — 
 that wondering what people can mean by serving up a round 
 of beef when they have no mustard 1 — and a third cursing 
 like a trooper, though the finest rock-fish or sheep's-head be 
 smoking on the table — because there is no walnut pickle or 
 ketchup ! He for his part, happily engaged in a pleasant 
 train of thinking or conversation, never attended to such 
 trifles, but dined heartily on whatever was set before him. 
 In short, there is no greater kindness that a young man can 
 do himself than to learn the art of feasting on fish, flesh, or 
 towl as they come, without ever troubling his head about 
 any other sauce than what the rich hand of nature has given 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 15 
 
 iet him but bring to those dishes that good appetite winch 
 always springs from exercise and cheerfulness, and he will 
 be an epicure indeed. 
 
 He would often repeat in the company of young people, 
 the following anecdote which he had picked up some where 
 or other in his extensive reading. " A wealthy citizen of 
 Athens, who had nearly ruined his constitution by gluttony 
 and sloth, was advised by Hippocrates to visit a certain 
 medicinal spring in Sparta; not that Hippocrates believed 
 that spring to be better than some nearer home; but exercise 
 was the object — " Visit the springs of Sparta," said the 
 great physician. As the young debauchee, pale and bloated, 
 travelled among the simple and hardy Spartans, he called 
 one day at the house of a countryman on the road to get 
 something to eat. A young woman was just serving up din- 
 ner — a nice barn-door fowl boiled with a piece of fat bacon. 
 " You have got rather a plain dinner there madam," growled 
 the Athenian. " Yes, sir," replied the young woman blush- 
 ing, "but my husband will be here directly, and he always 
 brings the sauce with him." Presently the young husband 
 stepped in, and after welcoming his guest, invited him to 
 dinner. "I can't dream of dining, sir, without sauce," said 
 the Athenian, "and your wife promised you would bring 
 it." " O, sir, my wife is a wit," cried the Spartan; "she 
 only meant the good appetite which I always bring with mt 
 from the barn, where 1 have been threshing." 
 
 And here I beg leave to wind up this chapter with the 
 following beautiful lines from Dryden, which 1 trust my 
 young reader will commit to memory. They may save him 
 many a sick stomach and headach, besides many a good 
 dollar in doctor's fees. 
 
 "The first physicians hy debauch were made; 
 Excess began and sloth sustains the trade. 
 By chace, our long liv'd fathers earn'd their bread; 
 Toil strung their nerves and purified their blood: 
 But we, their sons, a pamper'd race of men, 
 Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten 
 Better hunt in fields for health nnbought, 
 Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. 
 The wise for health on exercise depend : 
 God never made his works for man to mend-'* 
 
£6 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Ben continued with his father, assisting him in his humble 
 toils, till his twelfth year; and had he possessed a mind less 
 active might have remained a candle-maker all the days of 
 his life. But born to diffuse a light beyond that of tallow 
 or spermaceti, he could never reconcile himself to this in- 
 ferior employment, and in spite of his wishes to conceal it 
 from his father, discontent would still lower on his brow, 
 and the half-suppressed sigh steal in secret from his bosom. 
 
 With equal grief his father beheld the deep-seated dis- 
 quietude of his son. He loved all his children; but he 
 loved this young one above all the rest. Ben was the 
 child of his old age. The smile that dimpled his tender 
 cheeks reminded him of his mother when he first saw 
 her, lovely in the rosy freshness of youth. And then 
 his intellect was so far beyond his years; his questions 
 so shrewd; so strong in reasoning; so witty in remark, that 
 his father would often forget his violin of nights for the 
 higher pleasure of holding an argument with him. This was 
 a great trial to his sisters, who would often intreat their mo- 
 ther to make Ben hold his tongue, that their father might 
 take down his fiddle, and play and sing hymns with them: 
 for they took after him in his passion for music, and sung 
 divinely. No wonder that such a child should be dear to 
 such a father. Indeed old Josias' affection for Ben was so 
 intimately interwoven with every fibre of his heart, that he 
 could not bear the idea of separation from him; and various 
 were the stratagems which he employed to keep this dear 
 child at home. One while, to frighten his youthful fancy from 
 the sea, for that was the old man's dread, he would paint 
 the horrors of the watery world, where the maddening bil- 
 lows, lashed into mountains by the storm, would lift the 
 trembling ship to the skies; then hurl her down, headlong 
 plunging into the yawning gulphs, never to rise again. At an- 
 other time he would describe the wearisomeness of beating the 
 gloomy wave for joyless months, pent up in a small ship, with 
 no prospects but barren sea and skies — no smells but tar and 
 bilge water — no society but men of uncultivated minds, and 
 their constant conversation nothing but ribaldry and oaths. 
 And then again he would take him to visit the masons, 
 coopers, joiners, and other mechanics, at work: in hopes that 
 his genius might be caught, and a stop nut to his passion for 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 17 
 
 wandering. But greatly to his sorrow, none of these things 
 hold out the attractions that his son seemed to want. His 
 visits among these tradesmen were not, however, without 
 their advantage. He caught from them, as he somewhere 
 says, such an insight into mechanic arts and the use of tools, 
 as enabled him afterwards when there was no artist at hand, 
 to make for himself suitable machines for the illustration of 
 his philosophical experiments. 
 
 But it was not long before this obstinate dislike of Ben's to 
 all ordinary pursuits was found out; it was found out by his 
 mother. " Bless me," said she one night to her husband, as 
 he lay sleepless and sighing on his son's account, " why do 
 we make ourselves so unhappy about Ben for fear he should 
 go to seal let him but go to school, and I'll engage we hear 
 no more about his running to sea. Don't you see the child 
 is never happy but when he has a book in his hand ? Othei 
 boys when they get a little money never think of any thing 
 better to lay it out on than their backs or their bellies; but 
 he, poor fellow, the moment that he gets a shilling, runs and 
 gives it for a book; and then, you know, there is no getting 
 him to his meals until he has read it through, and told us all 
 about it." 
 
 Good old Josias listened very devoutly to his wife, while 
 she uttered this oration on his youngest son. Then with 
 looks as of a heart suddenly relieved from a heavy burden, 
 and his eyes lifted to heaven, he fervently exclaimed — " O 
 that my son, even my little son Benjamin, may live before 
 God, and that the days of his usefulness and glory may be 
 many!" 
 
 How far the effectual fervent prayer of this righteous fa- 
 ther found acceptance in heaven, the reader will find perhaps 
 by the time he has gone through our little book. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Ben taken from school, turns his own teacher — History 
 of the books which he first read — Is bound to the printing 
 trade. 
 
 At a learned table in Paris, where Dr. Franklin happen* 
 ed to dine, it was asked by the abbe Raynal, What descrip 
 tion of men most deserves pity ? 
 
 2* 
 
18 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Some mentioned one character, and some another. W hen 
 it came to Franklin's turn, he replied, Ji lonesome man in a 
 rainy day, who does not know how to read. 
 
 As every thing is interesting that relates to one who made 
 such a figure in the world, it may gratify our readers to be 
 told what were the books that first regaled the youthful ap- 
 
 Setite of the great Dr. Franklin. The state of literature in 
 loston at that time, being like himself, only in its infancy, 
 it is not to be supposed that Ben had any very great choice of 
 books. Books, however, there always were in Boston.* Among 
 these was Bunyan's Voyages, which appears to have been 
 the first he ever read, and of which he speaks with great 
 pleasure. But there is reason to fear that Bunyan did no 
 ^ood: for, as it was the reading of the life of Alexander the 
 Great that first set Charles the Twelfth in such a fever to 
 be running over the world killing every body he met; so, in 
 all probability, it was Bunyan's Voyages that fired Ben's 
 fancy with that passion for travelling, which gave his father 
 so much uneasiness. Having read over old Bunyan so often 
 as to have him almost by heart, Ben added a little boot, and 
 made a swap of him for Burton's Historical Miscellanies. 
 This, consisting of forty or fifty volumes, held him a good 
 long tug: for he had no time to read but on Sundays, and 
 early in the morning or late at night. After this he fell 
 upon his father's library. This being made up principally 
 of old puritanical divinity, would to most boys have ap- 
 peared like the pillars of Hercules to travellers of old — a 
 bound not to be passed. But so keen was Ben's appetite 
 for any thing in the shape of a book, that he fell upon it with 
 his usual voracity, and soon devoured every thing in it, 
 especially of the lighter sort. Seeing a little bundle of 
 something crammed away very snugly upon an upper shelf, 
 his curiosity led him to take it down: and lo! what should 
 it be but " Plutarch's Lives." Ben was a stranger to the 
 work; but the title alone was enough for him; he instantly 
 gave it one reading; and then a second, and a third, and so on 
 sintil he had almost committed it to memory; and to his dy- 
 ing day he never mentioned the name of Plutarch without 
 cknowledging how much pleasure and profit he had derived 
 from that divine old writer. And there was another book, 
 by Defoe, a small affair, entitled " Jin Essay on Projects,*' 
 to which he pays the very high compliment of saying, tha* 
 
 * You never find presbyteriana without booka. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 10 
 
 "from it he received impressions which influenced some of 
 the principal events of his life." 
 
 Happy now to find that books had the charm to keep his 
 darling boy at home, and thinking that if he were put into a 
 printing office he would be sure to get books enough, his fa- 
 ther determined to make a printer of him, though he already 
 had a son in that business. Exactly to his wishes, that son, 
 whose name was James, had just returned from London 
 with a new press and types. Accordingly, without loss of 
 time, Ben, now in his twelfth year, was bound apprentice 
 to him. By the indentures Ben was to serve his brother til) 
 twenty-one, i. e. nine full years, without receiving one 
 penny of wages save for the last twelve months! How a 
 man pretending to religion could reconcile it to himself to 
 make so hard a bargain with a younger brother, is strange. 
 •But perhaps it was permitted of God, that Ben should learn 
 his ideas of oppression, not from reading but from suffering. 
 The deliverers of mankind have all been made perfect 
 through suffering. And to the galling sense of this villanous 
 oppression, which never ceased to rankle on the mind of 
 Franklin, the American people owe much of that spirited 
 resistance to British injustice, which eventuated in their 
 liberties. But Master James had no great cause to boast of 
 this selfish treatment of his younger brother Benjamin; fot 
 the old adage "foul play never thrives," was hardly ever 
 more remarkably illustrated than in this affair, as the reader 
 will in due season be brought to understand. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Ben in clover — Turns a Rhymer — Makes a prodigious noise 
 in Boston — Bit by the Poetic Tarantula — Luckily cured 
 by his father. 
 
 Ben is now happy. He is placed by the side of the press, 
 the very mint and coining place of his beloved books; and 
 animated by that delight which he takes in his business, he 
 makes a proficiency equally surprising and profitable to his 
 brother. The field of his reading too is now greatly enlarges. 
 From the booksellers' boys he makes shift, every now aid 
 then, to borrow a book, which he never fails to return at 
 
20 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the promised time: though to accomplish this h<* was often 
 obliged to sit up till midnight, reading by his bed side, that 
 he might be as good as his word. 
 
 Such an extraordinary passion for learning soon com- 
 mended him to the notice of his neighbours, among whom 
 was an ingenious young man, a tradesman, named Matthew 
 Adams, who invited him to his house, showed him all his 
 books, and offered to lend him any that he wished to read. 
 
 About this time, which was somewhere in his thirteenth 
 year, Ben took it into his head that he could write poetry : 
 and actually composed several little pieces. These, after some 
 hesitation, he showed to his brother, who pronounced them 
 excellent; and thinking that money might be made by Ben's 
 poetry, pressed him to cultivate his wonderful talent, as 
 he called it; and even gave him a couple of subjects to write 
 on. The one, which was to be called the Light-house 
 Tragedy, was to narrate the late shipwreck of a sea cap- 
 tain and his two daughters: and the other was to be a sai- 
 lor's song on the noted pirate Blackbeard, who had been 
 recently killed on the coast of North Carolina, Dy Captain 
 Maynard, of a British sloop of war. 
 
 Ben accordingly fell to work, and after burning out seve- 
 ral candles, for his brother could not afford to let him write 
 poetry by daylight, he produced his two poems. His bro- 
 ther extolled them to the skies, and in all haste had them 
 put to the type and struck off"; to expedite matters, fast as 
 the sheets could be snatched from the press, all hands were 
 set to work, folding and stitching them ready for market; 
 while nothing was to be heard throughout the office but con- 
 stant calls on the boys at press — " more sheets ho ! more 
 Light-house tragedy ! more Blackbeard ."' But who can tell 
 what Ben felt when he saw his brother and all his journey- 
 men in such a bustle on his account — and when he saw, 
 wherever he cast his eyes, the splendid trophies of his ge- 
 nius scattered on the floor and tables; some in common pa- 
 per for the multitude; and others in snow-white foolscap, 
 for presents to the great people, such as " His excellency 
 
 THE GOVERNOR." "The HON. THE SECRETARY OF STATE." 
 
 "The Worshipful the mayor." — 66 The aldermen, and 
 gentlemen of the council. "— 66 The reverend the clergy, 
 &c." Ben could never tire of gazing at them; and as he 
 gazed, his heart would leap for joy—" O you precious little 
 verses," he would say to himself, " Ye first warblings of my 
 youthful harp 1 Pll soon have you abroad, delighting every 
 
DR. FRANKLTN. 
 
 21 
 
 company ) and filling all months with my name!" According- 
 ly, his two poems being ready, Ben, who had been both poet 
 and printer, with a basket full of each on his arm, set out in 
 high spirits to sell them through the town, which he did by sing- 
 ing out as he went, after the maimer of the London cries — 
 
 "Choice Poetry! Choice Po-e-try ! 
 Come BUY my choice Po-e-try!" 
 
 The people of Boston having never heard any such cry 
 as that before, were prodigiously at a loss to know what he 
 was selling. But still Ben went on singing out as before, 
 
 " Choice Poetry! Choice Poetry! 
 Come, buy my choice Poetry!" 
 
 I wonder now, said one with a stare, if it is not poultry 
 that that little boy is singing out so stoutly yonder. 
 
 0 no, I guess not, said a second. 
 
 Well then, cried a third, 1 vow but it must be pastry. 
 At length Ben was called up and interrogated. 
 " Pray, my little man, and what's that that you are crying 
 there so bravely?" 
 
 Ben told them it was poetry. 
 
 " O !— aye! poetry /" said they; "poetry! that's a sort of 
 something or other in metre — like the old version, is n't it ?" 
 
 O yes, to be sure," said they all, " it must be like the 
 old version, if it is poetry ;" and thereupon they stared at 
 him, marvelling hugely that a " little curly headed boy like 
 him should be selling such a wonderful thing!" This made 
 Ben hug himself still more on account of his poetry. 
 
 1 have never been able to get a sight of the ballad of the 
 Light-house Tragedy, which must no doubt have been a 
 great curiosity: but the sailor's song on Blackbeard runs 
 thus — 
 
 " Come all you jolly sailors, 
 
 You all so stout ano brave; 
 Come hearken and I'll tell you 
 
 What happenM on the wave. 
 Oh! 'tis of that hloody Rlackbeard 
 
 I'm going now for to tell ; 
 And as how by gallant Maynard 
 
 He soon was sent to hell — 
 
 With a down, down, down derry down.*' 
 
 The reader will, I suppose, agree with Ben in his criti- 
 cism, many years afterwards, on this poetry, that it was 
 " wretched stuff; mere blind men's ditties. " But fortunately 
 for Ben, the poor people of Boston were at that time no 
 
22 THE LIFE OF 
 
 judges of poetry. The silver-tongued Watts had not, as 
 yet, snatched the harp of Zion, and poured his divine songs 
 over New-England. And having never been accustomed to 
 any thing better than an old version of David's Psalms, 
 running in this way— 
 
 " Ye monsters of the bubbling deep, 
 
 Your Maker's praises spout ! 
 Up from your sands ye codlings peep, 
 
 And wag your tails about." — 
 
 The people of Boston pronounced Ben's poetry mighty fine, 
 and bought them up at a prodigious rate; especially the 
 Light-house Tragedy. 
 
 A flood of success so sudden and unexpected, would in 
 all probability have turned Ben's brain and run him stark 
 mad with vanity, had not his wise old father timely stepped 
 in and checked the rising fever. But highly as Ben hon- 
 oured his father, and respected his judgment, he could hardly 
 brook to hear him attack his beloved poetry, as he did, calling 
 it "mere Grub-street." And he even held a stiff argument 
 in defence of it. But on reading a volume of Pope, which 
 his father, who well knew the force of contrast, put into his 
 hand for that purpose, he never again opened his mouth in 
 behalf of his "blind men's ditties." He used to laugh and 
 say, that after reading Pope, he was so mortified with his 
 Light-house Tragedy, and Sailor's Song, which he had once 
 thought so fine, that he could not bear the sight of them, but 
 constantly threw into the fire every copy that fell in his way. 
 Thus was he timely saved, as he ingenuously confesses, from 
 the very great misfortune of being, perhaps, a miserable 
 jingler for life. 
 
 But I cannot let fall the curtain on this curious chapter, 
 without once more feasting my eyes on Ben, as, with a 
 little basket on his arm, he trudged along the streets of Bos- 
 ton crying his poetry. 
 
 Who that saw the youthful David coming up fresh from 
 his father's sheep cots, with his locks wet with the dews of 
 the morning, and his cheeks ruddy as the opening rose-buds, 
 would have dreamed that this was he who should one day, 
 single handed, meet the giant Goliah, in the war-darkened val- 
 ley of Elah, and wipe off reproach from Israel. In like man- 
 ner, who that saw this " curly headed child," at the tender 
 age of thirteen, selling his "blind men's ditties," among the 
 wonder-struck Jonathans and Jemimas of Boston, would have 
 thought that this was he, who, single handed, was to meet 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 23 
 
 the British ministry at the bar of their own house of Com- 
 mons, and by the solar blaze of his wisdom, utterly disperse 
 all (heir dark designs against their countrymen, thus gaining 
 for himself a name lasting as time, and dear to liberty as the 
 name of Washington. 
 
 O you time-wasting, brain-starving young men, who can 
 never be at ease unless you have a cigar or a plug of tobacco 
 in your mouths, go on with your puffing and champing — go 
 on with your filthy smoking, and your still more filthy spit- 
 ting, keeping the cleanly house-wives in constant tenor for 
 their nicely waxed floors, and their shining carpets — go on 
 I say; but remember it was not in this way that our little 
 Ben became the GREAT DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 'Tis the character of a great mind never to despair. 
 Though glory may not be gained in one way, it may in an- 
 other. As a river, if it meet a mountain in its course, does 
 not halt and poison all the country by stagnation, but rolls 
 its gathering forces around the obstacle, urging its precious 
 tides and treasures through distant lands. So it was with 
 the restless genius of young Franklin. Finding that nature 
 had never cut him out for a poet, he determined to take re- 
 venge on her by making himself a good prose writer. As it is 
 in this way that his pen has conferred great obligations on the 
 world, it must be gratifying to learn by what means, humbly 
 circumstanced as he was, he acquired that perspicuity and 
 ease so remarkable in his writings. This information must 
 be peculiarly acceptable to such youth as are apt to despair 
 of becoming good writers, because they have never been 
 taught the languages. Ben's example will soon convince 
 them that Latin and Greek are not necessary to make En- 
 glish scholars. Let them but commence with his passion 
 for knowledge; with his firm persuasion, that wisdom is the 
 glory and happiness of man, and the work is more than 
 half done. 
 
 Honest Ben never courted a young man because he was 
 rich, or the son of the rich — No. His favourites were of the 
 youth fond of reading and of rational conversation, no matter 
 now poor they were. " Birds of a feather do not more natu- 
 rally jlock together," th&n do young men of this high character. 
 
24 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 This was what first attracted to him that ingenious young 
 carpenter, Matthew Adams: as also John Collins, the tan- 
 ner's boy. These three spirited youth, after finding each 
 other out, became as fond as brothers. And often as pos- 
 sible, when the labours of the day were ended, they would 
 meet at a little school-house in the neighbourhood, and argue 
 on some given subject till midnight. The advantages of 
 this as a grand mean of exercising memory, strengthening 
 the reasoning faculty, disciplining the thoughts, and im- 
 proving a correct and graceful elocution, became daily more 
 obvious and important in their view, and consequently in- 
 creased their mutual attachment. But from his own obser- 
 vation of what passed in this curious little society, Ben 
 cautions young men against that war of words, which the 
 vain are too apt to fall into, and which tends not only to 
 make them insupportably disagreeable through a disputatious 
 spirit, but is apt also to betray into a fondness for quizzing, 
 i. e. for asserting and supporting opinions which they do not 
 themselves believe. He gives the following as a case in point. 
 
 Qno viight, Adams being absent, and only himself and 
 Collins* together in the old school-house, Ben observed that 
 ne thought it a great pity that the young ladies were not 
 more attended to, as to the improvement of their minds by 
 education. He said, that with their advantages of sweet 
 voices and beautiful faces, they could give tenfold charms 
 to wit and sensible conversation, making heavenly truths to 
 appear, as he had somewhere read in his father's old Bible, 
 46 like apples of gold set in pictures of silver." 
 
 Collins Mowed upon the idea. He said, it was all stuff, 
 and no pity at all, that the girls were so neglected in their 
 education, as they were naturally incapable of it. And here 
 he repeated, laughing, that infamous slur on the ladies, 
 
 " Substance too soft a lasting mind to bear, 
 And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair." 
 
 At this, Ben, who was already getting to be a great ad- 
 mirer of the ladies, reddened up against Collins; and to it 
 they fell, at once, in a stiff argument on the education of 
 women — as whether they were capable of studying the 
 sciences or not Collins, as we have seen, led off' against 
 the ladies. Being much of an infidel, he took the Turkish 
 ground altogether, and argued like one just soured and sul- 
 len from the seraglio. Women study the sciences indeed! 
 Baid he, with a sneer; a pretty story truly ! no sir, they have 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 25 
 
 nothing to do with the sciences. They were not born for any 
 such thing. 
 
 Ben wanted *to know what they were born for? 
 
 Born for! retorted Collins, wiry to dress and dance; to 
 sing and play ; and, like pretty triilers, to divert the lords of 
 the creation, after their toils and studies. This is all they 
 were born for, or ever intended of nature, who has given 
 them capacities for nothing higher. Sometimes, indeed, 
 they look grave, and fall into such brown studies as would 
 lead one to suppose they meant to go deep; but it is all 
 fudge. They are only trying in this new character to play 
 themselves oft* to a better effect on their lovers. And if you 
 could but penetrate the bosoms of these fair Penserosoes; 
 you would find that under all this affectation of study they 
 were only fatiguing their childish brains about what dress 
 they should wear to the next ball: or what coloured ribands 
 would best suit their new lutestrings. 
 
 To this Ben replied with warmth, that it was extremely 
 unphilosophical in Mr. Collins to argue in that way against 
 the fair sex — that in fixing their destination he had by no 
 means given them that high ground to which they were en- 
 titled. You say, sir, continued Ben, that the ladies were 
 created to amuse the men by the charm of their vivacity and 
 accomplishments. This to be sure was saying something. 
 But vou might, I think, have said a great deal more; at least 
 the Bible says a great deal more for them. The Bible, sir, 
 tells us that God created woman to be the helpmate of man. 
 Now if man were devoid of reason he might be well enough 
 matched by such a monkey -like helpmate as you have de- 
 scribed woman. But, sir, since man is a noble God-like 
 creature, endued with the sublime capacities of reason, how 
 could woman ever make a helpmate to him, unless she were 
 rational like himself, and thus capable of being the com- 
 panion of his thoughts and conversation through all *he oiea- 
 sant fields of knowledge? 
 
 Here Collins interrupted him, asking very sarcastically, 
 if in this fine flourish in favour of the ladies he was really in 
 earnest. 
 
 Never more so in all my life, replied Ben, rather nettled. 
 
 What, that the women are as capable of studying the 
 sciences as the men? 
 
 Yes, that the women are as capable of studying the 
 sciences as the men. 
 
 And pray, sir, continued Collins, tauntingly, do you know 
 3 
 
26 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of any young woman of jour acquaintance that would make 
 a Newton? 
 
 And pray, sir, answered Ben, do you know any young 
 man of your acquaintance that would? But these are no 
 arguments, sir, — because it is not every young man or 
 woman that can carry the science of astronomy so high as 
 Newton, it does not follow that they are incapable of the 
 science altogether. God sees fit in every age to appoint certain 
 persons to Kindle new lights among men. — And Newton 
 was appointed greatly to enlarge our views of celestial ob- 
 jects. But we are not thence to infer that he was in all 
 respects superior to other men, for we are told that in some 
 instances he was far inferior to other men. Collins denied 
 lhat Newton had ever shown himself, in any point of wit 
 inferior to other men. 
 
 No, indeed, replied Ben; well what do you think of that 
 Anecdote of him, lately published in the New England Cou- 
 rant from a London paper? 
 
 And pray what is the anecdote? asked Collins. 
 
 Why it is to this effect, said Ben. — Newton, mounted on 
 iie wings of astronomy, and gazing at the mighty orbs of 
 **re above, had entirely forgotten the poor little fire that 
 Numbered on his own hearth below, which presently forgot 
 him, that is in plain English, went out. The frost piercing 
 his nerves, called his thoughts home, when lo! in place of 
 the spacious skies, the gorgeous antichamber of the Almigh- 
 ty, he found himself in his own little nut-shell apartment, 
 cold and dark, comparatively, as the dwelling of the winter 
 screech-owl. He rung the bell for his servant, who after 
 making a rousing fire, went out again. But scarcely had 
 the servant recovered his warm corner in the kitchen, before 
 the vile bell, with a most furious ring, summoned him the 
 second time. The servant flew into his master's presence. 
 Monster I cried Newton with a face inflamed as if it had 
 been toasting at the tail of one of his comets, did you mean 
 to burn me alive ? push back the fire ! for God's sake push 
 back the fire, or I shall be a cinder in an instant ! 
 
 Push back the fire! replied the servant with a growl 
 zounds, sir, I thought you might have had sense enough to 
 push back your chair! 
 
 Collins swore that it was only a libel against Sir Isaac. 
 
 Ben contended that he had seen it in so many different 
 publications, that he had no sort of doubt of its truth; espe- 
 cially as Sir Hans Sloan had backed it with another anec- 
 
DR. FRANKLTN. 
 
 27 
 
 dote of Newton, in the same style; and to which lie avers 
 he was both eye and ear witness. 
 
 And pray what has that butterfly philosopher to say against 
 the immortal Newton? asked Collins, quite angrily. 
 
 Why, replied Ben, it is this: Sloan, stepping in one day, 
 fo see Sir Isaac, was told by his servant that he was up in 
 his study, but would be down immediately; for there, sir, 
 you see is his dinner, which I have just set on the table. — It 
 was a pheasant so neatly browned in the roasting, and withal 
 so plump and inviting to the eye, that Sloan could not resist 
 the temptation; but venturing on his great intimacy with the 
 knight, sat down and picked the delicious bird to the bone; 
 having desired the cook in all haste to clap another to the 
 spit. Presently down came Sir Isaac — was very glad to 
 see his friend Sloan — how had he been all this time? and how 
 did he leave his good lady and family? you have not dined ? 
 
 No. 
 
 Very glad of it indeed ; very glad. Well then, come dine 
 with me. — Turning to the table, he sees the dish empty, and 
 his plate strewed with the bones of his favourite pheasant. 
 — Lord bless me! he exclaimed, clasping his forehead, and 
 looking betwixt laughing and blushing, at Sloan — what am 
 I good for ? I have dined, as you see, my dear friend, and yet 
 I had entirely forgot it I 
 
 I don't believe a syllable of it, said Collins; not one sylla- 
 ble of it, sir. 
 
 No, replied Ben; nor one syllable, 1 suppose, of his fa- 
 mous courtship, when sitting by an elegant young lady, 
 whom his friends wished him to make love to, he seized her 
 lily white hand. But instead of pressing it with rapture to 
 his bosom, he thrust it into the bowl of his pipe that he was 
 smoking; thus making a tobacco stopper of one of the love- 
 liest fingers in England; to the inexpressible mortification 
 of the company, and to the most dismal scolding and scream- 
 ing of the dear creature! 
 
 'Tis all a lie, sir, said Collins, getting quite mad, all a 
 confounded lie. The immortal Newton, sir, was never 
 capable ot acting so much like a blockhead. But supposing 
 all this slang to be true, what would you infer from it, 
 against that prince of philosophy? — Why I would infer from 
 it. replied Ben, that though a great man, he was but a man. 
 And I would also infer from it in favour of my fair clients, 
 that though they did not make Sir Isaac's discoveries in 
 astronomy, they are yet very capable of comprehending 
 
28 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 them. And besides, I am astonished, Mr. Collins, how any 
 gentleman that loves himself, as I know you do, can thus 
 traduce the ladies. Don't you consider, sir, that in propor- 
 tion as you lessen the dignity of the ladies, you lessen the 
 dignity of your affections for them, and consequently, your 
 own happiness in them, which must for ever keep pace with 
 your ideas of their excellence.— This was certainly a home 
 thrust: and most readers would suppose, that Ben was in a 
 fair way to crow over Ins antagonist; but, Collins was a 
 young man of too much pride and talents to give up so easi- 
 ly. A spirited retort, of course, was made; a rejoinder 
 followed, and thus the controversy was kept up until the 
 watchman bawling twelve o'clock, reminded our stripling 
 orators that it was time for them to quit the old school- 
 house; which with great reluctance they did, but without 
 being any nearer the end of their argument than when they 
 began. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The shades of midnight had parted our young combatants, 
 and silent and alone, Ren had trotted home to his printing- 
 office; but still in his restless thoughts the combat raged in 
 all its fury: still burning for victory, where truth and the 
 ladies were at stake, he fell to mustering his arguments 
 again, which now at the drum-beat of recollection came 
 crowding on him so thick and strong that he felt equally 
 ashamed and astonished that he had not utterly crushed his 
 antagonist at once. He could see no reason on earth why 
 Collins had made a drawn battle of it, but by his vastly su- 
 perior eloquence. To deprive him of this advantage, Ben 
 determined to attack him with his pen. And to this he felt 
 the greater inclination, as they were not to meet again for 
 several nights. So, committing his thoughts to paper, and 
 taking a fair copy, he sent it to him. Collins, who, " was 
 not born in the woods to be scared by an owl," quickly an- 
 swered, and Ben rejoined. In this way several vol lies had 
 passed on both sides, when good old Josias chanced to light 
 upon them all; both the copies of Ben's letters to Collins, 
 and the answers. He read them with a deep interest, iu*d 
 that very night sent for Ben that he might talk with him on 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 29 
 
 their contents. " So Ben!" said he to him as he pressed his 
 beloved hand, " you have got into a paper war already, have 
 you ?" 
 
 Ben blushed. 
 
 I don't mean to blame you, my son, continued the old 
 gentleman. I don't blame you; on the contrary I am de 
 lighted to see you taking such pains to improve your mind. 
 Go on, my dear boy, go on; for your mind is the only part that 
 is worth your care: and the more you accustom yourself to 
 find your happiness in that, the better. The body, as I have 
 a thousand times told you, is but nicely organized earth, that 
 in spite of the daintiest meats and clothes, will soon grow old 
 and withered, and then die and rot back to earth again. 
 Rut the Mind, Ben, is the Heavenly part, the Immortal 
 inhabitant, who, if early nursed with proper thoughts and 
 affections, is capable of a feast that will endure for ever. 
 
 This your little controversy with your friend Collins is 
 praiseworthy, because it has a bearing on that grand point, 
 the improvement of your mind. 
 
 But let me suggest a hint or two, my son, for your better 
 conduct of it. You have greatly the advantage of Mr. Col- 
 lins, in correctness of spelling and pointing; which you owe 
 entirely to your profession as a printer; but then he is as 
 far superior to you in other respects. He certainly has not 
 so good a cause as you have, but he manages it better. He 
 clothes his ideas with such elegance of expression, and ar- 
 ranges his arguments with so much perspicuity and art, as 
 will captivate all readers in his favour, and snatch the vic- 
 tory from you, notwithstanding your better cause. In con- 
 firmation of these remarks, the old gentleman drew from his 
 pocket the letters of their correspondence, and read to him 
 several passages, as strong cases in point. 
 
 Ben sensibly felt the justice of these criticisms, and after 
 thanking his father for his goodness in making them, assured 
 aim, that as he delighted above all things in reading books 
 of a beautiful style, so he was resolved to spare no pains to 
 acquire so divine an art. 
 
 The next day, going into a fresh part of the town, with a 
 paper to a new subscriber, he saw, on the side of the street, 
 a little table spread out and covered with a parcel of toys, 
 among which lay an odd volume, with a neat old woman sit- 
 ting by. As he approached the table to look at the book, 
 the old lady lifting on him a most pleasant countenance, said, 
 " well my little man do you ever dream dreams ?" 
 
 3* 
 
30 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Ben rather startled at so strange a salutation, replied, 
 that he had dream 9 1 in his time. — Well, continued the old 
 woman, and what do you think of dreams ; do you put any 
 faith in 9 em ? 
 
 Why, no, madam, answered Ben; as I have seldom had 
 dreams except after taking too hearty a supper, I have al- 
 ways looked on 'em as a mere matter of indigestion, and so 
 have never troubled my head much about 'em. 
 
 Well now, replied the old lady, laughing, there 9 s just the 
 difference betivecn you and me. I, for my part, always takes 
 great notice of dreams, they generally turn out so true. And 
 now can you tell what a droll dream I had last night ? 
 
 Ben answered that he was no Daniel to interpret dreams. 
 
 Well, said the old lady, I dreamed last night, that a little 
 man just like you, came along here and bought that old book 
 of me. 
 
 Aye! why that's a droll dream sure enough, replied Ben; 
 and pray, Madam, what do you ask for your old book ? 
 
 Only four pence halfpenny, said the old lady. 
 
 Well, Madam, continued Ben, as your dreaming has 
 generally, as you say, turned out true, it shall not be other- 
 wise now; there 9 s your money — so now as you have another 
 reason for putting faith in dreams, you can dream again. 
 
 As Ben took up his book to go away, the old lady said, 
 stop a minute, my son, stop a minute. I have not told you 
 the whole of my dream yet. Then looking very gravely a* 
 him, she said, But though my dream showed that the book 
 was to be bought by a little man, it did not say he was al- 
 ways to be little. No; for I saw, in my dream, that he 
 grew up to be a great man; the lightnings of heaven played 
 around his head, and the shape of a kingly crown was be- 
 neath his feet. I heard his name as a pleasant sound from 
 distant lands, and I saw it through clouds of smoke and 
 flame, among the tall victor ships that strove in the last bat- 
 tle for the freedom of the seas. She uttered this with a raised 
 voice and glowing cheek, as though the years to come, with 
 all their mighty deeds, were passing before her. 
 
 Ben was too young yet to suspect who this old woman 
 was, though he felt as he had read the youthful Telemachus 
 did, when the fire-eyed Minerva, in the shape of Mentor, 
 roused his soul to virtue. 
 
 Farewell, Madam, said Ben with a deep sigh, as he went 
 away; you might have spared that part of your dream, for 1 
 %m sure there is very little chance of its ever coming to pass. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 3J 
 
 But though Ben went away to attend to his brother's bu 
 siness, yet the old woman's looks made such an impression 
 on his mind, that he could not help going the next day to 
 see her again; but she was not there any more. 
 
 On leaving the old woman, he opened his book, when, be- 
 hold, what should it be but an odd volume of the Spectator, 
 a book which he had not seen before. The number which he 
 chanced to open was the vision of Mirzah; which so caught 
 his attention that he could not take it off until he had got 
 through. What the people thought of him for reading in 
 that manner as he walked along the street, he knew not; 
 nor did he once think, he was so taken up with his book. 
 He felt as though he would give the world to write in so 
 enchanting a style; and to that end he carried his old 
 volume constantly in his po.cket, that by committing, as it 
 were, to memory, those sweetly flowing lines, he might stand 
 a chance to fall into the imitation of them. He took ano- 
 ther curious method to catch Addison's charming style; he 
 would select some favourite chapter out of the Spectator, 
 make short summaries of the sense of each period, and put 
 them for a few days aside; then without looking at the book, 
 he would endeavour to restore the chapter to its first form, 
 by expressing each thought at full length. 
 
 These exercises soon convinced him that he greatly lack- 
 ed a fund of words, and a facility of employing them; both 
 of which he thought would have been abundantly supplied, 
 had he but continued his old trade of making verses. The 
 continual need of words of the same meaning, but of different 
 lengths, for the measure ; or of different sounds, for the 
 rhyme, would have obliged him to seek a variety of synony- 
 mes. From this belief he took some of the papers and turn- 
 ed them into verse; and after he had sufficiently forgotten 
 them, he again converted them into prose. 
 
 On comparing his Spectator with the original, he discover- 
 ed many faults; but panting, as he did, for perfection in 
 this noble art, nothing could discourage him. He bravely 
 persevered in his experiments, and though he lamented that 
 in most instances he still fell short of the charming original, 
 yet in some he thought he had clearly improved the order 
 and style. And when this happened, it gave him unspeak- 
 able satisfaction, as it sprung the dear hope that in time he 
 should succeed in writing the English language in the samo 
 enchanting manner. 
 
82 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 About this time, which was somewhere in his sixteenth 
 year, Ben lighted on a very curious work, by one Tryon, re- 
 commending vegetable diet altogether, and condemning 
 "animal food as a great crime" He read it with all the 
 avidity of a young and honest mind that wished to renounce 
 error and embrace truth. "From start to pole," as the 
 racers say, his conscience was under the lash, pointing at 
 him as the dreadful Saucophagist, or Meat-eater alluded 
 to by this severe writer. He could not, without horror re- 
 flect, that young as he was, his stomach had yet been the 
 grave of hundreds of lambs, pigs, birds, and other little ani- 
 mals, "who had never injured him." And when he ex- 
 tended the dismal idea over the vast surface of the globe, 
 and saw the whole human race pursuing and butchering the 
 poor brute creation, filling the sea and land with cries and 
 blood and slaughter, he felt a depression of spirits with an 
 anguish of mind that strongly tempted him, not only to de- 
 test man, but even to charge God himself with cruelty. But 
 this distress did not continue long. Impatient of such 
 wretchedness, he set all the powers of his mind to work, 
 to discover designs in all this, worthy of the Creator. To 
 his unspeakable satisfaction he soon made these important 
 discoveries. 'Tis true, said he, man is constantly butcher- 
 ing the inferior creatures. And it is also true that they are 
 constantly devouring one another. But after all, shocking 
 as this may seem, it is but dying: it is but giving up life, 
 or returning a something which was not their own ; which 
 for the honour of his goodness in their enjoyment, was only 
 lent them for a season; and which, therefore, they ought not 
 to think hard to return. 
 
 Now certainly, continued Ben, all this is very clear and 
 easy to be understood. Well then, since all life, whether 
 of man or beast, or vegetables, is a kind loan of God, and 
 to be taken back again, the question is whether the way in 
 which we see it is taken back is not the best way. It is 
 frue, life being the season of enjoyment, is so dear to us that 
 there is no way of giving it up which is not shocking. And 
 this horror which we feel at the thought of having our own 
 lives taken from us we extend to the brutes. We cannot 
 help feeling shocked at the butcher killing a lamb, or one 
 animal killing another. Nay, tell even a child who is look 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 35 
 
 ing wilh smiles on a g(K»d old family horse that lias just 
 brought a bag of flour from the mill, or a load of wood from 
 the forest, that this his beloved horse will by and by be eaten 
 up of the buzzards, and instantly his looks will manifest ex- 
 treme distress. And if his mother, to whom he turns for 
 contradiction of this horrid prophecy, should confirm it, he 
 is struck dumb with horror, or bursts into strong cries as if 
 his little heart would break at thought of the dismal end to 
 which his horse is coming. These, though very amiable, are 
 yet the amiable weaknesses of the child, which, it is the 
 duty of man to overcome. This animal was created of his 
 God for the double purpose of doing service to man, and of 
 enjoying comfort himself. And when these are accomplished, 
 and that life which was only lent him is recalled, is it not 
 better that nature's scavengers, the buzzards, should take 
 up his flesh and keep the elements sweet, than that it should 
 lie on the fields to shock the sight and smell of all who pass 
 by r The fact is, continued fien, I see that all creatures 
 that live, whether men or beasts, or vegetables, are doomed 
 to die. Now were it not a greater happiness that this uni- 
 versal calamity, as it appears, should be converted into an 
 universal blessing, and this dying of all be made the living 
 of all ? Well, through the admirable wisdom and goodness 
 of the Creator, this is exactly the case. The vegetables all 
 die to sustain animals; and animals, whether birds, beasts, 
 or fishes, all die to sustain man, or one another. Now, is 
 it not far better for them that they should be thus continually 
 changing into each other's substance, and existing in the 
 wholesome shapes of life and vigour, than to be scattered 
 about dying and dead, shocking all eyes with their ghastly 
 forms, and poisoning both sea and air with the stench of their 
 corruption ? 
 
 This scrutiny into the economy of nature in this matter, 
 gave him such an exalted sense of nature's Great Author, 
 that in a letter to his father, to whom he made a point of 
 writing every week for the benefit of his corrections, he says, 
 though I was at first greatly angered with Tryon, yet after- 
 wards I felt myself much obliged to him for giving me such 
 a hard nut to crack, for I have picked out of it one of the 
 sweetest kernels I ever tasted. In truth, father, continues 
 he, although I do not make much noise or show about re- 
 ligion, yet I entertain a most adoring sense of the Great 
 First Cause ; insomuch that I had rather cease to exist than 
 cease to believe him all wise and benevolent. 
 
54 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 In the midst, however, of these pleasing speculations, an- 
 other disquieting idea was suggested. — Is it not cruel, after 
 giving life to take it away again so soon ? The tender grass 
 has hardly risen above the earth, in all its spring-tide green 
 and sweetness, before its beauty is all cropped by the Iamb; 
 and the playful lamb, full dressed in his snow-white fleece, 
 has scarcely tasted the sweets of existence, before lie is 
 caught up by the cruel wolf or more cruel man. And so 
 with every bird and fish : this has scarcely learned to sing 
 his song to the listening grove, or that to leap with transport 
 from the limpid wave, before he is called to resign his life to 
 man or some larger animal. 
 
 This was a horrid thought, which, like a cloud, spread a 
 deep gloom over Ben's mind. But his reflections, like the 
 sunbeams, quickly pierced and dispersed them. 
 
 These cavillers, said he, in another letter, are entirely 
 wrong. They wish, it seems, long life to the creatures; the 
 Creator wishes them a pleasant one. They would have but 
 a few to exist in a long time ; he a great many in a short 
 time. Now as youth is the season of gaiety and enjoyment, 
 and all after is comparatively insipid, is it not better, before 
 that pleasant state is ended in sorrow, the creature should 
 pass away by a quick and generally easy fate, and appear 
 again in some other shape ? Surely if the grass could 
 reason, it would prefer, while fresh and beautiful, to be 
 cropped by the lamb and converted into his substance, 
 than, by staying a little longer, to disfigure the fields with its 
 faded foliage. And the lamb too, if he could but think and 
 choose, would ask for a short life and a merry one, rather 
 than, by staying a little longer, degenerate into a ragged 
 old sheep, snorting with the rattles, and dying of the rot, or 
 murrain. 
 
 But though Ben, at the tender age of sixteen, and with 
 no other aid than his own strong mind, could so easily quel' 
 this host of atheistical doubts, which Tryon had conjured up; 
 yet he hesitated not to become his disciple in another tenet. 
 Tryon asserted of animal food, that though it gave great 
 strength to the body, yet it contributed sadly togrossness of 
 blood and heaviness of mind; and hence he reasoned, that all 
 who wish for cool heads and clear thoughts should make theii 
 diet principally of vegetables. Ben was struck with this as 
 the perfection of reason, and entered so heartily into it as a 
 rare help for acquiring knowledge, that he instantly resolved, 
 fond as he was of flesh and fish, to give both up from that 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 35 
 
 day, and never taste Ihem again as long as he lived This 
 steady refusal of his to eat meat, was looked on as a very 
 inconvenient singularity by his brother, who scolded him for 
 it, and insisted he should give it up. Ben made no words 
 with his brother on this account. — Knowing that avarice was 
 his ruling passion, he threw out a bait to James which in- 
 stantly caught, and without any disturbance produced tho 
 accommodation he wished. "Brother," said he to him one 
 day as he scolded; "you give three shillings and six pence 
 a week for my diet at this boarding-house; give me but half 
 that money and I'll diet myself without any farther trouble 
 or expense to you." James immediately took him at his 
 word and gave him in hand his week's ration, one shilling 
 and nine pence, which after the Boston exchange, six shil- 
 lings to the dollar, makes exactly thirty-seven and a half 
 cents. Those who often give one dollar for a single dinner, 
 and five dollars for a fourth of July dinner, would look very 
 blue at an allowance of thirty-seven and a half cents for a 
 whole week. But Ben so husbanded this little sum, that 
 after defraying all the expenses of his table, he found him- 
 self at the end of the week, near twenty cents in pocket — 
 thus expending not quite three cents a day! This was a 
 joyful discovery to Ben — twenty cents a week, said he, 
 and fifty -two weeks in the year; why, that is upwards of ten 
 dollars in the twelve months! what a noble fund for books! 
 Nor was this the only benefit he derived from it; for, while 
 his brother and the journeymen were gone to the boarding- 
 house to devour their pork and beef, which, with lounging 
 and picking their teeth, generally took them an hour, he 
 stayed at the printing-office; and after dispatching his frugal 
 meal, of boiled potatoe, or rice; or a slice of bread with an 
 apple; or bunch of raisins and a glass of water, he had the 
 rest of the time for study. The pure fluids and bright spirits 
 secreted from such simple diet, proved exceedingly favour- 
 able to that clearness and vigour of mind, and rapid growth 
 m knowledge which his youthful soul delighted in. 
 
 I cannot conclude this chapter without making a remark 
 which the reader has perhaps anticipated — that it was by 
 <his simple regimen, vegetables and water, that the Jewish 
 &eer, the holy Daniel, while a youth, was of Providence 
 made fit for all the learning of the East; hence arose his 
 bright visions into futurity, and his clear pointings to the 
 far distant days of the Messiah, when the four great brass 
 and iron monarcnies of Media, Persia, Grecia, and Rome, 
 
36 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 being overthrown, Christ should set up his last golden mo- 
 narchy of Love, which, though faint in the beginning as the 
 first beam of the uncertain dawn, shall yet at length bright- 
 en all the skies, and chase the accursed clouds of sin and 
 su tiering from the abodes of man and beast. 
 
 In like manner, it was on the simple regimen of vegetables 
 and water, the easy purchase of three cents a day, that the 
 same Providence raised up our young countryman to guard 
 the last spark of perfect liberty in the British colonies of 
 North America. Yes, it was on three cents' worth of daily 
 bread and water, that young Ben Franklin commenced his 
 collection of that blaze of light, which early as 1754, showed 
 the infant and unsuspecting colonies their rights and their 
 dangers — and which afterwards, in 1764, blasted the trea- 
 sonable stamp act — and finally, in '73 and '74, served as the 
 famed star of the East, to guide Washington and his wise 
 men of the revolution, to the cradle of liberty, struggling in 
 the gripe of the British Herod, lord North. There rose the 
 oattle of God for an injured people; there spread the star- 
 spangled banner of freedom; and there poured the blood of 
 the brave, fighting for the rights of man under the last re- 
 
 Eublic. O that God may long preserve this precious vine of 
 is own right hand planting, for his own glory and the hap- 
 piness of unborn millions ! 
 
 But the reader must not conclude that Ben, through life, 
 tied himself up to a vegetable diet. No. Nature will have 
 her way. And having designed man partly carnivorous, as 
 his canine teeth, his lengthened bowels, and his flesh-pot 
 appetites all evince, she will bring him back to the healthy 
 mixture of animal food with vegetable, or punish his obsti- 
 nacy with diarrhoea and debility. But she had no great diffi- 
 culty in bringing Ben back to the use of animal food. Ac- 
 cording to his own account, no nosegay was ever more 
 fragrant to his olfactories than was the smell of fresh fish in 
 the frying pan. And as to his objection to such a savory diet 
 on account of its stupifying effects on the brain, he easily 
 got the better of that, when he reflected that the witty queen 
 Elizabeth breakfasted on beef-stake ; that sir Isaac New- 
 ton dined on pheasants; that Horace supped on fat bacon: 
 and that Pope both breakfasted, dined, and supped on shrimps 
 and oysters. And for the objection taken from the cruelty 
 of killing innocent animals, for their flesh, he got over that 
 by the following curious accident: — -On his first voyage to 
 New- York, the vessel halting on the coast for lack of breeze, 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 37 
 
 the sailors all fell to fishing lor cod, of which they presently 
 took great numbers and very fine. Instead of being de- 
 lighted at this sight, Ben appeared much hurt, and began to 
 preach to the crew on their "injustice," as he called it, in 
 thus taking away the lives of those poor little fish, who, 
 " had never injured them, nor ever could." The sailors were 
 utterly dum-founded at such queer logic as this. Taking 
 their silence for conviction, Ben rose in his argument, and 
 began to play the orator quite outrageously on the main 
 deck. At length an old wag of a boatswain, who had at 
 first been struck somewhat aback by the strangeness of this 
 attack, took courage, and luffing up again, with a fine breeze 
 of humour in his weather-beaten sail, called out to Ben, 
 "Well, but my young Master preacher, may not we deal by 
 these same cod here, as they deal by their neighbours." 
 " To be sure," said Ben. 
 
 " Well then, sir, see here," replied the boatswain, holding 
 up a stout fish, 6fc see here what a whaler I took just now outo* 
 the belly of that cod!" Ben looking as if he had his doubts, 
 the boatswain went on, " O sir, if you come to that, you shall 
 have proof;" whereupon he laid hold of a large big-bellied 
 cod that was just then flouncing on the deck, and ripping 
 him open, in the presence of Ben and the crew, turned out 
 several young cod from his maw. 
 
 Here, Ben, well pleased with this discovery, cried out, 
 Oho! villains! is that the game you play with one another un- 
 der the water! Unnatural wretches! What! eat one another! 
 Well then, if a cod can eat his own brother, I see no reason 
 in nature why man may not eat him. With that he seized a 
 stout young fish just fresh from his native brine, and frying him 
 in all haste, made a very hearty meal. Ben never after this, 
 made any more scruples about animal food, but ate fish, flesh, 
 or fowl, as they came in his way, without asking any ques- 
 tions for conscience sake. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Except the admirable Chichton, I have never heard 
 cf a genius that was fitted to shine in every art and science. 
 Kven Newton was dull in languages; and Pope used to saj 
 of himself, that "he had as leave hear the squeal of pig? 
 
 4 
 
38 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 in a gate, as hear the organ of Handel !" Neither was oui den 
 the " omnia homo" or " Jack of all trades." He never c mid 
 bear the mathematics! and even arithmetic presented to him 
 no attractions at all. Not that he was not capable of it; for. 
 happening aoout this time, still in his sixteenth year, to be 
 laughed at for his ignorance in the art of calculation, he went 
 and got himself a copy of old Cocker's Arithmetic, one of 
 the toughest in those days, and went through it by himself 
 with great ease. The truth is, his mind was at this time en- 
 tirely absorbed in the ambition to be a finished writer of the 
 English language; such a one, if possible, as the Spectator, 
 whom he admired above all others. 
 
 While labouring, as we have seen, to improve his style, 
 he laid his hands on all the English Grammars he could hear 
 of. Among the number was a treatise of that sort, an old 
 shabby looking thing, which the owner, marking his curiosity 
 in those matters, made him a present of. Ben hardly re- 
 turned him a thankee, as doubting at first whether it was 
 w r orth carrying home. But how great was his surprise, when 
 coming towards the close of it, he found, crammed into a 
 small chapter, a treatise on the art of disputation, after the 
 manner of Socrates. The treatise was very short, but it was 
 enough for Ben; it gave an outline, and that was all he want- 
 ed. As the little whortle-berry boy, on the sands of Cape 
 May, grabbling for his breakfast in a turtle's nest, if he 
 but reaches with his little hand but one egg, instantly laughs 
 with joy, as well knowing that all the rest will follow, like 
 beads on a string. So it was with the eager mind of Ben, when 
 he first struck on this plan of Socratic disputation. In an in- 
 stant his thoughts ran through all the threads and meshes of 
 the wondrous net; and he could not help laughing in his 
 sleeve, to think what a fine puzzling cap he should soon 
 weave for the frightened heads of Collins, Adams, and all 
 others who should pretend to dispute with him. But the use 
 which he principally had in view to make of it, and which 
 tickled his fancy most, was how completely he should now 
 confound those ignorant and hypocritical ones in Boston, 
 who were continually boring him about religion. Not that 
 Ben ever took pleasure in confounding those who were ho- 
 nestly desirous of showing their religion by their good works; 
 for such were always his esteem and delight. But he could 
 never away with those who neglected justice, mercy, and 
 truth, and yet aftected great familiarities with the Deity, 
 from certain conceited wonders that Christ had wrought in 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 'hem. As no youth ever nore heartily desired the happiness 
 :>! man and beast than I < n did, so none ever more seriouslv 
 resented that the religion of love and good works tending (o 
 (his, should be usurped by a harsh, barren puritanism, with 
 her disfigured faces, whine and cant. This appeared to him 
 like Dagon overturning the Ark of God with a vengeance. 
 Burning with zeal against sucli detestable phariseeism he 
 rejoiced in his Socratic logic as anew kind of weapon, which 
 he hoped to employ with good eftect against it. He studied 
 his Socrates day and night, and particularly his admirable 
 argumentations given by Xenophon, in his b >ok, entitled 
 "Memorable things of Socrates;*' and in a little time 
 came to wield his new artillery with great lexterity and 
 success. 
 
 But in all his rencontres with the false christians, he ad 
 hered strictly to the spirit of Socrates, as being perfectly 
 congenial to his own. Instead of blunt contradictions and 
 positive assertions, he would put modest questions; and after 
 obtaining of them concessions of which they did not foresee 
 the consequences i he would involve them in difficulties and 
 embarrassments, from which they could never extricate them- 
 selves. Had he possessed a vanity capable of being satisfied 
 with the triumph of wit over dulness, he might long have 
 crowed the master cock of this Socratic pit. But finding 
 that his victories seldom produced any practical good; that 
 they were acquired at a considerable expense of time, ne- 
 glect of business, and injury of his temper, which was never 
 formed for altercation with bigots, he abandoned it by de- 
 grees, retaining only the habit of expressing himself with a 
 modest diffidence. And not only at that time, but ever after- 
 wards through life, it was remarked of him, that in argument 
 he rarely used the words certainly, undoubtedly, or any others 
 that might convey the idea of being obstinately conceited of 
 his own opinion. His ordinary phrases w ere — I imagine — 
 / suppose — or, it appears to me, that such a thing is so ana 
 so — or, it is so, if lam not mistaken. By such soothing arts 
 he gradually conciliated the good will of his opponents, and 
 almost always succeeded in bringing them over to his wishes. 
 Hence he used to say, it was great pity that sensible and 
 well-meaning persons should lessen their own usefulness by 
 a positive and presumptuous way of talking, which only 
 serves to provoke opposition from the passionate, arid shy- 
 ness from the prudent, who rather than get into a dispute 
 with such self-conceited characters, will hold their peace., 
 
40 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and let them go on in their errors. In short, if you wish 
 to answer one of the noblest ends for which tongues were 
 given to rational beings, which is to inform or to be inform- 
 ed, to please and to persuade them, for heaven's sake, treat 
 their opinions, even though erroneous, with great politeness. 
 
 " Men must be taught as though you taught them not, 
 And things unknown propos'd as things torgot," 
 
 says Mr. Pope; and again 
 
 *' To speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence ; 
 For want of modesty is want of sense. M 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 So late as 1720, there was but one newspaper in all North 
 America, and even this by some was thought one too many 
 so little reading was there among the people in those days. 
 But believing that the reading appetite, weak as it was, ran 
 more on newspapers than any thing else, James Franklin took 
 it into his head to start another paper. His friends all vowed 
 it would be the ruin of him; but James persevered, and a 
 second newspaper, entitled " The New England Cou- 
 rant," was published. What was the number of sub- 
 scribers, after so long a lapse of time, is now unknown; but 
 it was Ben's humble lot to furnish their papers after having 
 assisted to compose and work them off. 
 
 Among his friends, James had a number of literary cha- 
 racters, who, by way of amusement, used to write for his 
 paper. These gentlemen frequently visited him at his office, 
 merely for a little chat, and to tell how highly the public 
 thought of their pieces Ben attended closely to their con 
 versation, and happening to think they were no great wits, 
 he determined to cut in and try his hand among them. But 
 how to get his little adventures into the paper was the ques- 
 tion, and a serious one too ; for he knew very well that his 
 brother, looking on him as hardly more than a child, would 
 not dream of printing any thing that he knew had come from 
 his pen. Stratagem of course must be resorted to. He took 
 his time, and having written his piece pretty much to his 
 mind, lie copied it in a disguised hand, and when they were 
 all gone to bed, slyly shoved it under the door of the office; 
 vhere it was found next morning. In the course of the day, 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 41 
 
 /lis friends dropping in as usual, James showed them the 
 stranger paper; a caucus was held, and with aching heart 
 Hen heard his piece read for their criticism. It was highly 
 applauded: and to his greater joy still, among their various 
 conjectures as to the author, not one was mentioned who did 
 not hold a distinguished reputation for talents! Encouraged by 
 such good success of this his first adventure, he wrote on, and 
 sent to the press in the same sly way, several other pieces, 
 which were equally approved, keeping the secret till his slen- 
 der stock of information was pretty completely exhausted, 
 when he came out with the real author. 
 
 His brother, on this discovery, began to entertain a little 
 more respect for him, but still looked on and treated him 
 as a common apprentice. Ben, on the other hand, thought 
 that, as a brother, he had a right to greater indulgence, and 
 sometimes complained of James as rather too rigorous. This 
 difference in opinion rose to disputes, which were often 
 brought before their fathei, who either from partiality to 
 Ben, or his better cause, generally gave it in his favour. 
 James could not bear these awards of his father in favour 
 of a younger brother, but would fly into a passion and treat 
 him with abuse even to blows. Ben took this tyrannical 
 behaviour of his brother in extremely ill part; and he some- 
 where says that it imprinted on his mind that deep-rooted 
 aversion to arbitrary power, which he never lost, and which 
 rendered him through life such a firm and unconquerable ene- 
 my of oppression. His apprenticeship became insupportable, 
 and he sighed continually for an opportunity of shortening 
 it, which at length unexpectedly offered. 
 
 An article in his paper, on some political subject, giving 
 great offence to the assembly, James was taken up; and be- 
 cause he would not discover the author, was ordered into 
 confinement for a month. Ben also was had up and examined 
 before the council, who, after reprimanding, dismissed him. 
 probably because deeming him bound, as an apprentice, to 
 keep his master's secrets. 
 
 Notwithstanding their private quarrels, this imprisonment 
 of his brother excited Ben's indignation against the assem- 
 bly; and having now, during James' confinement, the sole 
 direction of the paper, he boldly came out every week with 
 some severe pasquinade against 64 The little tyrants of Bos- 
 ton." But though' this served to gratify his own angry feel- 
 ings, and to tickle James, as also to gain himself the charac- 
 ter of a wonderful young man for satire; yet it answerrd no 
 
42 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 good end, but far contrariwise, proved a fatal blow to their 
 newspaper ; for at the expiration of the month, James's en- 
 largement was accompanied with an order from the assem- 
 bly, that u James Franklin should no longer print the 
 
 NEWSPAPER ENTITLED THE New ENGLAND CoURANT." 
 
 This was a terrible thunder-clap on poor James and his 
 whole scribbling squad; and Ben could find no lightning 
 rod to parry the bolt. A caucus, however, of all the friends 
 was convoked at the printing-office, to devise ways and means 
 of redress. One proposed this measure and another that; 
 but the measure proposed by James himself was at length 
 adopted. This was to carry on the newspaper under Ben's 
 name. But, said some, will not the assembly haul you over 
 
 the coals for thus attempting to whip the d / round the 
 
 stump ? 
 
 No, replied James. 
 
 Aye, how will you prevent it? 
 
 Why, I'll give up Ben's indentures. 
 
 So then you'll let Ben run free? 
 
 No, nor that neither ; for he shall sign a new contract. 
 
 This was to be sure a very shallow arrangement. It was 
 however carried into immediate execution, and the paper 
 continued in consequence to make its appearance for some 
 months in Ben's name. At length a new difference arising 
 between the brothers, and Ben knowing that James would 
 not dare to talk of his new contract, boldly asserted his 
 freedom ! 
 
 His numerous admirers will here blush for poor Ben, and 
 hide their reddening cheeks. But let them redden as they 
 may, they will hardly ever equal that honest crimson which 
 glows in the following lines from his own pen: 
 
 "It was, no doubt, very dishonourable to avail myself of 
 this advantage, and I reckon this as the first error of my 
 life. But I was little capable of seeing it in its true light, 
 embittered as my mind had been by the blows I had received 
 Exclusively of his passionate treatment of me, my brother 
 was by no means an ill tempered man. And even here, per- 
 iiaps, my manners had too much of impertinence not to af- 
 ford it a very natural pretext." 
 
 Go thy way, honest Ben. Such a confession of error wil 
 plead thy excuse with all who know their own infirmities, and 
 remember what the greatest saints have done. Yes, when 
 we remember what young Jacob did to his brothei Esau, and 
 kow he came over him with his mess of pottage, robbing him 
 
Dlt. FRANK LhN. 
 
 43 
 
 >f his birthright; and also what David did to Uriah, whom 
 he robbed not only of his wife, but of his life also, we surely 
 shall pity not only Hen, but every man his brother for then 
 follies, and heartily rejoice that there is mercy with Clmst 
 to forgive all, on their repentance and amendment. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Finding that to live with James in the pleasant relations 
 of a brother and a freeman was a lost hope, Ben made up his 
 mind to quit him and go on journey-work with some of the 
 Boston printers. But James suspecting Ben's intentions, 
 went around town to the printers, and made such a re- 
 port of him, that not a man of them all would have any 
 thing to say to him. The door of employment thus shut 
 against him, and all" New England furnishing no other 
 printing office, Ben determined, in quest of one, to push off 
 to New- York. He was farther confirmed in this resolution 
 by a consciousness that his newspaper squibs in behalf of his 
 brother, had made the governing party his mortal enemies. 
 And he was also afraid that his bold and indiscreet argu- 
 mentation against the gloomy puritans, had led those crab- 
 bed people to look on him as no better than a young atheist, 
 whom it would be doing God service to worry as they wou'd 
 a wild cat. He felt indeed that it was high time to be off. 
 
 To keep his intended flight from the knowledge of his fa- 
 ther, his friend Collins engaged his passage with the captain 
 of a New-York sloop, to whom he represented Ben as an 
 amorous young blade, who wished to get away privately in 
 consequence of an intrigue with a worthless hussy, whom 
 her relations wanted to force upon him. Ben had no mo- 
 ney. But he had money's worth. Having, for four years 
 past, been carefully turning into books every penny he could 
 spare, he had by this time made up a pretty little library. 
 It went prodigiously against him to break in upon his books. 
 But there was no help for it. 80 turning a parcel of them 
 back again into money, he slip] ed privately on board of a 
 eiloop, which on the third day landed him safely in New- 
 York, three hundred miles from home, only seventeen years 
 old, without a single friend in the place, and but little money 
 in his pocket. 
 
44 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 He immediately offered his services to a Mr. Bradford 
 the only printer in New-York. The old gentleman express- 
 ed his regret that he could give him no employment; but in 
 a very encouraging manner advised him to go on to Phila- 
 delphia, where he had a son, a printer, who would probably 
 do something for him. Philadelphia was a good hun- 
 dred miles farther off ; but Ben, nothing disheartened by 
 that, instantly ran down to the wharf, and took his passage 
 in an open boat for Amboy, leaving his trunk to follow him 
 by sea. In crossing the bay, they were overtaken by a dread- 
 ful squall, during which a drunken Dutchman, a passenger, 
 fell headlong; into the racing waves. Being hissing hot and 
 swollen with rum, he popped up like a dead catfish; but just 
 as he was going down the second time, never to rise again, 
 by a miracle of mercy, Ben caught him by the fore-top, and 
 lugged him in, where he lay tumbled over on the bottom of 
 the boat, fast asleep, and senseless as a corpse of the fright- 
 ful storm which threatened every moment to bury them all 
 in a watery grave. The violence of the wind presently drove 
 them on the rocky coasts of Long Island; where, to prevent 
 being dashed to pieces among the furious breakers, they cast 
 anchor, and there during the rest of the day, and all night 
 long, lay riding out the gale. Their little boat pitching 
 bows under at every surge, while the water constantly fly- 
 ing over them in drenching showers, kept them as wet as 
 drowned rats; and not only unable to get a wink of sleep, 
 but also obliged to stir their stumps, baling the boat to keep 
 her from sinking. 
 
 The wind failing the next day, they reached A nboy 
 about dark, after having passed thirty hours without a n orsel 
 of victuals, and with no other drink than a bottle of bad rum; 
 the water upon which they had rowed, being as salt as brine. 
 Ben went to bed with a high fever. Having somewhere read 
 that cold water, plentifully drank, was good in such cases; he 
 followed the prescription, which threw him into a piofuse 
 sweat, and the fever left him. The next day, feeble and alone, 
 he set out, with fifty wearisome miles to walk before he could 
 reach Burlington, whence he was told that a passage boat 
 would take him to Philadelphia. To increase his depression, 
 soon as he left the tavern, it set in to rain hard. But though 
 wet to the skin, he pressed on by himself through the 
 gloomy woods till noon, when feeling much fatigued, and 
 the rain still pouring down, he stopped at a paltry tavern, 
 ivnere ne passed the» rest of the day and night. In this 
 
Page 44. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 4S 
 
 ><oomy situation he began seriously to repent that he had ever 
 Fefl home; and the more, as from the wretched figure he made, 
 every body was casting a suspicious eye upon him as a run 
 away servant. Indeed, from the many insulting questions 
 put to him, he felt himself every moment in danger of being 
 taken up as such, and then what would his father think on 
 hearing that he was in jail as a runaway servant, four hun- 
 dred miles from home! And what a triumph to his brother. 
 \fter a very uneasy night, however, he rose and continued his 
 journey till the evening, when he stopped about ten miles 
 from Burlington, at a little tavern, kept by one Dr. Brown. 
 While he was taking some refreshment, Brown came in, 
 and being of a facetious turn, put a number of droll ques- 
 tions to him; to which Ben retorted in a style so superioi 
 to his youthful looks and shabby dress, that the Doctor be- 
 came quite enamoured of him. He kept him up conversing 
 until midnight; and next morning would not touch a penny 
 of his money. This was a very seasonable liberality to poor 
 Ben, for he had now very little more than a dollar in his 
 pocket. 
 
 On reaching Burlington, and buying some gingerbread 
 for his passage, he hastened to the wharf. But alas! the boat 
 had just sailed! This was on Saturday; and there would be 
 no other boat until Tuesday. Having been much struck with 
 the looks of the old woman, of whom he had just bought his 
 cargo of gingerbread, he went back and asked her advice. 
 Her behaviour proved that he had some skill in physiogno- 
 my. For the moment he told her of his sad disappointment 
 and his doubts how he should act, she gave him the tender 
 look of a mother, and told him he must stay with her till the 
 next boat sailed. Pshaw! Don't mind these little disappoint- 
 ments, child, said she, seeing him uneasy; they are not 
 worth your being troubled about. When I was young, I 
 used to be troubled about them too. But now I see that it 
 is all but vanity. So stay with me till the boat goes again; 
 and rest yourself, for I am sure you must be mighty fired 
 after such a terrible walk. The good old lady was very 
 right; for what with his late loss of sleep, as also his fever 
 and long walk in the rains, he was tired indeed; so he glad- 
 ly consented to stay with her and rest himself. Having 
 shown him a small room with a bed in it, for him to take a 
 nap, for she saw clear enough, she said, that he urns a dying 
 for sleep, she turned with a mother's alacrity to get him 
 something to eat. By and by she came a^ain, and fiom n 
 
<*6 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 short but refreshing doze, waked him up to a dinner ot 
 hot beef-steaks, of which she pressed him to eat heartily. 
 telling him that gingerbread was jit only for children. While 
 he was eating, she chatted with him in the affectionate spirit 
 of an aged relative; she asked him a world of questions, such 
 as how old he was — and what was his name — and whether 
 his mother was alive — and how far he lived from Burling- 
 ton? Ben told her every thing she asked him. He told her 
 his name and age. He also told her that his mother was 
 alive, and that he had left her only seven days ago in Boston, 
 where she lived. The old lady could hardly believe him 
 that he ever came from Boston. She lifted up her hands, 
 and stared at him as though he had told her he had just 
 dropped from the North Star. From Boston! said she with 
 a scream, now only to think of that! O dear, only to think of 
 that! And then, 0 how she pitied his mother. Poor dear 
 soul! She, all the way yonder in Boston, and such a sweet 
 looking, innocent child, wandering here at such a distance 
 by himself: how could she stand it? 
 
 Ben told her that it was a great affliction to be sure; but 
 could not be helped. That his mother was a poor woman, 
 with sixteen children, and that he the youngest boy of all, 
 was obliged to leave her to seek his livelihood, which he 
 hoped he should find in Philadelphia, at his trade, which 
 was that of a printer. 
 
 On hearing that he was a printer, she was quite delighted 
 and pressed him to come and set up in Burlington, for that 
 she would be hound for it he would do mighty well there. 
 Ben told her that it was a costly thing to set up printing; 
 that it would take two hundred pounds, and he had not two 
 hundred pence. 
 
 Well then, said she, now that you have got no money, it will 
 give me more pleasure to have you stay with me till you can 
 get a good opportunity to go to Philadelphia. I feel for your 
 poor mother, and I know it would give her such a pleasure 
 if she knew you were here with me. 
 
 Soon as Ben had enjoyed his beef-steaks, which he did in 
 high style, having the double sauce of his own good appe- 
 tite and her motherly welcome, he drew out his last dollar 
 to pay the good old lady. But she told him to put it up, put 
 it up, for she would not take a penny of it. Ben. told her 
 that he was young and able to work, and hoped to do well when 
 he got into business, and therefore could not bear that she who 
 was getting old and weak should entertain him for nothing. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 47 
 
 (777/, said she, never mind that, child) never mind tlint, I 
 shall never miss what little I lay out in entertaining you while 
 you stay with me. So put up your money. However, w hile 
 she was busied in putting away the dishes, he slipped out 
 and got a pint of ale for her: and it was all that he could 
 prevail on her to accept. 
 
 From the pleasure with which Ben ever afterwards spoke 
 of this good old woman, and her kindness to him, a poor 
 strange boy, I am persuaded as indeed I have always been, 
 that there is nothing on which men reflect with so much com- 
 placency as on doing or receiving offices of love from one 
 another. 
 
 Ben has not left us the name of this good old woman, nor 
 the sect of christians to which she belonged. But it is proba- 
 ble she was a Quaker. Most of the people about Burlington 
 in those days were Quakers. And besides such kindness as 
 her's seems to be more after the spirit of that wise people, 
 who Instead of wrangling about/a*//*, which even devils pos- 
 sess, give their chief care to that which is the end of all faith, 
 and which the poor devils know nothing about, viz " love 
 and good works." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Ben now sat himself down to stay with this good old wo- 
 man till the following Tuesday; but still Philadelphia was 
 constantly before him, and happening, in the impatience of 
 his mind, to take a stroll along the river side, he saw a boat 
 approaching with a number of passengers in it. Where art 
 you bound? said he. 
 
 To Philadelphia, was the reply. 
 
 His heart leaped for joy. Can't you take a passenger 
 aboard? I'll help you to row. O yes, answered they, and 
 bore up to receive him. With all his heart he would 
 have run back to his good old hostess to bid her farewell, 
 and to thank her for her kindness to him, but the boat could 
 not wait; and carrying, tortoise-like, his all upon his back, 
 in he stepped and went on with them to Philadelphia, where, 
 after a whole night of hard rowing, they arrived about eight 
 o'clock next rcxorning, which happened to be Sunday. 
 
 Soon as the boat struck the place of landing, which was 
 
48 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Market-street wharf, Ben put his hand into his pocket, and 
 asked, what was the damage. The boatmen shook their 
 heads, and said, oh no; he had nothing to pay. Tliey could 
 never take pay from a young fellow of his spirit, who had so 
 cheerfully assisted them to row all the way. As his own stock 
 now consisted of but one Dutch dollar, and about a shilling's 
 worth in coppers, he would have been well content to ac- 
 cept his passage on their own friendly terms; but seeing one 
 of their crew who appeared to be old, and rather poorly 
 dressed, he hauled out his coppers and gave them all to him. 
 Having shaken hands with these honest-hearted fellows, he 
 leaped ashore and walked up Market-street in search of 
 something to appease his appetite, which was now abun- 
 dantly keen from twenty miles' rowing and a cold night's 
 lir. He had gone but a short distance before he met a child 
 bearing in his arms that most welcome of all sights to a 
 hungry man, a fine loaf of bread. Ben eagerly asked him 
 where he had got it. The child, turning around, lifted his 
 little arm and pointing up the street, with great simplicity 
 md sweetness said, don't you see that little house — that little 
 white house, way up yonder ? 
 Ben said, yes. 
 
 Well then, continued the child, that's the bakers house ; 
 there's where my mammy sends me every morning to get bread 
 for all we children. 
 
 Ben blessed his sweet lips of innocence, and hastening to 
 the house, boldly called for three pence worth of bread. The 
 baker threw him down three large rolls. 
 
 What, all this for three pence! asked Ben with surprise. 
 
 Yes, all that for three pence, replied the baker with a fine 
 yankee snap of the eye, all that for only three pence! Then 
 measuring Ben from head to foot, he said with a sly quiz- 
 zing sort of air, and pray now my little man where may you 
 nave come from ? 
 
 Here Ben felt his old panic, on the runaway servant score, 
 returning strong upon him again. However, putting on a 
 bold face, he promptly answered that he was from Boston. 
 
 Plague on it replied the man of dough, and why did'nt 
 you tell me that at first; I might so easily have cabbaged you 
 out of one whole penny; for you know you could not have 
 got all that bread in Yankee-town for less than a good four- 
 pence ? Very cheap, said Ben, three large rolls for three- 
 pence; quite dog cheap ! 80 taking them up, began to stow 
 them away in his pockets ; but soon found it impossible for 
 
Pagt 49. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 49 
 
 lack of room — so placing a roll under each arm, and break- 
 ing the third, he began to eat as he walked along up Mai- 
 kct-street. On the way he passed the house of that beauti- 
 ful girl, Miss Deborah Read, who happening to be at the 
 door, was so diverted at the droll figure he made, that she 
 could not help laughing outright. And indeed no wonder. 
 A stout fleshy boy, in his dirty working dress, and pockets 
 all puckered out, with foul linen and stockings, and a 
 loaf of bread, under each arm, eating and gazing around him 
 as he walked— no wonder she could not help laughing aloud 
 at him as one of the greatest gawkies she had ever seen. 
 Very little idea had she at that time that she was presently 
 to be up to her eyes in love with this young gawky; and 
 after man} a deep sigh and heart-ache, was to marry him 
 and to be made a great woman by him. And yet all this 
 actually came to pass, as we shall presently see, and we 
 hope greatly to the comfort of all virtuous young men, who 
 though they may sometimes be laughed at for their oddities; 
 yet if, like Franklin, they will but stick to the main chance, 
 i. e. Business and Education, they will assuredly, like 
 him, overcome at the last, and render themselves the ad- 
 miration of those who once despised them. 
 
 But our youthful hero is in too interesting a part of the 
 play for us to lose a moment's sight of him; so after this 
 short moral we turn our eyes on him again, as there, loaded 
 with his bundles and his bread, and eating and gazing and 
 turning the corners of the streets, he goes on without indeed 
 knowing where he is going. At length, however, just as he 
 had finished his first roll, his reverie was broken up by finding 
 himself on Market-street wharf, and close to the very boat 
 in which he had come from Burlington. The sight of the 
 silver stream, as it whirled in dimpling eddies around the 
 wharf, awakened his thirst; so stepping into the boat he took 
 a hearty draught, which, to his unvitiated palate, tasted 
 sweeter than ever did mint-sling to any young drunkard. 
 Close by him in the boat sat a poor woman with a little 
 ragged girl leaning on her lap. He asked her if she had 
 breakfasted. With a sallow smile of hunger hoping relief, 
 she replied no, for that she had nothing to eat. Upon this 
 he gave her both his other loaves. At sight of this welcome 
 supply of food, the poor woman and her child gave him a 
 look which he never afterwards forgot. 
 
 Having given, as we have seen, a tythe of his money in 
 gratitude to the pooi boatman, and two thirds of his bread 
 
 5 
 
50 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 in charity to this poor woman and her child, Ben skipped 
 again upon the wharf, and with a heart light and gay with 
 conscious duty, a second time took up Market-street, which 
 was now getting to be full of well-dressed people all going 
 the same way He cut in, and following the line of 
 march, was thus insensibly led to a large Quaker meeting- 
 house. Sans ceremonie, he pushed in and sat down with 
 the rest, and looking around him soon felt the motions, if 
 not of a devout, yet of a pleasantly thoughtful spirit. It 
 came to his recollection to have heard that people must go 
 abroad to §ee strange things. And here it seemed to be 
 verified. What, no pulpit ! Whoever saw a meeting-house 
 before without a pulpit ? He could not for his life conceive 
 where the preacher was to stand. But his attention was 
 quickly turned from the meeting-house to the congregation, 
 whose appearance, particularly that of the young females, 
 delighted him exceedingly. Such simplicity of dress with 
 such an air of purity and neatness! He had never seen 
 any thing like it before, and yet all admirably suited to the 
 gentle harmony of their looks. And then their eyes! for 
 meekness and sweetness of expression, they looked like 
 dove's eyes. With a deep sigh he wished that his brother 
 James and many others in Boston were but gentle and good 
 as these people appeared to be. Young as he was, he 
 thought the world would be a great deal the happier for it. 
 As leaning back he indulged these soothing sentiments, with- 
 out any sound of singing or preaching to disturb him, and 
 tired nature's soft languors stealing over him too, he sunk in- 
 sensibly into sleep. We are not informed that he was visited 
 duringhis slumber, by any of those benevolent spirits who once 
 descended in the dreams of the youthful patriarch, as he slept 
 in the pleasant plains of Bethel. But he tells us himself, that 
 he was visited by one of that benevolent sect in whose place 
 of worship he had been overtaken by sleep. Waked by some 
 hand on his shoulder that gently shook him, he opened his 
 eyes, and lo! a female countenance about middle age and 
 of enchanting sweetness, was smiling on him. Roused to a 
 recollection of the impropriety he had been guilty of, he 
 was too much confused to speak ; but his reddened cheeks 
 told her what he felt. But he had nothing to fear. Gently 
 shaking her head, though without a frown, and with a voice 
 of music, she said to him " My son, thee ought not to sleep 
 in meeting." Then giving him the look of a mother as she 
 went out, she bade him farewell. He followed her as well 
 
DR. FRANK! IN 
 
 51 
 
 as ho could, and left the meeting-house much mortified at 
 having been caught asleep in it; but deriving at the same 
 time great pleasure from this circumstance, because it had 
 furnished opportunity to the good Quaker lady to ^ive him 
 that motherly look. He felt it sweetly melting along his 
 soul as he walked. O how different, thought he, that look 
 from the looks which my brother and the council men of 
 Boston gave me, though I was younger then and more an ob- 
 ject of sympathy ! 
 
 As he walked along the street, looking attentively in the 
 face of every one he met, he saw a young Quaker with a 
 fine countenance, whom he begged to tell him where a 
 stranger might find a lodging. With a look and voice of 
 great sweetness, the young Quaker said, they receive travel- 
 lers here, but it is not a house that bears a good character; 
 if thee will go with me, I will show thee a better one. 
 
 This was the Crooked Billet, in Water-street. Directly 
 after dinner, his drowsiness returning, he went to bed and 
 slept, without waking till next morning. 
 
 Having put himself in as decent a trim as he could, he 
 waited on Mr. Bradford, the printer, who received him with 
 great civility, and invited him to breakfast, but told him he 
 was sorry he had no occasion for a journeyman. There is, 
 however, continued he in a cheering manner, there is an- 
 other printer here, of the name of Reimer, to whom if you 
 wish it, I will introduce you. Perhaps he may want your 
 services. 
 
 Ben gratefully accepting the offer, away they went to Mr. 
 Keimer's. But alas, poor man! both he and his office put 
 together, made no more than a miserable burlesque on 
 printing. Only one press, and that old and damaged ! only 
 one font of types, and that nearly worn out! and only one 
 set of letter cases, and that occupied by himself ! and con- 
 sequently no room for a journeyman. 
 
 Here was a sad prospect for poor Ben — four hundred 
 miles from home — not a dollar in his pocket — and no ap- 
 pearance of any employment to get one. — But having, from 
 his childhood, been accustomed to grapple with difficulties 
 and to overcome them, Ben saw nothing here but another 
 trial of his courage, and another opportunity for victory and 
 triumph. 
 
 As to Keimer, suspecting from his youthful appearance, 
 that Ben could hardly understand any thing of the printing 
 art, he slyly put a composing stick into his hand. Ben 
 
TflE LIFE OF 
 
 saw his drift, and stepping to the letter cases, filled the sticK 
 with such celerity and taste as struck Keimer with surprise, 
 not without shame, that one so inferior in years should be 
 so far his superior in professional skill. To complete this 
 favourable impression, Ben modestly proposed to repair his 
 old press. — This offer being accepted, Ben instantly fell to 
 work, and presently accomplished his undertaking in such a 
 workman-like style, thai Keimer could no longer restrain 
 his feelings, but relaxing his rigid features into a smile of 
 admiration, paid him several flattering compliments, and 
 concluded with promising him, that though, for the present, 
 he had no work on hand, yet he expected an abundance 
 shortly, and then would be sure to send for him. 
 
 In a few days Keimer was as good as his word; for having 
 procured another set of letter cases, with a small pamphlet 
 to print, he sent in all haste for Ben, and set him to work. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 As Keimer is to make a considerable figure in the early 
 part of Ben's life, it may gratify the reader to be made ac- 
 quainted with him. From the account given of him by Ben, 
 who had the best opportunity to know, it appears that he 
 possessed but little either of the amiable or estimable in his 
 composition. A man he was of but slender talents — quite- 
 ignorant of the world — a wretched workman — and worse 
 than all yet, utterly destitute of religion, and therefore very 
 uneven and unhappy in his temper, and abundantly capable 
 of playing the knave whenever he thought it for his interest. 
 Among other evidences of his folly, he miserably envied hi: 
 brother printer, Bradford, as if the Almighty was not rich 
 enough to maintain them both. He could not endure, that 
 while working with him, Ben should stay at Bradford's; so 
 he took him away, and having no house of his own, he put 
 him to board with Mr. Read, father of the young lady who 
 of late had laughed so heartily at him for eating his rolls 
 along the street. But Miss Deborah did not long continue 
 in this mind. For on seeing the favourable change in his 
 dress, and marking also the wittiness of his conversation, 
 and above all, his close application to business, and the 
 great respect paid him on that account bv her father, she 
 
OR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 felt a wonderful change in his favour, and in place of her 
 former sneers, conceived those tender sentiments for him, 
 which, as we shall see hereafter, accompanied her through life. 
 
 Ben now began to contract acquaintance with all such 
 young persons in Philadelphia as were fond of reading ;<1 
 spent his evenings with them very agreeably: at the 
 time he picked up money by his industry, and being quite 
 frugal, lived so happy, that except for his parents, he seldom 
 ever thought of Boston nor felt any wish to see it. An af- 
 fair, however, turned up, which sent him home much sooner 
 than he expected. 
 
 His brother-in-law r , a captain Holmes, of a trading sloop 
 from Boston to Delaware, happening at Newcastle to hear 
 that Ben was in Philadelphia, wrote to him that his father 
 was all but distracted on account of his sudden elopement 
 from home, and assured him that if he would but return, 
 which he earnestly pressed him to do, every thing should be 
 settled to his satisfaction. Ben immediately answered his 
 letter, thanked him for his advice, and stated his reasons 
 for quitting Boston, with a force and clearness that so 
 highly delighted captain Holmes, that he showed it to all 
 his acquaintance at Newcastle, and among the rest to sir 
 William Keith, governor of the province, with whom he 
 happened to dine. The governor read it, and appeared sur- 
 prised when he learnt his age. " IMiy, this must be a young 
 man of extraordinary talents, captain Holmes," said the 
 governor, "very extraordinary talents indeed, and ought to 
 be , encouraged ; we have no printer in Philadelphia now 
 worth a Jig, and if this young man will but set up, there is 
 no doubt of his success. For my part, J will give him all 
 the public business, and render him every other service in my 
 power." 
 
 One day as Keimer and Ben were at work near the win- 
 dow, they saw the governor and colonel French cross the 
 street, and make directly for the printing-office. Keimer n t 
 doubting it was a visit to himself, hurried down stairs to meet 
 them. The Governor taking no notice of Keimer, but eagerly 
 inquiring fjr young Mr. Franklin, came up stairs, and with 
 a condescension to which Ben had not been accustomed, in 
 troduced himself to him — desired to become acquainted with 
 him — and after obligingly reproaching him for not having 
 made himself known when he first came to town, invited 
 him to the tavern where he and colonel French were going to 
 break a bottle of old Madeira. 
 
 5* 
 
54 
 
 THE LIFE O*' 
 
 If Ben was surprised, old Keimer was thunderstruck. Ben 
 went, however, with the governor and the colonel to the ta- 
 vern, where, while the Madeira was circulating in cheerful 
 bumpers, the governor proposed to him to set up a printing- 
 office, stating at the same time the great chances of success, 
 and promising that both himself and colonel French would 
 use their influence in procuring for him the public printing 
 of both governments. As Ben appeared to doubt whether 
 his father would assist him in this enterprise, sir William 
 said that he would give the old gentleman a letter, in which 
 he would represent the advantages of the scheme in a light 
 that would, he'd be bound, determine him in his favour. It 
 was thus concluded that Ben should return to Boston by the 
 first vessel, with the governor's letter to good old Josias: in 
 the mean time Ben was to continue with Keimer, from wh »m 
 this project was to be kept a secret. 
 
 The governor sent every now and then to invite Ben to 
 dine with him, which he considered as a very great honour, 
 especially as his excellency always received and conversed 
 with him in the most familiar manner. 
 
 In April, 1724, Ben embarked for Boston, where, after a 
 fortnight passage, he arrived in safety. Having been ab- 
 sent seven months from his relatives, who had never heard a 
 syllable of him all that time, his sudden appearance threw 
 the family into a scream of joy, and excepting his sour-faced 
 brother James, the whole squad gave him a most hearty wel- 
 come. After much embracing and kissing, and some tears 
 shed on both sides, as is usual at such meetings, Ben kindly 
 inquired after his brother James, and went to see him at his 
 printing-office, not without hopes of making a favourable 
 impression on him by his dress, which was handsome far 
 beyond what he had ever worn in his brother's service; a 
 complete suit of broad cloth, branding new — an elegant sil- 
 ver watch and chain — and his purse crammed with nearly 
 hve pound sterling — all in silver dollars. But it would not 
 all do to win over James. Nor indeed is it to be wondered 
 at; for in losing Ben he had lost a most cheerful, obliging 
 lad, whose rare genius and industry in writing, printing, and 
 Felling his pamphlets and papers, nad brought a noble grist 
 to his mill. 
 
 Ben's parade therefore of his fine clothes, and watch, and 
 silver dollars, only made things worse with James, serving 
 but to make him the more sensible of his loss; so after eye- 
 ; ng him from head to foot with a dark side -long look, "he 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 55 
 
 turned again to his work without saying a syllable to him. 
 The behaviour of his own journeymen contributed still the 
 more to anger poor James: for instead of taking part with him 
 in his prejudices against Ben, they all appeared quite de- 
 lighted with him; and breaking off from their work arid 
 gathering around him, with looks full of curiosity, they ask- 
 ed him a world of questions. 
 
 Philadelphia! said they, O dear! have you been all the. 
 way there to Philadelphia! 
 
 Ben said, yes. 
 
 Why Philadelphia must be a tarnal nation way off! 
 Four hundred miles, said Ben. 
 
 At this they stared on him in silent wonder, for having 
 been four hundred miles from Boston! 
 
 And so they have got a printing-office in Philadelphia! 
 
 Two or three of them, said Ben. 
 
 O la! why that will starve us all here in Boston. 
 
 Not at all, said Ben: their advertising " lost pocket books" 
 — " runaway servants" and 6fc stray cows" in Philadelphia, 
 can no more starve you here in Boston, than the catfish of 
 Delaware, by picking up a few soft-crabs there, can starve 
 our catfish here in Boston harbour. The world's big enough 
 for us all. 
 
 Well, I wonder now if they have any such thing as mo- 
 ney in Philadelphia? 
 
 Ben thrust his hand into his pocket and brought up a whole 
 fist full of dollars! 
 
 The dazzling silver struck them all speechless — gaping 
 and gazing at him and each other. Poor fellows, they had 
 never, at once, seen so much of that precious metal in Bos- 
 ton: the money there being nothing but a poor paper proc. 
 
 To keep up their stare, Ben drew his silver watch, which 
 soon had to take the rounds among them, every one insist- 
 ing to have a look at it. Then, to crown all, he gave them 
 a shilling to drink his health; and after telling them what 
 great things lay before them if they would but continue in- 
 dustrious and prudent, and make themselves masters of their 
 trade, he w r ent back to the house. 
 
 This visit to the office stung poor James to the quick; for 
 when his mother spoke to him of a reconciliation with Ben, 
 and said how happy she should be to see them like brothers 
 again before she died, he flew into a passion and told her 
 such a thing would never be, for that Ben had so insulted 
 him before his men that he would never forgive nor forget 
 
56 
 
 THE XJTE OF 
 
 it as long; as he lived. Bui lien had the satisfaction to live 
 to see that James was no prophet. For when James, many 
 years after this, fell behind hand and got quite low in the 
 world, Ben lent him money, and was a steady friend to him 
 and his family all the days of his life. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 But we have said nothing yet about the main object of 
 Ben's sudden return to Boston, i. e. governor Keith's iettei 
 to his father, on the grand project of setting him up as a 
 printer in Philadelphia. The reader has been told that all 
 the family, his brother James excepted, were greatly re- 
 joiced to see Ben again. But among them all there was none 
 whose heart felt half such joy as did that of his father. He had 
 always doted on this young son, as one whose rare genius and 
 unconquerable industry, if but conducted by prudence, would 
 assuredly, one day, lead him to greatness. His sudden elope- 
 ment, as we have seen, had greatly distressed the old man, 
 especially as he was under the impression that he was gone 
 to sea. And when he remembered how few that go out at 
 his young and inexperienced age, ever return better than 
 blackguards and vagabonds, his neart sickened within him, 
 and he was almost ready to wish he had never lived to feel 
 the pangs of such bitter disappointment in a child so be- 
 loved. He counted the days of Ben's absence; by nignt his 
 sleep departed from his eyes for thinking of his son; and all 
 day long whenever he heard a rapping at the door, his heart 
 would leap with expectation: " who knows," he would say to 
 himself, " but this may be my child?" And although he would 
 feel disappointed when he saw it was not Ben who rapped, 
 yet he was afraid, at times, to see him lest he should see 
 him covered with the marks of dishonour. Who can tell 
 what this anxious father felt when he saw his son return as 
 he did? Not in the mean apparel and sneaking looks of a 
 drunkard, but in a dress far more genteel than he himself 
 had ever been able to put on him; while his beloved cheeks 
 were fresh with temperance, and his eyes bright with inno- 
 cence and conscious well doing. Imagination dwells with 
 pleasure on the tender scene that marked that meeting, 
 where the withered cheeks of seventy and the florid bicuti 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 57 
 
 of seventeen met together in the eager embrace of parental 
 affection and filial gratitude. 
 
 " God bless my son!" the sobbing sire he sigh'd. 
 
 " God bless my sire!" that pious son replied. 
 
 Soon as the happy father could recover his articulation, 
 with great tenderness he said, "but how, my beloved boy, 
 could you give me the pain to leave me as you did ?" 
 
 46 Why you know, my dear father," replied Ben, "that I 
 could not live with my brother; nor would he let me live with 
 the other printers; and as I could not bear the thought of living 
 on an aged father now that I was able to work for myself, 
 I determined to leave Boston and seek my fortune abroad. 
 And knowing that if I but hinted my intentions you would 
 prevent me, I thought I would leave you as I did." 
 
 " But why, my son, did you keep me so long unhappy 
 about your fate, and not write to me sooner?" 
 
 " I knew, father, what a deep interest you took in my wel- 
 fare, and therefore I resolved never to write to you until by 
 my own industry and economy I had got myself into such a 
 state, that I could write to you with pleasure. This state I 
 did not attain till lately. And just as I was a going to write 
 to you, a strange affair took place that decided me to come 
 ind see you, rather than write to you." 
 
 " Strange affair! what can that mean, my son ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, the governor of Pennsylvania, sir William 
 Keith — I dare say, father, you have often heard of governor 
 Keith r" 
 
 46 I may have heard of him, child — I'm not positive — but 
 what of governor Keith?" 
 
 " Why he has taken a wonderful liking to me, father!" 
 
 "Aye! has he so?" said the old man, with joy sparkling 
 in his eyes. " Well I pray God you may be grateful for 
 such favours, my son, and make a good use of them!" 
 
 "Yes, father, he has taken a great liking to me sure 
 enough; he says I am the only one in Philadelphia whc 
 knows any thing about printing; and he says too, that if I 
 will only come and set up in Philadelphia, he will make my 
 fortune for me in a trice!!" 
 
 Old Josias here shook his head; " No, no, Ben!" said he, 
 * that will never do: that will never do: you are too young 
 yet, child, for all that, a great deal too young." 
 
 " So I told him, father, that I was too young. And I told 
 him too that I was certain you would never give your con 
 sent to it" 
 
58 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " You were right there, Ben ; no indeed, I could nevei 
 give my consent to it, that's certain." 
 
 " So I told the governor, father; but still he would have 
 it there was a fine opening in Philadelphia, and that I would 
 fill it so exactly, that nothing could be wanting to insure 
 your approbation but a clear understanding of it. And to 
 that end he has written you a letter." 
 
 4i A letter, child! a letter from governor Keith to me!" 
 
 " Yes, father, here it is." 
 
 With great eagerness the old gentleman took it from Ben; 
 and drawing his spectacles, read it over and over again with 
 much eagerness. When he was done he lifted his eyes to 
 heaven, while in the motion of his lips and change of coun- 
 tenance, Ben could clearly see that the soul of his father 
 was breathing an ejaculation of praise to God on his account. 
 Soon as his Te Deum was finished, he turned to Ben with 
 a countenance bright with holy joy, and said, " Ben, I've 
 cause to be happy; my son, I've cause to be happy indeed. 
 O how differently have things turned out with you ! God's 
 blessed name be praised for it, how differently have they 
 turned out to what I dreaded ! I was afraid you were gone 
 a poor vagabond, on the seas ; but instead of that you had 
 fixed yourself in one of the finest cities in the country. I 
 was afraid to see you; yes, my dear child, I was afraid to 
 see vou, lest I should see you clad in the mean garb of a 
 poor sailor boy; but here I behold you clad in the dress of a 
 gentleman! I trembled lest you had been degrading yourself 
 into the low company of the profane and worthless; and lo! 
 you have been all the time exalting yourself into the high so- 
 ciety of great men and governors. And all this in so short a 
 time, and in a way most honourable to yourself, and therefore 
 most delightful to me, I mean by your virtues and your close 
 attention to the duties of a most useful profession. Go on, my 
 son, go on! and may God Almighty, who has given you wis- 
 dom to begin so glorious a course,grant you fortitude to per- 
 severe in it!" 
 
 Ben thanked his father for the continuance of his love and 
 solicitude for him; and he told him moreover, that one princi- 
 pal thing that had stirred him up to act as he had done, was 
 the joy which he knew he should be giving him thereby; as 
 also the great trouble which he knew a contrary conduct 
 would have brought upon him. Here his father tenderly 
 embraced him, and said, "Blessed be God for giving me 
 such a son! I have always, Ben, fed myself with hopes "f 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 great tilings from you. And now I have the joy to say my 
 hopes were not in vain. Yes, glory to God, I trust my precious 
 hopes of you were not in vain." Then* after making a short 
 
 fmuse, as from fullness of joy, he went on, "but as to this 
 etter, my son; this same letter here from governor Keith; 
 though nothing was ever more flattering to you, yet depend 
 upon it, Ben, it will never do; at least not yet awhile. — The 
 duties of the place are too numerous, child, and difficult for 
 any but one who has had many more years of experience 
 than you have had." 
 
 " Well then, father, what's to be done, for I know that the 
 governor is so very anxious to get me into this place, that 
 he will hardly be said nay?" 
 
 " Why, my dear boy, we must still decline it, for all that: 
 not only because from your very unripe age and inexperience, 
 it may involve you in ruin; but also because it actually is 
 not in your power. It is true the governor, from his letter, 
 appears to have the greatest friendship in the world for you; 
 but yet, it is not to be expected that he would advance funds 
 to set you up. O no, my dear boy, that's entirely out of 
 the question. The governor, though perhaps rich, has no 
 doubt too many poor friends and relations hanging on him, 
 for you to expect any thing from that quarter. And as to 
 myself, Ben, with all my love for you, it is not in my power 
 to assist you in such an affair. My family you know, is very 
 large, and the profits of my trade but small, insomuch that 
 at the end of the year there is nothing left. And indeed 
 I never can be sufficiently thankful to God for that health 
 and blessing which enables me to feed and clothe them every 
 year so plentifully." 
 
 Seeing Ben look rather serious, the old gentleman, in a 
 livelier tone, resumed his speech, "Yes, Ben, all this is very 
 true; butyet let us not be disheartened. Although we have 
 no funds now, yet a noble supply is at hand." 
 
 " Where, father," said Ben, roused up, " where?" 
 "Why, in your own virtues, Ben, in your own virtues 
 my boy — There are the noblest funds that God can bestow 
 on a young man. All other funds may easily be drained by 
 our vices and leave us poor indeed. But the virtues are 
 fountains that never fail: they are indeed the true richer 
 and honours, only by other names. Only persevere, my 
 son, in the virtues, as you have already so bravely begun, 
 and the grand object is gained. By the time you reach 
 twenty-one, for every friend that you now have, you wil 
 
60 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 nave ten; and for every dollar an hundred ; and with these 
 you will make thousands more. Thus, under God, you will 
 have the glory to be the artificer of your own fame and for- 
 tune: and that will bring ter thousand times more honou* 
 and happiness, to you, Ben, than all the money that gover- 
 nors and fathers could ever give you." 
 
 Ben's countenance brightened as his father uttered this; 
 then heaving a deep sigh, as of strong hope that such great 
 things might one day be realized, he said, fc * Well father, God 
 only knows what 1 am to come to; but this I know, that 1 
 feel in myself a determination to do my best." 
 "I believe you do, my son, and I thank God most heartily 
 that I have such good reason to believe you do. And when 
 I consider, on the one hand, what a fine field for fame and 
 fortune this new country presents to young men of talents 
 and enterprise: and on the other hand, what wonders you, 
 a poor unknown and unfriended boy have done in Philadel- 
 phia, in only six months, I feel transported at the thought 
 of what you may yet attain before my gray hairs descend to 
 the grave. Who knows, Ben, for God is good, my son, 
 who knows but that a fate like that of young Joseph, whom 
 his brethren drove into Egypt, may be in reserve for your 
 And who knows but that old Jacob's joys may be mine? that 
 like him, after all my anxieties on your account, I may yet 
 hear the name of my youngest son, my beloved Benjamin, 
 coming up from the South, perfumed with praise for his 
 great virtues and services to his country? Then when I 
 hear the sound of his fame rising from that distant land, like 
 the pleasant thunders of summer before refreshing showers, 
 and remember how he used to stand a little prattling boy 
 by my side, in his rosy cheeks and flaxen locks filling the 
 candle moulds, or twisting the snow white cotton wicks with 
 nis tender fingers, O how will such remembrance lighten 
 up the dark evening of my days, and cause my setting sun 
 to go down in joy!" 
 
 He spoke this in tones so melting, that Ben, who was sit- 
 ting by his father's side, fell with his face on his bosom, 
 without saying a word. The fond parent, hearing him sob, 
 tenderly embraced him, and with a voice broken with sighs, 
 went on, " Yes, my son, the measure of my joys will then 
 be full. I shall have nothing to detain me any longer in this 
 vale of troubles, but shall gladly breathe out my life in praise 
 to God for this h*s last, his crowning act of goodness — for 
 this his blessing me in my son." 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 01 
 
 After a moment's pause, the feelings of both being too 
 delicious! y affected for speech, lien gently raised his face 
 from his father's bosom, and with his eves yet red and wet 
 with tears, tenderly looking at him, said, ki I would to God, 
 father, you would go and live in Philadelphia." 
 
 44 Why so, my son?" 
 
 44 Because, I don't want ever to part with you, father: 
 and T am, you know, obliged to go back to Philadelphia im- 
 mediately." 
 
 44 Not immediately, my son, I cannot let you go from me 
 immediately." 
 
 "Father, I would never go from you, if I could help it; 
 but I must be doing something to make good your fond hopes 
 of me; and I can't stay here." 
 
 • Why not, my son?" 
 
 44 Father, 1 can't stay with those who hate me; and you 
 know that brother James hates me very much." 
 
 44 0! he does not hate you, I hope, my son." 
 
 46 Yes, he does, father, indeed he does; because I only 
 differed from him in opinion and ventured to reason with 
 him, he kindled into passion and abused me even to blows, 
 though I was in the right, as you told him afterwards. And 
 because I told him I did not think he acted the part of a bro- 
 ther by me in wishing to make me a slave so many years, he 
 went about town and set all the printers against me, and 
 thus drove me away from home, and from you, my father, 
 whom I so much love. And just now, when I went to his 
 ofiice to see him, instead of running to meet me and rejoicing 
 to see me returned safe and sound and so well dressed and 
 a plenty of money in my pocket, he would not even speak 
 to me, but looked as dark and angry as though he would have 
 torn me to pieces. And yet he can turn up his eyes, and 
 make long prayers and graces, and talk a great deal about 
 Jesus Christ!" 
 
 The old man here shook his head with a deep groan, while 
 Ben thus went on, 44 No, father, I can't stay here; I must be 
 going back to Philadelphia and to my good friend governor 
 Keith; for I long to be realizing all the great hopes that you 
 have been forming of me. And should God but give me a 
 good settlement in Philadelphia, then you will come and 
 live with me. O say, my father, wont you come and live 
 with me?" 
 
 Ben spoke this, looking up to his father with that joy of 
 6 
 
62 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 filial love sparkling in his youthful eyes which made trim look 
 like all that we fancy of angels. 
 
 The old man embraced him and said, " I will, my son, I 
 will; but stay with me a little while, at the least three days, 
 and then you may depart." Ben consenting to this, the old 
 gentleman wrote a polite letter to governor Keith, thanking 
 him very heartily for that he, so great a man, should have 
 paid such attentions to his poor boy: but at the same time 
 begged his pardon for declining to do any thing for him, not 
 only because he had very little in his power to do; but also 
 because he thought him too young to be intrusted with the 
 conduct of an enterprise that required much more experience 
 than he possessed. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Of the three days which Ben, as we have seen above, had 
 consented to »tay at home, he spent the chiefest part with 
 his father, in his old candle manufactory. ? Tis true, this 
 nappy sire, whose natural affection for Ben as a son, was 
 now exalted into the highest respect for him as a youth of 
 talents and virtues; and perhaps too, looking up to him as a 
 young mountain oak, whose towering arms would soon pro- 
 tect the parent tree, insisted that Ben should not stay in that 
 dirty place, as he called it. But knowing that his father 
 could not be spared from his daily labour, Ben insisted to be 
 with him in the old shop, and to assist in his labours, re- 
 minding his father how sweetly the time passes away when 
 at work and conversing with those we love. His father at 
 length consented: and those three days, now spent with Ben, 
 were the happiest days he had spent for a long time. His 
 aged bosom was now relieved from his six months' load of 
 fears and anxieties about this beloved child; nor only so, 
 but this beloved child, shining in a light of his own virtues, 
 was now with him, and as a volunteer of lilial love was min- 
 gling in his toils — eagerly lending his youthful strength to 
 assist him in packing and boxing his candles and soap; 
 while his sensible conversation, heightened all the time 
 by the charm of that voice and those eyes that had ever 
 been so dear to him, touched his heart with a sweetness ai 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 fr3 
 
 expressible, and made the happy hours fly away as on angels' 
 wings. 
 
 On the afternoon of the third day, as they were returning 
 from dinner, walking down the garden, at the foot of which 
 the factory stood, the old gentleman lifting his eyes to the 
 sun, suddenly heaved a deep sigh and put on a melancholy 
 look. 
 
 44 High, father!" said Ben, 44 I see no cloud over the sun 
 that we should fear a change of weather." 
 
 44 No, Ben, there is.no cloud over the sun, but still his 
 beams throw a cloud over my spirits. They put me in mind 
 that I shall walk here to-morrow, but with no son by my 
 side!" 
 
 The idea was mournful: and more so by the tender look 
 and plaintive tones in which it was conveyed. — It wrung the 
 heart of Ben, who in silence glanced his eyes on his father. 
 It was that tender glance of sorrowing love which quick- 
 est reaches the heart and stirs up all its yearnings. The 
 old gentleman felt the meaning of his son's looks. They 
 seemed to say to him, 44 O my father, must we part to-mor- 
 row ?" 
 
 44 Yes, Ben, we part to-morrow, and perhaps never to meet 
 again!" 
 
 After a short pause, with a sigh, he thus resumed his 
 speech — 44 Then, O my son, what a wretch were man with- 
 out religion? Yes, Ben, without the hopes of immortality, 
 how much better he had never been born? Without these, 
 his noblest capacities were but the greater curses. The more 
 delightful his friendships the more dreadful the thought 
 they may be extinguished for ever; and the gayer his pros- 
 pects the deeper his gloom, that endless darkness may so 
 quickly cover all. We were yesterday feeding fond hopes, my 
 son; we were yesterday painting bright castles in the air: 
 you were to be a great man and I a happy father. But alas! 
 this is the last day, my child, that we may ever see each 
 other again. And the sad reverse of all this may even now 
 be at the door; when I, instead of hearing of my son's glory 
 in Philadelphia, may hear that he is cold in his grave. 
 And when you, returning — after years of virtuous toils, re- 
 turning laden with riches and honours for your happy father 
 to share in, may see nothing of that father but the tomb that 
 covers his dust." 
 
 Seeing the moisture in Ben's eyes, the old gentleman, 
 with a voice rising to exultation, thus went on, 44 Yes, Beu* 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 this may soon be the case with us, my child; the dark cur- 
 tain of our separation soon may drop, and your cheeks or 
 mine be flooded with sorrows. But thanks be to God, that 
 curtain will rise again, and open to our view those scenes 
 of happiness, one glance at which is sufficient to start the 
 tear of transport into our eyes. Yes, Ben, religion assures 
 us of all this; religion assures us that this life is but the 
 morning of our existence — that there is a glorious eternity 
 beyond — and that to the penitent, death is but the passage to 
 that happy life where they shall soon meet again to part no 
 more, but to congratulate their mutual felicities for ever 
 Then, O my son, lay hold of religion, and secure an in- 
 terest in those blessed hopes that contribute so much to the 
 virtues and the joys of life." 
 
 " Father," said Ben with a sigh, " I know that many peo- 
 ple here in Boston think I never had any religion; or, that 
 if I had I have apostatized from it." 
 
 " God forbid! But whence, my son, could these preju- 
 dices have arisen?" 
 
 " Why, father, I have for some time past discovered that 
 there is no effect without a cause. These prejudices have 
 been the effect of my youthful errors. You remember fa- 
 ther, the old story of the pork, don't you?" 
 
 ik No, child; what is it, for I have forgotten it?" 
 
 " I thought so, father, I thought you had been so good as 
 to forget it. But I have not, nor ever shall forget it." 
 
 " What is it, Ben?" 
 
 a Why, father, when our pork, one fall, lay salted and 
 ready for the barrel, I begged you to say grace over it all at 
 once; adding that it would do as well and save a great deal 
 of time" 
 
 " Pshaw,Ben, such a trifle as that, and in a child too, can- 
 not be remembered against you now." 
 
 " Yes, father, I am afraid it is. All are not so loving, 
 and so forgetful of my errors as you. It was at the time in- 
 serted in the Boston News Letter, and is now recollected 
 to the discredit of my religion. And they have a prejudice 
 against me on another account. While I lived with you, 
 father, you always took me to meeting with you; but when 
 [ left you and went to live with my brother James, I often 
 neglected going to meeting; preferring to stay at home and 
 read my books." 
 
 " 1 am sorry to hear that, Ben; very sorrv that you could 
 neglect the preachings of Christ." 
 
OK. FU.ANKLIN. 
 
 65 
 
 « Fainer, I never neglected them. I look on the preach- 
 ing of Christ as the finest system of morality in the world; 
 and his parables, such as "The Prodigal Son — "the Good 
 Samaritan" — "the Lost Sheep," &c. as models of divine 
 goodness. And if I could only hear a preacher take these 
 for his texts, and paint them in those rich colours they are 
 capable of, I would never stay from meeting. But now, 
 father, when I go, instead of those benevolent preachings 
 and parables which Christ so delighted in, I hardly ever hear 
 any thing but lean, .chaffy discourses about the Trinity, 
 and Baptisms, and Elections, and Reprobations, and 
 Final Perseverances, and Covenants, and a thousand 
 other such things which do not strike my fancy as religion 
 at all, because not in the least calculated, as I think, to 
 sweeten and ennoble men's natures, and make them love and 
 do good to one another." 
 
 " There is too much truth in your remark, Ben; and I 
 have often been sorry that our preachers lay such stress on 
 these things, and do not stick closer to the preachings of 
 Christ." 
 
 " Stick closer to them, father! O no, to do them justice, 
 sir, we must not charge them with not sticking to the text, 
 for they never take Christ for their text, but some dark pas- 
 sage out of the prophets or apostles, which will better suit 
 their gloomy education. Or if they should, by some lucky hit, 
 honour Christ for a text, they quickly give him the go-by 
 and lug in Calvin or some other angry doctor; and then in 
 place of the soft showers of Gospel pity on sinners, we have 
 nothing but the dreadful thunderings of eternal hate, with 
 the unavailing screams of little children in hell not a span 
 long! Now, father, as I do not look on such preaching as 
 this to be any ways pleasing to the Deity or profitable to 
 man, I choose to stay at home and read my books; and this 
 is the reason, I suppose, why my brother James and the 
 council-men here of Boston think that 1 have no religion." 
 
 " Your strictures on some of our ministers, my son, are 
 in rather a strong style: but still there is too much truth in 
 them to be denied. However, as to what your brother James 
 and the council think of you, it is of little consequen ce, pro- 
 vided you but possess true religion*" 
 
 " Aye, True Religion, father, is another thing; and I 
 should like to possess it. But as to such religion as theirs, 
 I must confess, father, I never had and never wish to 
 have it." 
 
 6* 
 
66 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 14 But what do you mean by their religion, my son?" 
 
 " Why, 1 mean, lather, a religion of gloomy forms and 
 notions, that have no tendency to make men good and happy, 
 either in themselves or to others." 
 
 " So then, my son, you make maris happiness the end of 
 religion." 
 
 66 Certainly I do, father." 
 
 " Our catechisms, Ben, make God's glory the end of re- 
 ligion." 
 
 " That amounts to the same thing, father; as the framers 
 of the catechisms, I suppose, placed God's glory in the hap- 
 piness of man." 
 
 " But why do you suppose that so readily, Ben?" 
 
 " Because, father, all wise workmen place their glory in 
 the perfection of their works. The gunsmith glories in his 
 rifle, when she never misses her aim; the clockmaker glories in 
 his clock when she tells the time exactly. They thus glory, 
 because their works answer the ends for which they were 
 made. Now God, who is wiser than all workmen, had, no 
 doubt, his ends in making man. But certainly he could not 
 have made him with a view of getting any thing from him, 
 seeing man has nothing to give. And as God, From his own 
 infinite riches, has a boundless power to give^ and from his 
 infinite benevolence, must have an equal delight in giving, I 
 can see no end so likely for his making man as to make him 
 happy. I think, father, all this looks quite reasonable." 
 
 " Why, yes, to be sure, Ben, it does look very reasonable 
 indeed." 
 
 " Well then, father, since all wise workmen glory in their 
 works when they answer the ends for which they designed 
 them, God must glory in the happiness of man, that being the 
 end for which he made him." 
 
 "This seems, indeed, Ben, to be perfectly agreeable to 
 reason." 
 
 46 Yes, sir, not only to reason, but to nature too: for even 
 nature, I think, father, in all her operations, clearly teaches 
 that God must take an exceeding glory in our happiness; for 
 what else could have led him to build for us such a noble 
 world as this; adorned with so much beauty; stored with such 
 treasures; peopled with so many fair creatures; and lighted 
 up as it is with such gorgeous luminaries by day and by 
 night?" 
 
 u l am glad, my son, 1 touched on this subject of religion 
 in the way I did; your mode of thinking and reasoning on 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 it pleases me greatly. But now taking all this for granted, 
 what is still your idea of the true religion?" 
 
 " Why, father, if God thus places his glory in the happi- 
 ness of man, does it not follow that the most acceptable 
 thing that man can do for God, or in other words, that the 
 true religion of man consists in his so living, as to attain the 
 highest possible perfection and happiness of his nature, that 
 being the chief end and glory of the Deity in creating him?" 
 
 " Well, but how is this to be done ?" 
 
 "Certainly, father, by imitating the Deity." 
 
 "By imitating him, child! but how are we to imitate 
 him?" 
 
 " In his goodness, father." 
 
 " But why do you pitch on his goodness rather than on 
 any other of his attributes?" 
 
 * Because, father, this seems, evidently, the prince of all 
 his other attributes, and greater than all." 
 
 " Take care child, that you do not blaspheme. How can 
 one of God's attributes be greater than another, when all are 
 infinite?" 
 
 " Why, father, must not that which moves be greater than 
 that which is moved?" 
 
 " What am I to understand by that, Ben?" 
 
 " I mean, father, that the power and wisdom of the Deity, 
 though both unspeakably great, would probably stand still 
 and do nothing for men, were they not moved to it by his 
 goodness. His goodness then, which comes and puts his 
 power and wisdom into motion, and thus fills heaven and 
 earth with happiness, must be the greatest of all his attri- 
 butes." 
 
 " 1 don't know what to say to that, Ben; certainly his power 
 and wisdom must be very great too." 
 
 " Yes, father, they are very great indeed: but still they 
 seem but subject to his greater benevolence which enlists them 
 in its service and constantly gives them its own delightful 
 work to do. For example, father, the wisdom and power of 
 the Deity can do any thing, but his benevolence takes 
 care that they shall do nothing but for good. The power 
 and wisdom of the Deity could have made changes both in the 
 earth and heavens widely different from their present state. 
 They could, for instance, have placed the sun a great deal 
 farther off' or a great deal nearer to us. But then in the first 
 case we should have been frozen to icicles, and in the second 
 scorched to cinders. The power of the Deity could have 
 
08 
 
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 <>iven a tenfold force to the winds, but then no tree couid 
 have stood on the land* and no ship could have sailed on the 
 seas. The power of the Deity could also have made changes 
 as great in all other parts of nature; it could have made 
 every fish as monstrous as a whale, every bird dreadful as the 
 condor, every beast as vast as the elephant, and every tree a& 
 big as a mountain. But then it must strike every one that 
 these changes would all have been utterly for the worse, ren 
 dering these noble parts of nature comparatively useless to 
 us. — I say the power of the Deity could have done ail this, 
 and might have so done but for his benevolence, which would 
 not allow such discords, but has, on the contrary, established 
 all things on a scale of the exactest harmony with the con- 
 venience and happiness of man. Now, for example, father, 
 the sun, though placed at an enormous distance from us, is 
 placed at the very distance he should be for all the important 
 purposes of light and heat; so that the earth and waters, neither 
 frozen nor burnt, enjoy the temperature fittest for life and 
 vegetation. Now the meadows are covered with grass; the 
 fields with corn; the trees with leaves and fruits; present- 
 ing a spectacle of universal beauty and plenty, feasting all 
 senses and gladdening all hearts; while man, the favoured 
 lord of al\ looking around him amidst the mingled singing of 
 birds and skipping of beasts and leaping of fishes, is struck 
 with wonder at the beauteous scenery, and gratefully ac- 
 knowledges that benevolence is the darling attribute of the 
 Deity." 
 
 " I thank God, my son, for giving you wisdom to reason 
 in this way. But what is still your inference from all this, 
 as to true religion?" 
 
 << Why, my dear father, my inference is still in confirma- 
 tion of my first answer to your question relative to the true 
 religion, that it consists in our imitating the Deity in his 
 goodness. Every wise parent, wishing to allure his children 
 to any particular virtue, is careful to set them the fairest 
 examples of the same, as knowing that example is more pow« 
 erful than precept. Now since the Deity, throughout all 
 his works, so invariably employs his great power and wis 
 dom as the ministers of his benevolence to make his crea- 
 tures happy, what can this be for but an example to us; 
 teaching that if we wish to please him — the true end of all 
 religion — we must imitate him in his moral goodness, which 
 if we would but all do as steadily as he does, we should re- 
 cal the golden age, and convert this world into Paradise " 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 69 
 
 All this looks very fair, Hen; but yet after all what are 
 we to do without Faith r" 
 
 46 Why, father, as to Faith, I cannot say; not knowing; 
 tt*uch about it. But this I can say, that I am afraid of any 
 substitutes to the moral character of the Deity. In short, 
 sir, I don't love the fig-leaf." 
 
 44 Fig-leaf! I don't understand you, child: what do you 
 mean by the tig -leaf?" 
 
 64 Why, father, we read in the Bible that soon as Adam 
 had lost that true image of the Deity, his Moral Goodness, 
 instead of striving to recover it again, he went and sewed 
 fig-leaves together to cover himself with." 
 
 44 Stick t<J the point, child." 
 
 44 1 am to the point, father. I mean to say that as Adam 
 sought a vain fig-leaf covering, rather than the imitation of 
 the Deity in moral goodness, so his posterity have ever since 
 been fond of running after fig-leaf substitutes." 
 
 44 Aye! well 1 should be glad to hear you explain a little 
 on that head, Ben." 
 
 44 Father, I don't pretend to explain a subject I don't un- 
 derstand, but I find in Plutarch's Lives and the Heathen 
 Antiquities, which I read in your old divinity library, and 
 which no doubt give a true account of religion among the 
 ancients, that when they were troubled on account of their 
 crimes, they do not seem once to have thought of conciliating 
 the Deity by reformation, and by acts of benevolence and 
 goodness, to be like him. No, they appear to have been too 
 much enamoured of lust, and pride, and revenge, to relish 
 moral goodness; such lessons were too much against the 
 grain. But still something must be done to appease the Deity. 
 Weil then, since they could not sum up courage enough to 
 attempt it by imitating his goodness, they would try it by 
 coaxing his vanity — they would build him grand temples; 
 and make him mighty sacrifices; and rich offerings. This I 
 am told, father, was tMir fig-leaf." 
 
 44 Why this, I fear, Ben, is a true bill against the pool 
 Heathens." 
 
 44 Well, I am sure, father, the Jews were equally fond ot 
 the fig-leaf; as their own countrymen, the Prophets, are con- 
 stantly charging them. Justice, Mercy, and Truth had, \* 
 seems, no charms for them. They must have fig-leaf substi- 
 tutes, such as ty things of mint, anise, and cummin, au' 1 
 making fc long prayers in the streets,* and deep groaning?* 
 with 4 disfigured faces in the synagogues.' If they )ut did 
 
70 
 
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 all this, then surely they must be Abraham's children, even 
 though they devoured widows' houses." 
 Here good old Josias groaned. 
 
 44 Yes, father," continued Ben, -'and it were well if the 
 rage for the fig-leaf stopped with the Jews and Heathens; but 
 the Christians are just as fond of substitutes that may save 
 them the labour of imitating the Deity in his moral goodness. 
 It is true, the old Jewish hobbies, mint, anise, and cummin, 
 are not the hobbies of Christians; but still, father, you are 
 not to suppose that they are to be disheartened for all that. 
 Oh no. They have got a hobby worth all of them put toge- 
 ther — they have got Faith." 
 
 Here good old 'Josias began to darken; and logkingat Ben 
 with great solemnity, said, 44 I am afraid, my son, you do not 
 treat this great article of our holy religion with sufficient 
 reverence." 
 
 44 My dear father," replied Ben eagerly, 44 I mean not 
 the least reflection on Faith, but solely on those hypocrites 
 who abuse it to countenance their vices and crimes." 
 
 64 O then, if that be your aim, go on, Ben, go on." 
 
 44 Well, sir, as I was saying, not only the Jews and Hea- 
 thens, but the Christians also have their fig-leaf substitutes 
 for Moral Goodness, Because Christ has said that so great 
 is the Divine Clemency, that if even the worst of men will 
 but have faith in it so as to repent and amend their lives by 
 the golden law of 4 love and good works,' they should be 
 saved, many lazy Christians are fond of overlooking those 
 excellent conditions 4 Love and Good works,' which con- 
 stitute the moral image of the Deity, and fix upon the word 
 Faith for their salvation." 
 
 44 Well, but child, do you make no account of faith ?" 
 
 44 None, father, as a fig-leaf cloak of immorality." 
 
 44 But is not faith a great virtue in itself, and a qualifica- 
 tion for heaven?" 
 
 44 1 think not, sir; I look on faith but as a mean to begei 
 that moral goodness, which, to me, appears to be the onlv 
 qualification for Heaven." 
 
 46 1 am astonished, child, to hear you say that faith is no* 
 a virtue in itself." 
 
 44 Why, father, the Bible says for me in a thousand 
 places. The Bible says that faith without good works in 
 dead." 
 
 44 But does not the Bible, in a thousand places, say that 
 without faith no man can please God?" 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 7\ 
 
 44 Yes, father, and for the best reason in the world; for 
 who can ever hope to please the Deity without his moral 
 image? and who would ever put himself to the trouble to 
 cultivate the virtues which form that image, unless he had a 
 belief that they were indispensible to the perfection and hap- 
 piness of his nature r" 
 
 44 So then, you look on faith as no virtue in itself, and 
 good for nothing unless it exalt men to the likeness of God?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, as good for nothing unless it exalt us to the 
 likeness of God — nay, as worse; as utterly vile and hypo- 
 critical." 
 
 44 And perhaps you view in the same light the Imputed 
 Righteousness, and the Sacraments of Baptism and the 
 Lord's Supper." 
 
 44 Yes, father, faith, imputed righteousness, sacraments, 
 prayers, sermons; all, all 1 consider as mere barren fig-leaves 
 which will yield no good unless they ripen into the fruits of 
 Benevolence and Good Works." 
 
 44 Well, Ben, 'tis well that you have taken a turn to the 
 printing business; for I don't think, child, that if you had 
 studied divinity, as your uncle Ben and myself once wished, 
 you would ever have got a licence to preach." 
 
 "No, father, I know that well enough; I know that 
 manr who think themselves mighty good Christians, are for 
 getting to heaven on easier terms than imitating the Deity 
 in his moral goodness. To them, faith and imputed righte- 
 ousness, and sacraments, and sour looks, are very convenient 
 things. With a good stock of these they can easily manage 
 matters so as to make a little morality go a great way. But 
 I am thinking they will have to back out of this error, other- 
 wise they will make as bad a hand of their barren faith, as 
 the poor Virginia negroes do of their boasted freedom." 
 
 44 God's mercy, child, what do you mean by that?" 
 
 44 Why, father, I am told that the Virginia negroes, like 
 our faith-mongers, fond of ease and glad of soft substitutes to 
 hard duties, are continually sighing for freedom; 4 O if they 
 had but freedom ! if they had but freedom ! how happy should 
 they be ! They should not then be obliged to work any more. 
 Freedom zoould do every thing for them. Freedom would 
 spread soft beds for them, and heap their tables with roast 
 pigs, squealing out, 'come and eat meS Freedom would give 
 them fine jackets, and rivers of grog, and mountains of se- 
 gars and tobacco, without their sweating for it. 9 Well, by 
 and by, thev get their freedom; perhaps by running away 
 
72 
 
 THE, LIFE OF 
 
 from their masters. And now see what great things lias free- 
 dom done for them. Why, as it is out of the question to 
 think of work now they are/ree, they must give themselves 
 up like gentlemen, to visiting, sleeping, and pastime. In a 
 little time the curses of hunger and nakedness drive them 
 to stealing and house-breaking, for which their backs are 
 ploughed up at whipping-posts, or their necks snapped un- 
 der the gallows! and all this because they must needs live 
 easier than by honest labour, which would have crowned their 
 days with character and comfort. So, father, it is, most exactly 
 so it is, with too many of our Faith-mongers. They have 
 not courage to practise those exalted virtues that would give 
 them the moral likeness of the Deity. Oh no: they must 
 get to heaven in some easier way. They have heard great 
 things of faith. Faith, they are told, has done wonders for 
 other people ; why not for them? Accordingly they fall to 
 work and after many a hard throe of fanaticism, they con- 
 ceit they have got faith sure enough. And now they are 
 happy. Like the poor Virginia negroes, they are clear of 
 all moral working now : thank God they can get to heaven 
 without it; yes, and may take some indulgences, by the 
 way, into the bargain. If, as jovial fellows, they should waste 
 their time and family substance in drinking rum and smok- 
 ing tobacco, where's the harm, aivt they sound believers? If 
 they should, as merchants, sand their sugar, or water their 
 molasses, what great matter is that? Don't they keep up 
 family prayer? If, as men of honour, they should accept a 
 challenge, and receive a shot in a duel, what of that? They 
 have only to send for a priest, and take the sacrament. 
 Thus, father, as freedom has proved the ruin of many a lazy 
 Virginian negro, so I am afraid that such faith as this has 
 made many an hypocritical christian ten times more a child 
 of the devil than he was before." 
 
 Good old Josias, who, while Ben was speaking at this rate, 
 had appeared much agitated, sometimes frowning, sometimes 
 smiling, here replied, with a deep sigh, " Yes, Ben, this is 
 all too true to be denied: and a sad thing it is that mankind 
 should be so ready, as you observe, to go to heaven in any 
 other way than by imitating God in his moral likeness. But 
 I rejoice in hope of you, my son, that painting this lamenta- 
 ble depravity in such strong colours as you do, you will ever 
 act on wiser and more magnanimous principles." 
 
 " Father, I don't affect to be better than other young men, 
 vet I think I can safely say, that if I could get to heaven by 
 
OR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 playing the hypocrite I would riot, while 1 have it in my 
 choice to go thither hy acquiring the virtues that would give 
 me a resemblance to God. For to say nothing of the ex- 
 ceeding honour of acquiring even the faintest resemblance 
 of him, nor yet of the immense happiness which it must af- 
 ford hereafter, I find that even here, and young as I am, the 
 least step towards it, affords a greater pleasure than any thing 
 else; indeed I find that there is so much more pleasure in 
 getting knowledge to resemble the Creator, than in living in 
 ignorance to resemble brutes; so much more pleasure in 
 benevolence and doing good to resemble him, than in hate 
 and doing harm to resemble demons, that I hope I shall al- 
 ways have wisdom and fortitude sufficient even for my own 
 sake,- to spend my life in getting all the useful knowledge, 
 and in doing all the little good I possibly can." 
 
 " God Almighty confirm my son in the wise resolutions 
 which his grace has enabled him thus early to form!" 
 
 " Yes, father, and besides ail this, when I look towards 
 futurity; when I consider the nature of that felicity which 
 exists in heaven; that it is a felicity flowing from the smiles 
 of the Deity on those excellent spirits whom his own ad- 
 monitions have adorned with the virtues that resemble him- 
 self; that the more perfect their virtues, the brighter will be 
 his smiles upon them, with correspondent emanations of bliss 
 that may, for aught we know, be for ever enlarged with their 
 ever enlarging understandings and affections; I say, father, 
 when I have it in my choice to attain to all this in a way so 
 pleasant and honourable as that of imitating the Deity in 
 wisdom and goodness, should I not be worse than mad to 
 decline it on such terms, and prefer substitutes that would 
 tolerate me in ignorance and vice ?" 
 
 " Yes, child, 1 think you would be mad iadeed." 
 
 " Yes, father, especially when it is recollected, that if the 
 ignorant and vicious could, with all their pains, find out 
 substitutes that would serve as passports to heaven, they 
 could not rationally expect a hearty welcome there. For as 
 the Deity delights in the wise and good, because they re- 
 semble him in those qualities which render him so amiable 
 and happy, and would render all his creatures so too; so he 
 must proportionably abhor the stupid and vicious, because 
 deformed with qualities diametrically opposite to his own, 
 and tending to make both themselves and others most vile 
 and miserable." 
 
 ** This is awfullv true, Ben; for the Bible tells us, that 
 7 
 
?4 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the wicked are an abomination to the Lord ; but that tht 
 righteous are his delight." 
 
 " Yes, father, and this is the language not only of the 
 Bible, which is, perhaps, the grand class book of the Deity, 
 but it is also the language of his first or horn book, I mean 
 reason, which teaches, that if * there be a God, and that 
 there is all nature cries aloud through all her works, he must 
 delight in virtue,' because most clearly conducive to the per- 
 fection of mankind; which must be the chief aim and glory 
 of the Deity in creating them. And for the same reason he 
 must abhor vice, because tending to the disgrace and de- 
 struction of his creatures. Hence, father, I think it follows 
 as clearly as a demonstration in mathematics, that if it were 
 possible for bad men, through faith, ijnputed righteousness, 
 cr any other leaf-covering, to get to Paradise, so far from 
 meeting with any thing like cordiality from the Deity, they 
 would be struck speechless at sight of their horrible dissimi- 
 larity to him. For while he delights above all things in giv- 
 ing life, and the duellist glories in destroying it; while he 
 delights in heaping his creatures with good things, and the 
 gambler triumphs in stripping them; while he delights in 
 seeing love and smiles among brethren, and the slanderer in 
 promoting strifes and hatreds; while he delights in exalting 
 the intellectual and moral faculties to the highest degree of 
 heavenly wisdom and virtue, and the drunkard delights in 
 polluting and degrading both below the brutes; what cordi- 
 ality can ever subsist between such opposite natures? Can 
 infinite purity and benevolence behold such monsters with 
 complacency, or could they in his presence otherwise than 
 be filled with intolerable pain and anguish, and fly away as 
 weak-eyed owls from the blaze of the meridian sun ?" 
 
 " Well, Ben, as I said before, I am richly rewarded for 
 naving drawn you into this conversation about religion; your 
 language indeed is not always the language of the scrip- 
 tures; neither do you rest your hopes, as I could have wish- 
 ed, on the Redeemer; but still your idea in placing our quali- 
 fication for heaven in resembling God in moral goodness, is 
 truly evangelical, and 1 4*ope you will one day become a great 
 christian." 
 
 " I thank you, father, for your good wishes; but I am afraid 
 I shall never be the christian you wish me to be." 
 " What, not a christian!" 
 
 66 No, father, at least not in the name; but in the nature 
 \ hope to become a christian. And now, father, as we part 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 7h 
 
 to morrow, and there is a strong presentiment on my mind 
 that it may be a long time before we meet again, I beg you 
 to believe of me that 1 shall never lose sight of my great 
 obligations to an active pursuit of knowledge and usefulness. 
 This, if persevered in, will give me some humble resemblance 
 of the great Author of my being in loving and doing all the 
 good I can to mankind. And then, if I live, I hope, my dear 
 father, I shall give you the joy to see realized some of the 
 fond expectations you have formed of me. And if I should 
 die, I shall die in hope of meeting you in some better world, 
 where you will no more be alarmed for my welfare, nor I 
 grieved to see you conflicting with age and labour and sor- 
 row: but where we may see in each other all that we can 
 conceive of what we call Angels, and in scenes of unde- 
 served splendour, dwell with those enlightened and bene- 
 volent spirits, whose conversation and perfect virtues, will 
 for ever delight us. And where, to crown all, we shall perhaps, 
 at times, be permitted to see that unutterable Being, 
 whose disinterested goodness was the spring of all these 
 felicities." 
 
 Thus ended this curious dialogue, between one of the most 
 amiable parents, and one of the most acute and sagacious 
 youths that our country, or perhaps any other has ever pro- 
 duced. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The three days of Ben's promised stay witn his father 
 being expired, the next morning he embraced his parents and 
 embarked a second time for Philadelphia, but with a much 
 lighter heart than before, because he now left home with his 
 parents' blessing, which they gave him the more willingly as 
 from the dark sanctified frown on poor James' brow they 
 saw in him no disposition towards reconciliation. 
 
 The vessel happening to touch at Newport, Ben gladly 
 took that opportunity to visit his favourite brother John, who 
 received him with great joy. John was always of the mind 
 that Ben would one day or other become a great man; "he 
 was so vastly fond" he said, " of his hook." 
 
 And when he saw the elegant size that Ben's person had 
 now attained, and also his tine mind-illuminated face and 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 manly wit, he was so proud of him that he could not res! 
 until he had introduced him to all his friends. Among the rest 
 was a gentleman of the name of Vernon, who was so pleased 
 with Ben during an evening's visit at his brother's, that he 
 gave him an order on a man in Pennsylvania for thirty 
 pounds, which he begged he would collect for him. Ben 
 readily accepted the order, not without being secretly pleased 
 that nature had given him a face which this stranger had so 
 readily credited with thirty pounds. 
 
 Caressed by his brother John and by his brother John's 
 friends, Ben often thought that if he were called on to point 
 out the time in his whole life that had been spent more 
 pleasantly than the rest, he would, without hesitation, pitch 
 on this his three days' visit to Newport. 
 
 But alas ! he has soon brought to cry out with the poet, 
 
 "The brightest things beneath the sky, 
 
 Yield but a glimmering light; 
 We should suspect souk danger nigh, 
 
 Where we possess delight.'''' 
 
 His thirty pound order from Vernon, was at first lanked 
 among his dear honied delights enjoyed at Newport; but it 
 soon presented, as we shall see, a roughsting. This however, 
 was but a flea bite in comparison of that mortal wound he 
 was within an ace of receiving from this same Newport trip. 
 The story is this: Among a considerable cargo of live lum- 
 ber which they took on board for Philadelphia, were three 
 females, a couple of gay young damsels, and a grave old 
 Quaker lady. Following the natural bent of his disposition, 
 Ben paid great attention to the old Quaker. Fortunate was it 
 for him that he did; for in consequence of it she took a mother- 
 ly interest in his welfare that saved him from a very ugly 
 scrape. Perceiving that he was getting rather too fond of 
 the two young women above, she drew him aside one day, 
 and with the looks and speech of a mother, said, " Young 
 man, I am in pain for thee: thou hast no parent to watch 
 over thy conduct, and thou seemest to be quite ignorant of 
 the world and the snares to which youth is exposed. I pray 
 thee rely upon what I tell thee. — These are women of bad 
 character; I perceive it in all their actions. If thou dost 
 not take care they will lead thee into danger!!" 
 
 As he appeared at first not to think so ill of them as she 
 did, the old lady related of them many things she had seen 
 and heard, and which had escaped his attention, but which 
 convinced him she was in the right. He thanked her foi 
 such good advice, and promised to follow it. 
 
Oft. FRANKLIN. 
 
 77 
 
 On their arrival at New-York the "iris told him where 
 they lived, and invited him to come and see them. Their 
 eyes kindled such a glow along his youthful veins that he 
 was on the point of melting into consent. But the motherly 
 advice of his old quaker friend happily enming to his aid, 
 revived his wavering virtue, and fixed him in the resolution, 
 though much against the grain, not to go. It was a most 
 blessed thing for him that he did not; for the captain miss- 
 ing a silver spoon and some other things from the cabin, and 
 knowing these women to be prostitutes, procured a search 
 warrant, and finding his goods in their possession, had them 
 brought to the whipping- post. 
 
 As God would have it, Ben happened to fall in with the 
 constable and crowd who were taking them to whip. He 
 would fain have run off. But there was a drawing of sym- 
 pathy towards them which he could not resist: so on he went 
 with the rest. He said afterwards that it was well he did: 
 for when he beheld these poor devils tied up to the stake, 
 and also their sweet faces distorted with terror and pain, and 
 heard their piteous screams under the strokes of the cow- 
 hide on their bleeding backs, he could not help melting into 
 tears, at the same time saying to himself — now had I but 
 yielded to the allurements of these poor creatures, and made 
 myself an accessary to their crimes and sufferings, ivhai 
 would now be my feelings /" 
 
 From the happy escape which he had thus made through 
 the seasonable advice of the good old quaker lady he learn- 
 ed that acts of this sort hold the first place on the list of 
 charities: and entered it as a resolution on his journal that 
 he would imitate it and do all in his power to open the eyes 
 of all, but especially of the young, to a timely sense of the 
 follies and dangers that beset them. How well he kept his 
 promise, will, 'tis likely, gentle reader, be remembered by 
 thousands when you and I are forgotten. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 On the arrival ot the vessel at New- York, Ben went up 
 to a tavern, and lo! w r ho should he first cast his eyes on there, 
 but his old friend Collins, of Boston! 
 
 Collins had, it seems, been so charmed with Ben's account 
 
 7* 
 
78 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of Philadelphia, that he came to the determination to try hia 
 fortune there also; and learning that Ben was shortly to re- 
 turn by the way of New- York, he had jumped into the first 
 vessel, and was there before him, waiting his arrival. Great 
 was the joy of Ben at the sight of his friend Collins, for it 
 drew after it a train of the most pleasant recollections. — But 
 who can describe his feelings, when flying to embrace thai 
 long esteemed youth, he beheld him now risen from his 
 chair equally eager for the embrace, but alas! only able to 
 make a staggering step or two before down he came sprawl- 
 ing on the floor, drunk as a lord 1 
 
 To see a young man of his wit — his eloquence — his edu 
 cation — his hitherto unstained character and high promise 
 thus overwhelmed by a worse than brutal vice, would have 
 been a sad sight to Ben, even though that young man had 
 been an entire stranger. But oh ! how tenfold sad to see such 
 marks of ruinous dishonour on one so dear, and from whom 
 ne had expected so much. 
 
 Ben had just returned from assisting to put poor Collins 
 to bed, when the captain of the vessel which had brought him 
 to New -York, stepped up and in a very respectful manner 
 put a note into his hand. — Ben opened it, not without con- 
 siderable agitation, and read as follows: — 
 
 " G. Burnet's compliments await young Mr. Franklin — 
 and should be glad of half an hour's chat with him over a glass 
 of wine." 
 
 " G. Burnet!" said Ben, " who can that be ?" 
 
 "Why, 'tis the governor," replied the captain with a 
 smile. " I have just been to see him, with some letters I 
 brought for him from Boston. And when I told him what a 
 world of books you have, he expressed a curiosity to see you, 
 and begged I would return with you to his palace." 
 
 Ben instantly set oft* with the captain, but not without 
 a sigh as he cast a look back on the door of poor Collins' 
 bed-rocm, to think what an honour that wretched young 
 man had lost for the sake of two or three vile gulps of filthy 
 
 The governor's looks, at the approach of Ben, showed 
 somewhat of disappointment. He had, it seems, expected 
 considerable entertainment from Ben's conversation. But 
 •'lis fresh and ruddy countenance showed him so much youngei 
 than he had counted on, that he gave up all his promised en- 
 tertainment as a lost hope. He received Ben, however, with 
 great politeness, and after pressing on him a glass of wine. 
 
Pag€ 79. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 79 
 
 took him into an adjoining room, which was his library, con. 
 sisting of a large and well-chosen collection. 
 
 Seeing the pleasure which sparkled in Ben's eyes as he 
 surveyed so many elegant authors, and thought of the rich 
 stores of knowledge which they contained, the governor, with 
 a smile of complacency, as on a young pupil of science, said 
 to him, 44 Well, Mr- Franklin, T am told by the captain here, 
 that you have a fine collection too." 
 
 44 Only a trunk full, sir," said Ben. 
 
 44 A trunk full!" replied the governor. 44 Why, what 
 use can you have for so many books? Young people at your 
 age have seldom read beyond the 10th chapter of Nehemiah." 
 
 44 1 can't boast," replied Ben, 44 of having read any great 
 deal beyond that myself; but still, I should be sorry if I could 
 not get a trunk full of books to read every six months." At 
 this, the governor regarding him with a look of surprise, said, 
 • 4 You must then, though so young, be a scholar; perhaps a 
 teacher of the languages." 
 
 44 No sir," answered Ben, 44 1 know no language but my 
 own." 
 
 44 What, not Latin nor Greek!" 
 
 44 No sir, not a word of either." 
 
 44 Why, don't you think them necessary?" 
 
 44 1 don't set myself up as a judge. But I should not sup- 
 pose them necessary." 
 
 44 Aye! well, I should like to hear your reasons." 
 
 4k Why, sir, I am not competent to give reasons that may 
 satisfy a gentleman of your learning, but the following are 
 {he reasons with which I satisfy myself. I look on lan- 
 guages, sir, merely as arbitrary sounds of characters, where- 
 by men communicate their ideas to each other. Now, if I 
 already possess a language which is capable of conveying 
 more ideas than I shall ever acquire, were it not wiser in 
 me to improve my time in getting sense through that one 
 language, than waste it in getting mere sounds through fifty 
 languages, even if I could learn as many?" 
 
 Here the governor paused a moment, though not without 
 a little red on his cheeks, for having only a minute before put 
 Ben and the 10th chapter of Nehemiah so close together. 
 However, catching a new idea, he took another start. 
 f< Well, but, my dear sir, you certainly differ from the 
 teamed world, which is, you know, decidedly in favour of 
 the languages." 
 
 44 1 would not wish wantonly to differ from the learned 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 world," said Ben, " especiall y when they maintain opinions 
 that .seem to be founded on truth. But when this is not the 
 case, to differ from them I have ever thought my duty ; and 
 especially since I studied Locke." 
 
 Locke!" cried the governor with surprise, "you studied 
 Locke .'" 
 
 64 Yes, sir, I studied Locke on the Understanding three 
 years ago, when I was thirteen." 
 
 " You amaze me, sir. You studied Locke on the Under- 
 standing at thirteen!" 
 
 " Yes, sir, I did." 
 
 64 Well, and pray at what college did you study Locke at 
 thirteen; for at Cambridge college in Old England, where I 
 got my education, they never allowed the senior class to look 
 at Locke till eighteen?" 
 
 44 Why, sir, it was my misfortune never to be at a college, 
 nor even at a grammar school, except nine months when I was 
 a child." 
 
 Here the governor sprung from his seat, and staring at 
 Ben, cried out, 44 the devil! well, and where — where did you 
 get your education, pray ?" 
 
 " At home, sir, in a tallow chandler's shop." 
 
 44 In a tallow chandler's shop!" screamed the governor. 
 
 " Yes, sir; my father was a poor old tallow chandler, with 
 sixteen children, and I the youngest of all. At eight he put 
 me to school, but finding he could not spare the money from 
 the rest of the children to keep me there, he took me home 
 into the shop, where I assisted him by twisting the candle wicks 
 and filling the moulds all day, and at night I read by myself. 
 At twelve, my father bound me to my brother, a printer, in 
 Boston, and with him I worked hard all day at the press and 
 cases, and again read by myself at night." 
 
 Here the governor, spanking his hands together, put up a 
 loud whistle, while his eye-balls, wild with surprise, rolled 
 about in their sockets as if in a mighty mind to hop out 
 44 Impossible, young man!" he exclaimed : " Impossible! you 
 are only sounding my credulity. I can never believe one 
 half of all this." Then turning to the captain, he said, 
 44 captain, you are an intelligent man, and from Boston; pray 
 tell me can this young man here, be aiming at any thing but 
 to quiz me?" 
 
 "No, indeed, please your excellency," replied the cap- 
 tain, 44 Mr, Franklin is not quizzing you. He is saying what is 
 really true, for I am acquainted with his father and family '* 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 81 
 
 The governor then turning to Ben said, more moderately, 
 «• Well, my dear wonderful boy, I ask your pardon foi 
 doubting your word; and now pray tell me, for I feel a 
 stronger desire than ever to hear your objection to learning 
 the dead languages." 
 
 fc4 Why, sir, I object to it principally on account of the 
 shortness of human life. Taking them one with another, 
 men do not live above forty years. Plutarch, indeed, puts 
 it only thirty -three. But say forty. Well, of this full ten 
 years are lost in childhood, before any boy thinks of a Latin 
 grammar. This brings the forty down to thirty. Now of 
 such a moment as this, to spend five or six years in learning 
 the dead languages, especially when all the best books in 
 those languages are translated into ours, and besides, we 
 already have more books on every subject than such short- 
 lived creatures can ever acquire, seems very preposterous." 
 
 <* W ell, but what are you to do with their great poets, Virgi! 
 and Homer, for example; I suppose you would not think of 
 translating Homer out of his rich native Greek into our pooi 
 homespun English, would you ?" 
 
 " Why not, sir?" 
 
 6 6 Why I should as soon think of transplanting a pine-ap 
 pie from Jamaica to Boston." 
 
 " Well, sir, a skilful gardener, with his hot-house, can 
 give us nearly as fine a pine-apple as any in Jamaica. And 
 so Mr. Pope, with his fine imagination, has given us Homer, 
 in English, with more of his beauties than ordinary scholars 
 would find in him after forty years' study of the Greek. And 
 besides, sir, if Homer was not translated, I am far from 
 thinking it would be worth spending five or six years tc 
 learn to read him in his own language." 
 
 " You differ from the critics, Mr. Franklin; for the critic? 
 ail tell us that his beauties are inimitable." 
 
 " Yes, sir, and the naturalists tell us that theteauties ot 
 the basilisk are inimitable too." 
 
 " The basilisk, sir! Homer compared with the basilisk ! I 
 really don't understand you, sir." 
 
 66 Why, I mean, sir, that as the basilisk is the more to be 
 dreaded for the beautiful skin that covers his poison, so Homer 
 for the bright colourings he throws over bad charac^eis and 
 passions. Now, as I don't think the beauties of poetry are 
 comparable to those of philanthropy, nor a thousanoth part 
 so important to human happiness, I must confess > dreao 
 Homer, especially as the companion of youth. The I ^tr* 
 
82 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and gentle virtues are certainly the greatest charms and 
 sweeteners of life. And I suppose, sir you would hardly 
 think of sending jour son to Achilles to learn these." 
 
 " I agree he has too much revenge in his composition." 
 
 " Yes, sir, and when painted in the colours which Homer's 
 glowing fancy lends, what youth but must run the most immi- 
 nent risk of catching a spark of bad fire from such a blaze 
 as he throws on his pictures?" 
 
 "Why this, though an uncommon view of the subject, is, 
 I confess, an ingenious one, Mr. Franklin; but surely 'tis 
 overstrained." 
 
 46 Not at all, sir; we are told from good authority, that it 
 was the reading of Homer that first put it into the head of 
 Alexander the great to become a Hero: and after him of 
 Charles the 12th. What millions of human beings have been 
 slaughtered by these two great butchers is not known; but 
 still probably not a tythe of what have perished in duels be- 
 tween individuals from the pride and revenge nursed by read- 
 ing Homer." 
 
 '•Well, sir," replied the governor, "I never heard the 
 prince of bards treated in this way before. You must cer- 
 tainly be singular in your charges against Homer." 
 
 " I ask your pardon, sir, I nave the honour to think of 
 Homer exactly as did the greatest philosopher of antiquity; 
 I mean Plato, who strictly forbids the reading of Homer in 
 his republic. And yet Plato was a heathen. I don't boast 
 myself as a christian; and yet I am shocked at the incon- 
 sistency of our Latin and Greek teachers (generally chris- 
 tians and divines too,) who can one day put Homer into the 
 hands of their pupils, and in the midst of their recitations 
 can stop them short to point out the divine beauties and sub- 
 limities which the poet gives to his hero, in the bloody work 
 of slaughtering the poor Trojans; and the next day take 
 them to church to hear a discourse from Christ on the bless- 
 edness of meekness and forgiveness. No wonder that hot-liver 
 ed young men thus educated, should despise meekness and 
 forgiveness, as mere cowards' virtues, and deem nothing so 
 glorious as fighting duels, and blowing out brains." 
 
 Here the governor came to a pause, like a gamester at his 
 last trump. But perceiving Ben cast his eyes on a spiendid 
 copy of Pope's works, he suddenly seized that as a fine op- 
 portunity to turn the conversation. So stepping up, he placed 
 his hand on his shoulder, and in a very familiar manner said, 
 ' Well, Mr. Franklin, there's an author that I am sure 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 83 
 
 you Ml not quarrel with; an author that 1 think youMl pro. 
 nounce faultless." 
 
 " Why, sir," replied Ben, 44 I entertain a most exalted 
 opinion' of Pope; but still, sir, 1 think he is not without his 
 faults." 
 
 " It would puzzle you, I suspect, Mr. Franklin, as keen 
 a critic as you are, to point out one." 
 
 44 Well, sir," answered Ben, hastily turning to the place, 
 44 what do you think of this famous couplet of Mr. Pope's — 
 
 "Immodest vvordn admit of no defence, 
 For want of decency is want of sense." 
 
 44 1 see no fault there." 
 No, indeed !" replied Ben, 44 why now to my mind a man 
 can ask no better excuse for any thing wrong he does, than 
 his want of sense, " 
 
 " Well, sir," said the governor, sensibly staggered, 46 and 
 how would you alter it?" 
 
 44 Why, sir, if 1 might presume to alter a line in this great 
 Poet, I would do it in this way: — 
 
 "Immodest words admit but this defence — 
 That want of decency is want of sense." 
 
 Here the governor caught Ben in his arms a» a delighted 
 father would his son, calling out at the same time to the cap- 
 tain, " How greatly am I obliged to you, sir, for bringing 
 me to an acquaintance with this charming boy? O! what a 
 delightful thing it would be for us old fellows to converse 
 with sprightful youth if they were but all like him! — But the 
 d — 1 of it is, most parents are as blind as bats to the true 
 glory and happiness of their children. Most parents never 
 look higher for their sons than to see them delving like muck- 
 worms for money; or hopping about like jay-birds, in fine 
 feathers. Hence their conversation is generally no better 
 than froth and nonsense." 
 
 After several other handsome compliments on Ben, and 
 the captain expressing a wish to be going, the governor shook 
 hands with Ben, begging at the same time that he would for 
 ever consider him as one of his fastest friends, and alst never 
 cpme to New-York without coming to see him. 
 
84 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 On returning to the tavern, he hastened into his chamber, 
 where he found his drunken comrade, poor Collins, in a fine 
 perspiration, and considerably sobered, owing to the refrige- 
 rating effects of a pint of strong sage tea, with a tea-spoon • 
 ful of saltpetre, which Ben, before he set out to the go- 
 vernor's, had pressed on him as a remedy he had somewhere 
 read, much in vogue among the London topers, to cool off 
 after a rum fever. Collins appeared still to have enough 
 of brandy in him for a frolic; but when Ben came to tell him 
 of the amiable governor Burnet, in whose company, at his 
 own palace, he had spent a most delightful evening; and 
 also to remind him of the golden opportunity he had lost, 
 of forming an acquaintance with that noble gentleman, poor 
 Collins wept bitterly. 
 
 Ben was exceedingly affected to see him in tears, and en- 
 deavoured to comfort him. But he refused comfort. He 
 said, " if this had been the first time, he should not himself 
 think much of it; but he candidly confessed, that for a long 
 time he had been guilty of it, though till of late he had always 
 kept it to himself, drinking in his chamber. But now he felt 
 at times," he said, " an awful apprehension that he was a lost 
 man. His cravings for liquor were so strong on the one 
 hand, and on the other his powers of resistance so feeble, 
 that it put him fearfully in mind of the dismal state of a poor 
 wretch, within the fatal attraction of a whirlpool, whose re- 
 sistless suction, in spite of all his feeble efforts, was hurrying 
 him down to sure and speedy destruction." 
 
 Collins, who was exceedingly eloquent on every subject, 
 but especially on one so nearly affecting himself, went on 
 deploring his misfortune in strains so tender and pathetic, 
 that Ben, whose eyes were fountains ever ready to flow at 
 the voice of sorrow, could not refrain from weeping, which 
 he did most unfeignedly for a long esteemed friend now going 
 to ruin. He could bear, he said, to see the brightest plumed 
 bird, charmed by the rattle-snake, descending into the hor- 
 rid sepulchre of the monster's jaws. He could bear to see 
 the richest laden Indiaman, dismasted and rudderless, drift- 
 ing ashore on the merciless breakers; because made of dust, 
 these things must at any rate return to dust again. But to see 
 an immortal mind stopped in her first soarings, entangled 
 and limed in the filth of so brutal a vice as drunkenness — 
 
DR. FRANKLIN 
 
 that was a sight he could not bear. And as a mother looking 
 hi her child that is filleted for the accursed Moloch, cannot 
 otherwise than shed tears, so Ben, when he looked on poor 
 Collins, could not but weep when he saw him the victim of 
 destruction. 
 
 However, as a good wit turns every thing to advantage, 
 this sudden and distressing fall of poor Collins, set Ben to 
 thinking: and the result of his thoughts noted down in his 
 journal of that day, deserves the attention of all young 
 men of this day; and even will as long as human nature en- 
 dures. 
 
 " Wit," says he, " in young men, is dangerous, because 
 apt to breed vanity, which, when disappointed, brings them 
 down, and by depriving them of natural cheerfulness, 
 drives them to the bottle for that which is artificial. And 
 learning also is dangerous, when it is aimed at as an end and 
 * not a mean. A young man who aspires to be learned mere- 
 ly for fame, is in danger; for, familiarity breeding contempt, 
 creates an uneasy void that drives him to the bottle. Hence 
 so many learned men with red noses. But when a man from 
 a benevolent heart, seeks learning for the sublime pleasure 
 of imitating the Deity in doing good, he is always made 
 so happy in the spirit and pursuit of this godlike object, that 
 he needs not the stimulus of brandy." 
 
 This one hint, if duly reflected on by young men, would 
 render the name of Franklin dear to them for ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The next day, when they came to settle with the tavern- 
 keeper, and Ben with his usual alacrity had paraded his dol- 
 lars for payment, poor Collins hung back, pale and dumb- 
 founded, as a truant school-boy at the call to recitation. 
 The truth is, the fumes of his brandy having driven all the 
 wit out of his noddle, had puffed it up with such infinite 
 vanity, that he must needs turn in, red faced and silly as he 
 was, to gamble with the cool-headed water-drinking sharpers 
 of New-York. The reader hardly need be informed, that 
 poor Collins' pistareens, which he had scraped together for 
 this expedition, were to these light-fingered gentlemen as a 
 fry of young herrings to the hungry dog-fish. 
 
 8 
 
8G 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Ben was now placed in a most awkward predicament 
 To pay off* Collins' scores at New- York, and also his ex- 
 
 f>enses on the road to Philadelphia, would drain him to the 
 ast farthing. But how could he leave in distress a young 
 friend with whom he had passed so many happy days and 
 nights in the elegant pleasure of literature, and for whom he 
 had contracted such an attachment! Ben could not bear the 
 idea, especially as his young friend, if left in this sad condi- 
 tion, might be driven to despair; so drawing his purse he paid 
 off* Collins' bill, which, from the quantity of liquor he had 
 drank, was swelled to a serious amount; and taking him by 
 the arm, set out with a heart much heavier than his purse, 
 which indeed was now so empty that had it not been replen- 
 ished at Bristol by the thirty pounds for which, as we have 
 seen, Vernon gave him an order on a gentleman living there, 
 wno readily paid it, would never have carried him and his 
 drunken companion to Philadelphia. On their arrival Col- 
 lins endeavoured to procure employment as a merchant's 
 clerk, and paraded with great confidence his letters of re- 
 commendation. But his breath betrayed him. And the 
 merchants would have nothing to say to him notwith- 
 standing all his letters; he continued, therefore, to lodge 
 and board with Ben at his expense. Nor was this all; for 
 knowing that Ben had Vernon's money, he was continually 
 craving loans of it, promising to pay as soon as he should 
 get into business. By thus imposing on Ben's friendship, 
 getting a little of him at one time, and a little at another, 
 he had at last got so much of it, that when Ben, who had 
 gone on lending without taking note, came to count Vernon's 
 money, he could hardly find a dollar to count! 
 
 It is not easy to describe the agitation of Ben's mind on 
 making this discovery; nor the alternate chill and fever, that 
 discoloured his cheeks, as he reflected on his own egregious 
 folly in this affair. " What demon," said he to himself, 
 as he bit his lip, " could have put it into my head to tell 
 Collins that I had Vernon's money! Didn't I know that a 
 drunkard has no more reason in him than a hog; and can no 
 better be satisfied, unless like him he is eternally pulling at 
 his filthy swill? And have I indeed been all this time 
 throwing away Vernon's money for brandy to addle the 
 brain of this poor self-made brute? Well then, I am served 
 exactly as I deserve, for thus making myself a pander to his 
 vices. But now that the money is all gone, and I without a 
 shilling to replace it, what's to be done? Vernon will, no 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 87 
 
 doubt, soon learn that I have collected his money; and will 
 of c irse be daily expecting to hear from me. But what can 
 1 w**te? To tell him that 1 have collected his money, but 
 lent it to a poor, penny less sot, will sound like a pretty story 
 to a man of business! And if I don't write to him, what will 
 fie think of me, and what will become of that high opinion 
 he had formed of me, on which it appeared he would have 
 trusted me with thousands? So you see, I have got myself 
 into a pretty hobble. And worse than all yet, how shall 1 
 even- again lift up my booby face to my affectionate brother 
 John, after having thus basely stabbed him, through his friend, 
 as also through the honour of our family! O my dear, dear old 
 father; now 1 see your wisdom and my own folly! A thou- 
 sand times did you tell me I was too young; too inexpe- 
 rienced yet, to undertake by myself. — But no. It would 
 not all do. For the life of you, you could not lead or drive 
 such divine counsel into this conceited noddle of mine. I 
 despised it as the weakness of old age, and much too slow 
 for me. I wanted to save time, and get three or four years 
 ahead of other young men; and that tempted me to disobe 
 dience. Well, I am justly punished for it! My bubble is 
 broke. And now I see I shall be thrown back as long as if 
 I had continued the apprentice of my brother James!!" 
 
 O young men! young men! you that with segars in your 
 mouths, and faces flushed with libations of whiskey, can fancy 
 yourselves clever fellows, and boast the long list of your dear 
 friends, O think of the curses that Ben bestowed on his dear 
 friend Collins, for bringing him in such a scrape; and learn 
 Jhat an idle, drinking rascal has no friends. If you think 
 otherwise, it is only a proof that you don't even yet un 
 derstand the meaning of the word. Friends indeed! you 
 talk of friends! What, you, who instead of nobly pressing 
 on for virtue and knowledge and wealth, to make your- 
 selves an honour and blessing to your connexions, are con- 
 stantly, by your drunken and gambling courses, making 
 yourselves a disgrace and curse to them. And when, like that 
 fool in the parable, your all is gone, then, instead of modestly 
 going with him into the fields, to feed the swine, you have the 
 impudence to quarter your rags and red noses on your dear 
 friends, spunging and borrowing of them as long as they'll 
 lend. And if at last, they should get wise enough to refuse 
 such unconscionable leechers, as would suck every drop of 
 their blood, instantly you can turn tail and abuse your deai 
 
88 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 friends as though they were pick-pockets. — Witness nov 
 master Collins. 
 
 Just as Ben was in the midst of his fever and pet, on dis- 
 covering as aforesaid, the great injury which Collins had done 
 him, who but that promising youth should come in, red faced 
 and blowzy, and with extreme confidence, demand of him a 
 couple of dollars. Ben, rather tartly, replied, that he had 
 no more to spare. "Pshaw," answered Collins, " 'tis only a 
 brace of dollars I want, just to treat an old Boston acquaint- 
 ance I fell in with at the tavern, and you know Vernon tipt 
 you 'the shiners' t'other day to the tune of a round hun- 
 dred." " Yes," replied Ben, "but what with two dollars 
 at one time, and two at another, you have taken nearly 
 the whole." "Well, man, and what of that," rejoined Col- 
 lins, swaggeringly; "suppose I had taken the whole; yes, 
 and twice as much, sha'nt I get into fine business presently, 
 some head clerk's place, or governor's secretary? And 
 then you'll see how I'll tumble you in the yellow boys hand 
 over hand, and pay you off these little beggarly items all at 
 a dash." 
 
 " Fair words, Mr. Collins" answered Ben, " butter no 
 parsnips. And you have been so long talking at this rate, 
 and yet doing nothing, that I really am afraid — " 
 
 "Afraid, the d 1," interrupted Collins, insultingly, 
 
 " afraid of what? But see here, Mr. Franklin, I came to you 
 not to preach to me, but to lend me a couple of dollars. And 
 now all that you have to do is just to tell me, at a word, 
 whether you can lend them or not." 
 
 " Well then, at a word, I cannot," said Ben. 
 
 " Well then, you are an ungrateful fellow," retorted 
 Collins. 
 
 "Ungrateful?" asked Ben, utterly astonished. 
 
 "Yes, an ungrateful fellow," replied Collins. "You 
 dare not deny, sii\ that it was I who first took you out of 
 the tallow pots and grease of your old father's candle shop 
 in Boston, and made a man of you. And now after all, 
 when I only ask you to lend me a couple of shabby dollars 
 to treat a friend, you can refuse me! Well, keep your dol 
 
 lars to yourself and be d -d for an ungrateful fellow as 
 
 you are!" then wheeling on his heel he went off, blustering 
 and swollen with passion, as though he had been most out- 
 rageously ill-treated. Soon as Ben had recovered himselt 
 a little from the stupefaction into which this tornado of 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 89 
 
 Collins had thrown him, he clapped his hands, and rolling up 
 his eyes like one devoutly given, exclaimed, " O Ulysses, 
 well called wise! You, though a heathen, could lash your 
 sailors to the mast to keep them from going ashore to be 
 rMde hogs of at the grog shops of Circe, while I, the son 
 of an old presbyterian christian, the son of his old age, and 
 heir elect of all his wisdom, have been here now for weeks 
 together, lending money to brutalize my own friend ! Would 
 to heaven, I had been but half as wise as you, I should not 
 have been so shamefully. fleeced, and now so grossly insulted 
 by this young swine, Collins. But what brain of man could 
 have suspected this of him? After taking him out of the stye 
 of a jug tavern in New- York, where he was up to the back 
 in dirt and debt — after paying all his expenses to Philadel- 
 phia, and here supporting him cheerfully, out of my hard and 
 scanty earnings; — after submitting, for cheapness sake, to 
 sleep in the same bed with him every night, scorched with 
 nis rum-fevered flesh, drenched in his nocturnal sweats, and 
 poisoned with his filthy breath; and still worse, after lend- 
 ing him nearly the whole of Vernon's money, and thereby 
 brought my own silly nose to the grindstone, perhaps for many 
 a doleful year, I should now at last be requited with all this 
 abuse; d — n — d for an ungrateful fellow ! I Well, I don't 
 know where all this is to end; but I will still hope for the best. 
 I hope it will teach me this important lesson, never to have 
 any thing to do with a sot again, as long as I live. But stop, 
 though I refused him money to get drunk with, I still feel 
 a friendship for this wretched young man, this Collins; and 
 will still work to support him, while he stays with me. It 
 is likely that now, that he can get no more money from me, 
 he will take his departure; and then, if my senses remain, 
 I think I will for ever hereafter shun, as I would a beast, 
 the j'oung man who drinks drams and grog." 
 
 From his going off in such a pet, Ben had supposed at first, 
 that Collins would not return again. But having no money 
 nor friends in Philadelphia, the poor fellow came back at 
 night, to his old roosting place with Ben, by whom he was 
 received with the same good humour as if nothing had hap- 
 pened. But though the injured may forgive, the injurer sel- 
 dom does. Collins never looked straight at Ben after this. 
 The recollection of the past kept him sore. And to be de- 
 pendent on one whom, in the pride of former days, he 
 had thought his inferior, rendered his condition so uneasy, 
 that he longed for an opportunity to get out of it. Fortunately 
 
 8* 
 
90 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 an opportunity soon offered. The captain of a trader to tht 
 West Indies, falling in with him one day at a tavern, where he 
 was spouting away at a most elegant rate, was so charmed with 
 his vivacity and wit, which most young fools, half shaved, are 
 apt to figure in, that he offered him the place of a private 
 tutor in a rich family in Jamaica. Dame fortune, in her best 
 humour, with all her cogged dice in the bargain, could not, 
 as Collins himself thought, have thrown him a luckier hit. 
 Young black eyed Creoles, with fourth proof spirit, in all its 
 delicious modifications, of slings, bumbo andpunch, dancing 
 before his delighted fancy, in such mazes of pleasurable pro- 
 mise, that 'tis likely he would hardly have exchanged places 
 with the grand Turk. With a countenance glowing with 
 joy, he hastened to Ben to tell him the glorious news, and to 
 take leave. After heartily congratulating him on his good 
 fortune, Ben asked, if he would not want a little money to 
 Jit him out. Collins thanked him, but said that the captain, 
 who had engaged him, was such a noble-hearted fellow, that 
 he had, of his own accord, advanced him three half joes to 
 put him into what he called " complete sailing trim," 
 Though Ben had of late been so scurvily treated by Collins, 
 as to think it very desirable to be quit of him; yet, when the 
 time came, he found it no such easy matter for the heart to 
 dissolve the ties of a long and once pleasant friendship. He 
 nad passed with Collins many of his happiest hours, and 
 *hese too, in the sweetest season of life, and amidst pleasures 
 which best lift the soul from earth, and spring those unutter- 
 able hopes she delights in. How then, without tears, could 
 he for the last time, feel the strong pressure of his hand, and 
 catch the parting glance? On the other side, through watery 
 eyes and broken accents, poor Collins sobbed out his last 
 adieu, not without hearty thanks, for the many favors which 
 Ben had done him, and solemn promises of speedily writing 
 to him, and remitting all his money. Charity would fain 
 believe, that he fully so intended; but alas! nor money, not 
 friend did Ben ever hear of afterwards. This elegant vie 
 tim of rum, was no doubt presented by the captain to the 
 wealthy family in Jamaica. And being introduced, under 
 the genial influence perhaps of a cheerful glass, 'tis likely 
 that with his advantages of education and eloquence, he made 
 such a figure in the eyes of those w r ealthy and hospitable 
 .slanders, that they were in raptures with him, and fondlj 
 counted that they had got an elegant young schoolmaster 
 who was to make scholars and wits of the whole family 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 9\ 
 
 Perhaps too, their darling hope, a blooming (laughter, was 
 seen to heave the tender sigh, as blushing she darted the 
 side-long glance upon him. But alas! the next day sees the 
 elegant young schoolmaster dead drunk! and the amiable 
 family all in the dumps again. 'Tis more than probable, that 
 after having been alternately received and dismissed from 
 a dozen wealthy families, he sunk at length, into tattered 
 garments, and a grog-blossomed face; the mournful victim 
 of intemperance. And now perhaps, after all the fair pros- 
 pects of his youth, and. all the fond hopes of his parents, 
 poor Collins, untimely buried in a foreign church-yard, onlv 
 serves for the pious to point their children to his early tomb 
 and remind them how vain are talents and education with 
 out the restraints of religion. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Soon as Ben reached Philadelphia, as aforesaid, he waited 
 on the governor, who received him with joy, eagerly call- 
 ing out, '"Well my dear boy, what success? What sue- 
 cess ?" Ben, with a smile, drew his father's letter from his 
 pocket. The governor snatched it, as if all impatient to see 
 its contents, which he ran through with a devouring haste. 
 When he was done, he shook his head and said, " it was to be 
 sure a sensible, letter, a vastly sensible letter; but — but, — it 
 won't do," continued he to Ben, 46 no, it won't do; your father 
 is too cautious, entirely too cautious, sir." Hereupon he fell 
 into a brown study, with his eyes nailed to the ground, as in a 
 profound reverie. After a moment's pause, he suddenly looked 
 up, and with a countenance bright as with some happy thought, 
 he cried out, 44 I've got it, my dear young friend, I've get 
 it exactly. Zounds! what signifies making two bites at a 
 cherry? In for a -penny, in for a pound, is my way. Since 
 your father will do nothing for you, I'll do it all myself. A 
 printer I want, and a printer I'll have, that's a clear case: 
 and I am sure you are the lad that will suit me to a fraction. 
 So give me a list of the articles you want from England, 
 and I will send for them by the very next ship, and set you 
 up at once: and all I shall expect of you, is that you'll pay 
 me when you are able!!" Seeing the tear swelling in Ben's 
 eye, the governor took him by the hand, and in a softened 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 tone said, " come, nothing of that my dear boy, nothing of that 
 A lad of your talents and merit, must not languish in the 
 back ground for lack of a little money to bring you forward. 
 So make me out, as I said, a list of such articles as you may 
 want, and I'll send for them at once to London.— But stop! 
 would it not be better for you to go to London, and choose 
 these things yourself? you could then, you know, be sure to 
 have them all of the best quality. And besides, you could 
 form an acquaintance with some clever fellows in the book 
 selling and stationary line, whose friendship might be worth 
 a Jew's eye to you, in your business here. 
 
 Ben, hardly able now to speak, thanked the governor as 
 well as he could for so generous an offer. — " Well then," 
 continued the governor, "get yourself in readiness to go 
 with the Annis." The reader will please to be informed, 
 that the Annis was, at that time, (1722) the only regular 
 trader between London and Philadelphia; and she made but 
 one voyage in the year! Finding that the Annis was not to 
 sail for several months yet, Ben prudently continued to do 
 journey work for old Keimer; but often haunted with the 
 ghost of Vernon's money which he had lent to Collins, and 
 for fear of what would become of him if Vernon should be 
 strict to mark his iniquities in that mad affair. But happily 
 tor him, Vernon made no demand. It appeared afterwards 
 that this worthy man had not forgotten his money. But 
 learning from a variety of quarters, that Ben was a perfect 
 non-descript of industry and frugality, he concluded that as 
 the money was not paid, Ben was probably under the hatches. 
 He therefore, generously, let the matter lie over till a dis- 
 tant day, when Ben, as we shall by and by see, paid him 
 up fully, both principal and interest, and thus recovered the 
 high ground he formerly held in his friendship. Thanks be 
 to God, who has given to inflexible honesty and industry, 
 such power over the "heart strings," as well as "purse 
 strings," of mankind. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Ben was naturally comic in a high degree, and this plea- 
 sant vein, greatly improved by Ws present golden prospects, 
 betrayed him into many a frolic with Keimer, to whom he- 
 had prudently attached himself as a journeyman, until the 
 Annis should sail. The reader will excuse lien for these 
 frolics when he comes to learn what were their aims; as also 
 what an insufferable old creature this Keimer was. Silly as 
 a rooby, yet vain as a jay, and garrulous as a pie, he could 
 never rest but when in a stiff argument, and acting the orator, 
 at which he looked on Cicero himself as but a boy to him. 
 Here was a fine target for Ben's Socratic artillery, which 
 he frequently played off on the old pomposo with great effect. 
 By questions artfully put, he would obtain of him certain 
 points, which Keimer readily granted, as seeing in them no 
 sort of connexion with the matter in debate. But yet these 
 points, when granted, like distant nets slyly hauling round 
 a porpoise or sturgeon, would, by degrees, so completely cir- 
 cumvent the silly fish, that with all his flouncing and fury 
 he could never extricate himself, but rather got more deeply 
 entangled. Often caught in this way, he became at last so 
 afraid of Ben's questions, that he would turn as mad when 
 one of them was "poked at him," as a bull at sight of a scar- 
 let cloak; and would not answer the simplest question with- 
 out first asking, " well, and what would you make of that ?" 
 He came at length to form so exalted an opinion of Ben's 
 talents for refutation, that he seriously proposed to him one 
 day that they should turn out together and preach up a New 
 Religion! Keimer was to preach and make the converts, 
 and Ben to answer and put to silence the gainsayers. He 
 said a world of money might be made by it. 
 
 On hearing the outlines of this new religion, Ben found 
 great fault with it. This he did only that he might have an- 
 other frolic with Keimer; but his frolics were praiseworthy, 
 for they all " leaned to virtue's side." The truth is, he saw 
 that Keimer was prodigiously a hypocrite. At every whip- 
 stitch he could play the knave, and then for a pretence would 
 read his Bible. But it was not the moral part of the Bible, 
 the sweet precepts and parables of the Gospel that he read. 
 No verily. Food so angelic was not at all to the tooth of 
 Lis childish fancy, which delighted in nothing but the novel 
 *ud curious. Like too many of the saints now-a-days, he 
 
94 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 would rather read about the witch of Endor, than the good 
 Samaritan, and hear a sermon on the brazen candlesticks 
 than on the love of God. And then, O dear! who wa9 
 Melchizedeck? Or where was the land of Nod? Or, was it 
 in the shape of a serpent or a monkey that the devil tempted 
 Eve? As he was one day poring over the pentateuch as 
 busy after some nice game of this sort as a terrier on the 
 track of a weazle, he came to that famous text where Moses 
 says, " thou shalt not mar the comers of thy beard" Aye! 
 this was the divinity for Keimer. It struck him like a new 
 light from the clouds: then rolling his eyes as from an appa- 
 rition, he exclaimed, " miserable man that I am! and was I 
 indeed forbidden to mar even the corners of my beard, and 
 have I been all this time shaving myself as smooth as an 
 eunuch! Fire and brimstone, how have you been boiling up 
 for me, and I knew it not! Hell, deepest hell is my portion, 
 that's a clear case, unless I reform. And reform I will if 
 I live. Yes, my poor naked chin, if ever I but get another 
 crop upon thee and I suffer it to be touched by the ungodly 
 steel, then let my right hand forget her cunning." 
 
 From that day he became as shy of a razor as ever Sam- 
 son was. His long black whiskers " whistled in the wind." 
 And then to see how he would stand up before his glass and 
 stroke them down, it would have reminded you of some an- 
 cient Druid, adjusting the sacred Misletoe. 
 
 Ben could not bear that sight. Such shameless neglect 
 of angel morality, and yet such fidgetting about a goatish 
 beard! " Heavens, sir," said he to Keimer, one day in the 
 midst of a hot argument, 
 
 "Who can think, with common sense, 
 A smooth shaved face gives God offence? 
 Or that a whisker hath a charm, 
 Eternal justice to disarm?" 
 
 He even proposed to him to get shaved. Keimer swore 
 outright that he would never lose his beard. A stiff* alter- 
 cation ensued. But Keimer getting angry, Ben agreed at 
 last to give up the beard. He said that, " as the beard at 
 best was but an external, a mere excrescence, he would not 
 insist on that as so very essential. But certainly sir," 
 continued he, " there is one thing that is." 
 
 Keimer wanted to know what that was. 
 
 66 Why sir," added Ben, " this turning out and preaching 
 up a New Religion, is, without doubt, a very serious affair, 
 and ought not to be undertaken too hastily. Much time. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 93 
 
 sir, in my opinion at least, should be spent in making pre- 
 paration, in which, fasting should certainly have a large 
 share." 
 
 Keimer, who was a great glutton, said he could never fast. 
 
 Ben then insisted that if they were not to fast altogether, 
 they ought, at any rate, to abstain from animal food, and live 
 as the saints of old did, on vegetables and water. 
 
 Keimer shook his head, and said that if he were to live on 
 vegetables and water, he should soon die. 
 
 Ben assured him that it- was entirely a mistake. He had 
 tried it often, he said, and could testify from his own expe- 
 rience that he was never more healthy and cheerful than when 
 he lived on vegetables alone. 46 Die from feeding on vege- 
 tables, indeed! Why, sir, it contradicts reason; and con- 
 tradicts all history, ancient and profane. There was Daniel, 
 and his three young friends, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abe*l- 
 nego, who fed on a vegetable diet, of choice; did they languish 
 and die of it? or rather did they not display a rouge of 
 health and fire of genius, far beyond those silly youths who 
 crammed on all the luxuries of the royal table? And that 
 amiable Italian nobleman, Lewis Cornaro, who says of 
 bread, that it was such a dainty to his palate, that he was 
 almost afraid, at times, it was too good for him to eat; did 
 he languish and die of this simple fare? On the contrary, did 
 he not out-live three generations of gratified epicures; and 
 after all, go off in his second century, like a bird of Para- 
 dise, singing the praises of Temperance and Virtue? And 
 pray, sir," continued Ben, "where's the wonder of all this? 
 Must not the blood that is formed of vegetables be the purest 
 in nature? And then* as the spirits depend on the blood, must 
 not the spirits secreted from such blood be the purest too? 
 And when this is the case with the blood and spirits, which 
 are the very life of the man, must not that man enjoy the 
 best chance for such healthy secretions and circulations as 
 are most conducive to long and happy life?" 
 
 While Ben argued at this rate, Keimer regarded him with 
 a look which seemed to say, " Very true, sir; all this is 
 very true; but still I cannot go it." 
 
 Ben, still unwilling to give up his point, thought he would 
 make one more push at him. " What a pity it is, 5 ' said he 
 with a sigh, "that the blessings of so sublime a religion 
 should be all lost to the world, merely for lack of a little 
 fortitude on the part of its propagators." 
 
 This was touching him on the right string; for Keimer 
 
96 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 was a man of such vanity, that a little flattery would put him 
 up to any thing. So after a few hems and //,«'s, he said, he be- 
 lieved he would, at any rate, make a trial of this new regimen. 
 
 Having thus carried his point, Ben immediately engaged 
 a poor old woman of the neighbourhood to become their cook; 
 and gave her oft* hand, written receipts for three and forty 
 dishes; not one of which contained a single atom of fish, 
 flesh, or fowl. For their first day's breakfast on the new 
 regimen, the old woman .treated them with a terrene ot oat- 
 meal gruel. Keimer was particularly fond of his breakfast, 
 at which a nice beef-stake with onion sauce was a standing 
 dish. It was as good as a farce to Ben, to see with what an 
 eye Keimer regarded the terrene, when entering the room, 
 in place of his stake, hot, smoking, and savory, he beheld this 
 pale, meagre-looking slop. 
 
 "What have you got there?" said he, with a visage grum, 
 and scowling eye. 
 
 64 A dish of hasty pudding," replied Ben, with the smile 
 of an innocent youth w r ho had a keen appetite, with some- 
 thing good to satisfy it — " a dish of nice hasty pudding, sir, 
 made of oats." 
 
 46 Of oats!" retorted Keimer, with a voice raised to a 
 scream. 
 
 66 Yes, sir, oats," rejoined Ben,— " oats, that precious 
 grain which gives such elegance and fire to our noblest of 
 quadrupeds, the horse." 
 
 Keimer growled out, that he was no horse to eat oats. 
 
 " No matter for that," replied Ben, " 'tis equally good 
 for men." 
 
 Keimer denied that any human being ever eat oats. 
 
 "Aye!" said Ben, "and pray what's become of the 
 Scotch ? Don't they live on oats; and yet, where will you 
 nnd a people so ' bonny, blythe, and gay;' a nation of such 
 wits and warriors." 
 
 As there was no answering this, Keimer sat down to the 
 terrene, and swallowed a few spoonfuls, but not without 
 making as many wry faces as if it had been so much jalap; 
 while Ben, all smile and chat, breakfasted most deliciously. 
 
 At dinner, by Ben's order, the old woman paraded a 
 trencher piled up with potatoes. Keimer's grumbling fit 
 came on him again. " He saw clear enough," he said, 
 44 that he was to be poisoned." 
 
 "Poh, cheer up, man," replied Ben; " this is your right 
 preacher's bread." 
 
DR. FRANKLIN 
 
 97 
 
 "Bread the d — 1!" replied Keimer, snarling. 
 
 " Yes, bread, sir," continued Ben, pleasantly; "the 
 bread of life, sir; for where do you find such health and 
 spirits, such bloom and beauty, as among the honest-hearted 
 Irish, and yet for their breakfast, dinner, and supper, the 
 
 Jiotato is their tetotum; the first, second, and third course." 
 [11 this way, Ben and his old woman went on with Keimer; 
 daily ringing the changes on oat-meal gruel, roasted potatoes, 
 boiled rice, and so on, through the whole family of roots and 
 grains in all their various genders, moods, and tenses. 
 
 Sometimes, like a restive mule, Keimer would kick up 
 and show strong symptoms of flying the way. But then Ben 
 would prick him up again with a touch of his ruling pas- 
 sion, vanity; " only think, Mr. Keimer," he would say, 
 " only think what has been done by the founders of new 
 religions : how they have enlightened the ignorant, polished 
 the rude, civilized the savage, and made heroes of those who 
 were little better than brutes. Think, sir, what Moses did 
 among the stitt-necked Jews; what Mahomet did among 
 the wild Arabs — and what you may do among these gentle 
 drab-coated Pennsylvanians." This, like a spur in the 
 flank of a jaded horse, gave Keimer a new start, and pushed 
 him on afresh to his gruel breakfasts and potato dinners. 
 Ben strove hard to keep him up to this gait. Often at table, 
 and especially when he saw that Keimer was in good hu- 
 mour and fed kindly, he would give a loose to fancy, and 
 paint the advantages of their new regimen in the most glow 
 ing colours. 64 Aye, sir," he would say, letting drop at 
 the same time his spoon, as in an ecstacy of his subject, 
 while his pudding on the platter cooled — u aye, sir, now we 
 are beginning to live like men going a preaching indeed. 
 Let your epicures gormandize their fowl, fish, and flesh, 
 with draughts of intoxicating liquors. Such gross, inflam- 
 matory food may suit the brutal votaries of Mars and Venus. 
 But our views, sir, are different altogether; we are going to 
 teach wisdom and benevolence to mankind. This is a hea- 
 venly work, sir, and our minds ought to be heavenly. Now, 
 as the mind depends greatly on the body, and the body on 
 the food, we should certainly select that which is of the 
 most pure and refining quality. And this, sir, is exactly 
 the food to our purpose. This mild potato, or this gentle 
 pudding, is the thing to insure the light stomach, the cool 
 liver, the clear head, and, above all, those celestial passions 
 
 9 
 
98 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 which become a preacher that would moralize the world 
 And these celestial passions, sir, let me add, though I don't 
 pretend to be a prophet, these celestial passions, sir, were you 
 but to stick to this diet, would soon shine out in your coun- 
 tenance with such apostolic majesty and grace, as would 
 strike all beholders with reverence, and enable you to carry 
 the world before you." 
 
 Such was the style of Ben's rhetoric with old Keimer. 
 But it could not all do. For though these harangues would 
 sometimes make him fancy himself as big as Zoroaster or 
 Confucius, and talk as if he should soon have the whole 
 country running after him, and worshipping him for the 
 Great Lama of the west; yet this divinity fit was too much 
 against the grain to last long. Unfortunately for poor Kei- 
 mer, the kitchen lay between him and his bishobprick: and 
 both nature and habit had so wedded him to that swinish 
 idol, that nothing could divorce him. So after having been 
 
 led by Ben a « very d / of a life," as he called it, "for 
 
 three months," his flesh-pot appetites prevailed, and he 
 swore, "by his whiskers, he would suffer it no longer," 
 Accordingly he ordered a nice roast pig for dinner, and de- 
 sired Ben to invite a young friend to dine with them. Ben 
 did so: but neither himself nor his young friend were any 
 thing the better for the pig. For before they could arrive, the 
 pig being done, and his appetite beyond all restraint, Keimer 
 had fallen on it and devoured the whole. And there he sat 
 panting and torpid as an Anaconda who had just swallowed 
 a young buffaloe. But still his looks gave sign that the 
 " Ministers of Grace" had not entirely deserted him. foi 
 at sight of Ben and his young friend, he blushed up to the 
 eye lids, and in a glow of scarlet, which showed that he paid 
 dear for his whistle, (gluttony) he apologized for disap- 
 pointing them of their dinner. " Indeed, the smell of the 
 pig," he said, "was so sweet, and the nicely browned 
 skin so inviting, especially to him who had been long starved, 
 that for the soul of him he could not resist the temptation 
 £o taste it — and then, O! if Lucifer himself had been at the 
 loor, he must have gone on, let what would have been the 
 ;onsequences." He said too, " that for his part he was 
 <lad it was a pig and not a hog, for that he verily believed 
 ie should have bursted himself." — Then leaning back in his 
 chair and pressing his swollen abdomen with his paws, he 
 •xclaimed with an awkward laugh, " Well, I don't believe 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 I was ever cut out for a bishop!" — Here ended the farce : 
 for Keimer never after this uttered another word about his 
 New Religion. 
 
 Ben used, laughing, to say that he drew Keimer into this 
 scrape that he might enjoy the satisfaction of starving him 
 out of his gluttony And he did it also that he might save 
 the more for books and candles: their vegetable regimen cost- 
 ing him, in all, rather less than three cents a day! To those 
 who can spend twenty times this sum on tobacco and whis- 
 key alone, three cents per day must appear a scurvy allow- 
 ance, and of course poor Ben must be sadly pitied. But 
 such philosophers should remember that all depends on our 
 loves, whose property it is to make bitter things sweet, and 
 heavy things light. 
 
 For example: to lie out in the darksome swamp with no 
 other canopy but the sky, and no bed but the cold ground, 
 and his only music the midnight owl or screaming alligator, 
 seems terrible to servile minds; but it was joy to Marion, 
 whose " whole soul," as general Lee well observes, "was de- 
 voted to liberty and country. " 
 
 So, to shut himself up in a dirty printing-office, with no 
 dinner but a bit of bread, no supper but an apple, must ap- 
 pear to every epicure as it did to Keimer, " a mere d — / of 
 a life;" but it was joy to Ben, whose whole soul was on his 
 books, as the sacred lamps that were to guide him to useful- 
 ness and glory. 
 
 Happy he who early strikes into the path of wisdom, and 
 bravely walks therein till habit sprinkles it with roses. He 
 shall be led as a lamb among the green pastures along the 
 water courses of pleasure, nor shall he ever experience the 
 pang of those 
 
 " Who see the right, and approve it too ; 
 Condemn the wrong — and yet the wrong pursue." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Ben, as we' have seen, was never without a knot of 
 choice spirits, like satellites, constantly revolving around 
 him, and both receiving and reflecting light. By these satel- 
 lites I mean young men of fine minds, and fond of books. 
 He had at this time a trio of such. The first was of the 
 
LOO 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 name of Osborne, the second Watson, and the third Ralpn. 
 As the two first were a good deal of the nature of wander- 
 ing stars, which, though bright, soon disappear again, 1 
 shall let them pass away in silence. But the last, that's to 
 say, Ralph, shone so long in the same sphere with Ben, both 
 in America and Europe, that it will never do to let him go 
 without giving the reader somewhat at least of a telescopic 
 squint at him. James Ralph, then, was a young man of the 
 first rate talents, ingenious at argument, of flowery fancy, 
 most fascinating in his manners, and uncommonly eloquent 
 In short, he appears to have been built and equipped to run 
 the voyage of life with as splendid success as any. But alas ! 
 as the seamen say of their ships, u he took the wrong sheer." 
 Hence, while many a dull genius, with only a few plain- 
 sailing virtues on board, such as honest industry, good hu- 
 mour, and prudence, have made fine weather through life, 
 and come into port at last laden up to the bends with riches 
 and honours, this gallant Proa, this stately Gondola, the 
 moment he was put to sea, was caught up in a Euroclydon 
 of furious passions and appetites that shivered his character 
 and peace, and made a wreck of him at the very outset. 
 
 According to his own account, it appears that Ben was 
 often haunted with fears that he himself had some hand in 
 Ralph's disasters. Dr. Franklin was certainly one of the 
 wisest of mankind. But with all his wisdom he was still 
 but a man, and therefore liable to err. Solomon, 'we know, 
 was fallible; what wonder then young Franklin? 
 
 But here lies the difference between these two wise men, 
 as to their errors. Solomon, according to scripture, was 
 sometimes overcome of Satan, even in the bone and sinew 
 of his strength; but the devil was too hard for Franklin 
 only while he was in the gristle of his youth. The case was 
 thus: among the myriads of books which came to his eager 
 tooth, there was a most unlucky one on deism, written, 'tis 
 said, by Shaftesbury, a man admirably calculated to pervert 
 the truth; or, as Milton says of one of his fallen spirits, to 
 make " the worse appear the better reason." Mark now 
 this imposing writer — he does not utter you a word against 
 religion; not he indeed: no, not for the world. Why, sirs, 
 he's the best friend of religion. He praises it up to the 
 skies, as the sole glory of man, the strong pillar of his vir- 
 tues, and the inexhaustible fountain of all his hopes. But 
 then he cannot away with that false religion, that detest- 
 able superstition called Christianity. And here, to set his 
 
 i 
 
DR. FRANKLIN 
 
 101 
 
 readers against it, he gives them a most horrible catalogue 
 of* the cruelties and bloody persecutions it has always occa- 
 sioned in the world; nay, he goes so far as to assert that 
 christians are the natural enemies of mankind ; " vainly 
 conceiting themselves," says he, 64 to be the favourites of 
 heaven, they look on the rest of the world but as 6 heathen 
 dogs' whom it is ' doing God service to kill,' and whose 
 goods it is right to seize on, as spoil for the Lord's people! 
 Who," he asks crowingly, " filled Asia with fire and sword 
 in the bloody wars of the Crusades ? The christians. Who 
 depopulated the fine negro-coasts of Africa ? The chris- 
 tians. Who extiipated many of the once glorious Indian 
 nations of America? The christians; nay," continues he, 
 " so keen are those christians for blood, that when they 
 can't get their 6 heathen dogs' to fall on, they fall on one 
 another: witness the papist christians destroying the pro- 
 l estants, and the protestant christians destroying the papists. 
 Vnd still greater shame," says he, "to these sweet follow- 
 ers of the Lamb, these papist and protestant christians, 
 vhen they can no longer worry each other, will worry those 
 )f their own party, as in numberless and shameful cases of 
 the calvinists and arminians; nay, so prone are the chris- 
 tians to hate, that their greatest doctors even in their pul- 
 pits, instead of exhorting to piety and those godlike virtues, 
 that make men honour and love one another, will fix on the 
 vainest speculations; which, though not understood by one 
 soul among them, yet serve abundantly to set them all by the 
 ears; yes, they can hate one another: 
 
 For believing that there are three persons in the Godhead : 
 >r only one person. 
 
 For believing that there are children in hell not a span 
 long; or for not believing it. 
 
 For believing that every body will be saved; or for be- 
 lieving that scarcely any body will be saved. 
 
 For baptizing in mill ponds; or only out of china bowls. 
 
 For taking the sacrament in both elements; or only in the 
 bread. 
 
 For praying in Latin; or for praying only in English. 
 For praying with a book; or for praying without a book. 
 For praying standing; or for praying kneeling. 
 For reading the Bible, by themselves; or for reading it 
 only with a priest. 
 
 For wearing long beards; or for shaving their beards 
 9* 
 
102 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 For preaching up predestination; or for preaching up free 
 will. 
 
 Now," continues our writer, ' b barely to hate one's neigh- 
 bours for such notions as these, were enough, one would 
 think, to make any common d — 1 blush; but these chris- 
 tians, as if to out-d — 1 Satan himself, can not oaly hate, but 
 actually murder one another for these contradictory notions! 
 yes; and oh, horrible to think! not only murder, but even 
 glory in it: at every shower of cruel bullets on their flying 
 victims; or at every plunge of the reeking spear into the 
 bodies of shrieking mothers and infants, they can cheer 
 each other to the glorious spot with animating huzzas! and 
 even when the infernal tragedy is closed, they can write 
 congratulatory letters, and sing Te Deums, giving glory to 
 God that the Monsters — the Beasts — the Heretics, are 
 rooted out." 
 
 Such was the prince of infidels. And it was the very 
 argument to stagger Ben, even the dangerous argument of 
 example, which young as he was, he had learned to consider 
 as a short way of coming at men's real principles. 
 
 " Example is a living law, whose sway 
 Men more than all the living laws obey." 
 
 Or as Hudibras has it, 
 
 Men oft prove it by their practice'. 
 No argument like matter of fact is. 
 And we are, best of all, led to 
 Men's principles, by what they do." 
 
 'Tis true, that to tax the gospel with these accursed deeds 
 of mad papists and protestants, is just about as good logic 
 as to accuse our excellent civil code with all the crimes of 
 gamblers and horse thieves — the very rascals it aims to hang 
 Or like charging the sun as the cause of darkness, which 
 indeed it was given to dispel. 
 
 But Ben was too young yet, to know every thing. And 
 besides, led altogether as he was by the strongest feelings ot 
 sympathy, it is not much to be wondered at, that this popu- 
 lar argument, " the barbarities of christians," should have 
 excited so lasting prejudice against Christianity. As some 
 men of delicate natures who have taken an emetic, though 
 in the best madeira, can never afterwards bear the smell of 
 that generous liquor; so Christianity, steeped in tears and 
 blood, excited in Ben an aversion that stuck by him a long 
 time. In short, Ben became an unbeliever And, like 
 Paul of Tarsus, during the reign of his unbelief, u he thought 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 103 
 
 verily he ought to do many things contrary to the name of 
 Jesus of Nazareth, witch things he also did," arguing 
 powerfully for natural religion. 
 
 How many converts lie made to infidelity, 1 have never 
 been able exactly to learn. But certain it is, he made two, 
 viz. John Collins and James Ralph. As to Collins, we 
 have seen already, that in converting him to scepticism, he 
 soon drew down an old house over his head, his pupil quickly 
 turning out a most impudent drunkard and swindler. And 
 though he expected better luck from Ralph, yet he quickly 
 discovered in him also certain very dismal symptoms of the 
 cloven foot. 
 
 Some short time before the sailing of the Armis, Ben, in 
 the warmth of his heart, told Ralph of the immense affair 
 which Sir William Keith had engaged him in, viz. to make 
 him the King's Printer in Philadelphia. And also that he 
 was about to sail in a few days on that very errand for Lon- 
 don. Ralph suddenly turned serious; the next day he came 
 and told Ben that he had made up his mind to go with him. 
 " How can that be," said Ben, 66 seeing you have a young 
 wife and child?" To this Ralph replied/ with an oath, that 
 "that should be no obstacle." 64 It was true," he said, 
 " he had married the wench, but it wasonly*for her money. 
 But since the old rascal, her father, would not give it to 
 him, he was determined to be revenged on him, by leaving 
 his daughter and grandchild on his hands for life." 
 
 Ben, though greatly shocked by this trait in his character, 
 was yet so blindly partial to Ralph that he could not find in 
 his heart to spurn him from his acquaintance. But for this, 
 as he afterwards called it, great error in his life, he received 
 a chastisement, which, though pretty severe, was not one 
 stripe more than he richly deserved 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Thf day at length arrives, the long wished day for the 
 sailing of the Annis; and Ben gladly hails it as the fairest 
 he had ever seen. 
 
 All in the stream the ship she lies, 
 
 Her tojisails looscn'd from above, 
 When Ben to DEBBY fondly (lies 
 
 To bid farewell to hia TRUE LOVE 
 
304 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 But brightly as shone the day, yet in this, as in all the past, 
 he found a canker. If the season served his ambition, it 
 crossed his love. The reader will please be reminded that 
 the Dcbby, immortalized in the lines above, was the beauti- 
 ful Miss Deborah Read, who had at first so heartily laughed 
 at Ben for munching his roll along the street; but after- 
 wards had fallen very much in love with him. And, on the 
 other hand, living in her father's family, and daily a specta- 
 tor of her prudence and sweetness of spirit, he had become 
 equally partial to her; and had even asked her in marriage, 
 before he set out for London. The old gentleman, her fa- 
 ther, was quite keen for the match, it having always been 
 his opinion, he said, that in choosing a husband for his 
 daughter, it was' better to get a man without money, than 
 money without a man. 
 
 But old Mrs. Read flatly refused her consent; or, at any 
 rate, until his return, when, as she said, it would be full 
 time enough for " such young people to marry." The truth 
 is, the printing trade, then in its infancy in Pennsylvania, 
 was of such little account that the old lady had her fears 
 that her daughter would starve if she married Ben. 
 
 Having taken leave of his fair sweetheart, with many a 
 vow of love and swift return, Ben, accompanied by Ralph, 
 hastened on board the ship, which fell down the river for 
 Newcastle. Immediately on his arrival at this place, he 
 went on shore to see his dear friend the governor, who was 
 come down to despatch the packet. The governor could not 
 be seen! This was a sad shock to Ben, and would have 
 been much more so, but for the attentions of the governor's 
 secretary, Dr. Bar, who, with the finest smile imaginable, 
 presented the " Governor's compliments to his young 
 friend Mr. Franklin — was extremely sorry indeed he could 
 not see him* owing to a press of business, among which was 
 that of writing some letters for his own special service, which 
 should he sent on board to him — but though his Excellency 
 could not enjoy the pleasure of seeing Mr. Franklin, yet 
 he begged he would accept the assurances of his eternal 
 friendship, with the best wishes for his prosperous voyage 
 and speedy return; and above all* his earnest hopes that he 
 would continue to improve his extraordinary talents. " 
 
 Though this was to Ben somewhat like a sugar-plumb to 
 a child after a dose of wormwood, yet could it not so en- 
 tirely take oft' the bitter, but that he was at first prodigiously 
 m a humour to break with the governor. His characteristic 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 105 
 
 prudence, however, came to his aid ; and fortunately recol- 
 lecting that it was not a common man, but a Governor, he 
 was dealing with, and that such great men have their wajs 
 of doing things quite different from little people, he smo- 
 thered his resentment, and went peaceably on board the 
 ship — -not even yet suspecting any fraud on the part of the 
 governor. When we consider how dear to the young and 
 virtuous bosom is the glow of gratitude to benefactors, we 
 cannot but mourn that governor Keith should so cruelly have 
 chilled those joys in the bosom of our young countryman. 
 But, though chilled for a moment, they were not extinct. 
 The h avy heart which he at first felt on being denied the 
 pleasure of seeing the governor, is already much relieved by 
 his gracious message through the secretary, and afterwards 
 so completely cured by the sublime and beautiful scenes 
 around Newcastle, that he went back to the ship in good 
 spirits again. On the return of the last boat, bringing the 
 mail, he modestly asked the captain for the letters which 
 the governor had addressed to his care.. To this the rough 
 son of Neptune replied, "that they were all there, he sup- 
 posed, higglety, pigglety, together in the letter bag, and 
 that as the ship with a fine breeze was getting under weigh, 
 he could not spare the time now to make a search for them, 
 but that before they got to London he might overhaul the bag 
 and take 'em out for himself." 
 
 Ben was perfectly satisfied with this answer. And charm- 
 ed at thought of the great things awaiting him in London, 
 he threw off his coat and bravely joined the crew in all theii 
 haste and bustle to weigh the anchor, and spread the sails 
 before the freshening gale. 
 
 But while the sailors, many of them at least, poor fellows, 
 for lack of education, were straining at the clanking wind 
 lass, or creaking halyards, as void of thought as the timber- 
 heads of the ship, the spirits of Ben were in a constant suc- 
 cession of pleasurable reflections on the magnificent scenes 
 around him — the grand floating castle which bore him so 
 high above the foaming billows — the rapid flight of the ship, 
 as flying before the stormy winds she left the lessening 
 shores behind her — the boundless fields of the blue rolling 
 ocean, with all her porpoises gathering round in blackening 
 shoals, bounding and blowing, as if to greet the monster 
 vessel, and by their furious romps, adding to the crash and 
 foam of the tempest. 
 
 Though Ben was no poet, nor ever affected to be " reh- 
 
106 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 gious overmuch*" yet could he not behold such magnificent 
 scenes without that adoring sense of eternal power and good- 
 ness which has been so elegantly expressed by the sweet 
 voice of Zion: — 
 
 "Shout to the Lord, ye surging seas. 
 
 In your eternal roar ; 
 Let wave to wave resound his praise, 
 
 And shore reply to shore. 
 
 While monsters snorting on the flood 
 
 In scaly silver shine, 
 Speak terribly their Maker — Cod, 
 
 And lash the foaming brine." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Ben getting into trouble— finds out his old friend governor 
 Keith to be a black sheep — and learns that a good trade 
 and virtuous habits are the best wealth that a father can 
 give his son. 
 
 11 Who dares think one thing and another tell, 
 My soul abhors him like the gates of hell.'* 
 
 On the arrival of the ship in the Thames (or London river) 
 the captain, like an honest fellow of his word, ordered the 
 letter-bag on deck, and told Ben he was welcome now to 
 overhaul it and pick out the governor's letters to him. Aftei 
 eagerly turning them all over and over again, not a single 
 letter could he find that had his name on it, either directed 
 to himself, or to his care. He picked out however a few 
 that seemed to have some little squinting that way, one 
 especially, that was directed to a Printer, and another to a 
 Bookseller. These he immediately carried to their re- 
 spective owners. But in place of those smiles and prompt 
 offers of money and merchandize, which his illustrious 
 patron, governor Keith, had promised him, scarcely were 
 his letters opened before they were nearly thrown back into 
 his face, as coming from a couple of scoundrel debtors, who. 
 instead of paying off their old scores, were now impudently 
 asking for new credits. 
 
 Here were strong symptoms of treachery on the part of 
 the governor. And in spite of all his credulity, Ben was 
 brought to his doubtings. In this dilemma he went back to 
 a worthy Quaker of the name of Denham, with whom he had 
 contracted a ^reat friendship on ship-board, and told him 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 107 
 
 the whole story from beginning to end. With all his pro- 
 fessional gravity, Denham could not help smiling, as Ben 
 related the history of his credulity : but when he came to 
 tell of governor Keith's Letters of Credit, and the vast 
 supplies of Types, and Paper, and Presses, which they 
 were instantly to procure him, he broke into a horse laugh. 
 u He give thee letters of credit, friend Benjamin! Governor 
 Keith give thee letters of credit! Why, man, he has not 
 credit for himself, no not for a brass farthing, from any one 
 who ever heard of him.*' 
 
 Poor Ben was struck "all in a heap" — dumb as a codfish. 
 He stood for all the world like a shipwrecked sailor boy, 
 who, after dreaming of gold and diamond coasts, and black- 
 eyed Polls, and whole seas of grog, and mountains of segars, 
 wakes up all at once, and finds himself, like poor Robinson 
 Crusoe, on a desolate island, with not even a scape-goat of 
 hope before him. In silence he rolled his eyes in woeful 
 cogitation — for three months he had been feasting on the 
 smiles and promises of his illustrious friend, governor Keith 
 — for three months had been anticipating his grand Printing 
 Establishment, in Philadelphia, and his complete triumph 
 over old Keimer and Bradford — for three months he had 
 been drinking in streams of rapture from the love-beaming 
 eyes of the beauteous Miss Read, shortly as his wife to 
 rustle in silks and roll in her carriage— but dearer still than 
 all, for three months he had been looking forward to the 
 time, close at hand, when his infirm parents should come 
 to enjoy with him, in Philadelphia, the welcome repose of 
 their age, in an elegant retreat, purchased for them, by his 
 ow r n virtues. But lo ! in a moment the whole goodly struc- 
 ture is dissipated in smoke, leaving him pennyless and 
 friendless, in a strange country, three thousand miles from 
 home, and at a long, long distance from all these dear 
 objects! 
 
 Denham saw in Ben's looks what was passing in his heart; 
 but knowing that it is good for virtuous and heroic minds to 
 bear the cross in their youth, he suffered him to go on, un- 
 disturbed, with his dismal cogitations. 
 
 But a young man early trained in the school of wisdom is 
 not long to be depressed. After relieving his bosom with a 
 deep sigh; he turned to Denham and said, in a plaintive 
 tone, "but was it not cruel in governor Keith to deceive 
 me so ?" 
 
 " Yes, Psmjamnu" replied Denham, 64 'twas, to our view. 
 
108 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 very cruel in the governor of Pennsylvania thus to deceive 
 an inexperienced lad as thou art." 
 
 Here Ben turning on him his fine blue eyes, softened by 
 misfortune, said again to Denham, " well, and what would 
 you advise me ?" 
 
 u Advise thee, Benjamin," replied Denham, in a cheerful 
 tone, 66 why, I would advise thee not to give thyself one 
 moment's uneasiness about this affair. Thee remembers 
 the story of Joseph, does thee not ? how he was betrayed by 
 his brethren into Egypt, not only a poor lad like thee, but 
 indeed a slave too ? And yet this event, though at the time 
 highly disheartening, proved to him in the end, one of the 
 happiest incidents of his life. So, by good management 
 Benjamin, this may prove to thee. Thou art young, very 
 young yet, with a plenty of time before thee; and this is a 
 great city for thy business. Now if thou wilt but seek em- 
 ployment with some printer of distinction, thou mayest make 
 thyself more completely master of thy trade, and also gain 
 friends, that may enable thee to settle so much more advan- 
 tageously in Philadelphia, as to make it good for thee that 
 governor Keith ever betrayed thee here. And this will be 
 a triumph much to thine own honour, as also to the benefit 
 of other youth, who shall ever hear of thy story." 
 
 As when a sweet breeze of the ocean suddenly strikes a 
 becalmed ship, that with flapping sails lay tossing on the 
 sluggish flood, instantly the joy-wakened billows roll a 
 brighter foam, and the hearts of the sailors spring forward 
 with transport to their native shores. Thus exhilarating to 
 Ben's soul was the counsel of his friend Denham. Without 
 a moment's loss of time he went, as his friend Denham had 
 advised, and sought business at the offices of two of the 
 most eminent book-printers in London, Palmer and Watts. 
 With the latter he spent most of his time during his stay in 
 England. 
 
 This Palmer was an amiable man, and in Ben's counte- 
 nance, now mellowed more than ordinary, by his late dis- 
 appointment, he saw a something that interested him greatly 
 in his favour. He asked Ben in what part of London he 
 had learned the art of printing. Ben told him he had never 
 set a type in London. " Aye! where then," said Palmer; 
 44 in Paris?" Ben replied, that he was just from Pennsyl- 
 vania, in North America; and that what little he knew of 
 printing he had picked up there. Palmer, though, in other 
 respects, amiable, was one of those thorough-gone cockneys, 
 
DR. FRANKLfN. 
 
 who can't believe that any thing can be learned out of the 
 sound of " How-bell." He stared at Ben on saying he had 
 learned to print in North America, as would a French petit 
 maitre at one who said he had learned to dance among the 
 Hottentots. "I am afraid, sir," said he to Ben, "that I 
 cannot employ you, as I really felt a wish to do; for though 
 I now command fifty workmen, I want a Gabber, i. e. a man 
 uncommonly quick, and of a satirical turn. And in neither 
 of these characters, sir, will you, probably, suit me, sir — 
 however, sir, as it is late now, and I have business out, if 
 you will call in the morning, we will see about it." Next 
 morning, before sunrise, Ben waited at Palmer's office, 
 where numbers of his journeymen, having heard of the 
 young North American printer, were assembled to see him 
 work. Palmer was not yet up. An apprentice went to in- 
 form him that the young printer from North America, was 
 come. Presently Mr. Palmer made his appearance, looking 
 somewhat confused. 
 
 "And so you are a buckskin, sir," said he, rather cavalierly 
 
 " Yes sir," replied Ben, "I am a buckskin." 
 
 " Well sir, I am afraid you'll not make your fortune by 
 that here in London," said Palmer. 
 
 " No sir," answered Ben, 64 I find it is thought a misfor- 
 tune here, to have been born in America. But I hope it was 
 the will of heaven, and therefore must be right." 
 
 "Aye!" replied Palmer, a little tauntingly; "and so you 
 have preaching there too!! But do the buckskins generally 
 stir so early as this ?" 
 
 Ben replied, that the Pennsylvanians were getting to find 
 out that it was cheap burning sun-light. Here Palmer and 
 his cockneys stared at him, as country buckskins are wont 
 to do at a monkey, or parrot, or any such creature that pre- 
 tends to mimic man. 
 
 "You talk of sun-light, sir," said the foreman to Bens 
 " can you tell the cause of that wide difference between the 
 light of the sun in England and America ?" 
 
 Ben replied that he had never discovered that difference. 
 
 "What! not that the sun shines brighter in London than 
 in America — the sky clearer — the air purer — and the light 
 a thousand times more vivid — and luminous — and cheering 
 —and all that?" 
 
 Ben said that he could not understand how that could be, 
 seeing it was the same sun that gave light to both. 
 
 " The same sun. sir! the same sun!" replied the cockney 
 10 
 
no 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 rather nettled, " I am not positive of that sir. But admit- 
 ting that it is the same sun, it does not follow that it gives 
 the same light in America as in England. Every thing, you 
 know, suffers by going to the TVest^ as the great French phi- 
 losophers have proved; then why not the sun?" 
 
 Ben said he wondered the gentleman should talk of the 
 sun going to the west. 
 
 " What, the sun not go to the west!" retorted the cockney, 
 quite angry, « a pretty story, indeed. You have eyes, sir; 
 and don't these show you that the sun rises in the east and 
 travels to the west ?" 
 
 " I thought, sir," replied Ben, modestly, 66 that your own 
 great countryman, sir Isaac Newton, had satisfied everybody 
 that it is the earth that is thus continually travelling, and not 
 the sun, which is stationary, and gives the same light to 
 England and America." 
 
 Palmer, who had much of the honest Englishman about 
 him, equally surprised and pleased to see Ben thus chastise 
 the pride and ignorance of his foreman, put a stop to the 
 conversation by placing a composing stick in the hands of 
 Ben, while the journeymen gathering around, marvelled 
 hugely to see the young North American take a composing 
 stick in his hand ! 
 
 Having spent a moment or two in running his eyes over the 
 letter cases, to see if they were fixed as in the printing-offices 
 in America, and glancing at his watch, Ben fell to work, 
 and in less than four minutes finished the following — 
 
 " And Nathaniel said, can there any thing good come out 
 of Nazareth? — Philip said, come and see." 
 
 Palmer and his workmen were petrified. Near eighty 
 letters set up in less than four minutes, and without a blun- 
 der? And then such a delicate stroke at their prejudice and 
 nonsense! Ben was immediately employed. 
 
 This was a fine introduction of Ben to the printing office, 
 every person in which seemed to give him a hearty welcome; 
 ne wore his rare talents so modestly. 
 
 It gave him also a noble opportunity to be useful, which 
 he failed not to improve. 
 
 Passing by one of the presses at which a small man, meagre 
 and hollow-eyed, was labouring with unequal force, as ap- 
 peared by his paleness and big-dropping sweat, Ben touched 
 with pity, offered to give him " a spell." As the pressman 
 and compositor, like the parson and the clerk, or the coifin- 
 maker and the grave-digger are of entirely distinct trades in 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 London, the little pressman was surprised that Ben, who 
 was a compositor, should talk of giving him "a spell." How- 
 ever, Hen insisting, the little pressman gave way, when Ben 
 seized the press, and possessing both a skill and spirit ex- 
 traordinary, he handled it in such a workman-like style, that 
 the men all declared they should have concluded he had done 
 nothing but press-work all his life. Palmer also, coming by 
 at the time, mingled his applauses with the rest, saying that 
 he had never seen a fairer impression; and, on Ben's re- 
 questing it, for exercise and health sake, he permitted him to 
 work some hours every day at press. 
 
 On his entrance into Palmer's printing-office, Ben paid the 
 customary garnish or treat- money, for the journeymen to 
 drink. This was on the first floor, among the pressmen. 
 Presently Palmer wanted him up stairs, among the composi- 
 tors. There also the journeymen called on him for garrdph. 
 Ben refused, looking upon it as altogether an unfair demand, 
 and so Palmer himself, to whom it was referred, decided : 
 insisting that Ben should not pay \L But neither justice nor 
 patronage could bear Ben out against the spite of the jour- 
 neymen. For the moment his back was turned they would 
 play him an endless variety of mischievous tricks, such as 
 mixing his letters, transposing his pages, breaking down his 
 matter, &c. &c. It was in vain he remonstrated against such 
 injustice. They all with one accord excused themselves, 
 laying all the blame on Ralph, for so they called a certain 
 evil spirit who, they pretended, haunted the office and al- 
 ways tormented such as were not regularly admitted. Upon 
 this Ben paid his garnish — being fully convinced of the folly 
 of not keeping up a good understanding with those among 
 whom we are destined to live. 
 
 Ben had been at Palmer's office but a short time before 
 he discovered that all his workmen, to the number of fifty, 
 were terrible drinkers of porter, insomuch that they kept a 
 stout boy all day long on the trot to serve them alone. Every 
 
 man among them must have, viz. 
 
 I A pint of porter before breakfast, — cost d. 1 £ 
 
 1 A pint, with his bread and cheese, for breakfast, 1 £ 
 
 1 A pint betwixt his breakfast and dinner, \i 
 
 i A pint at his dinner, Is 
 
 I A pint betwixt his dinner and night, 1 \ 
 
 1 A pint after his day's work was done, I3 
 
 6 I'otal, three quarts ! — equal to nint. pence sterling per day /. 9 
 
112 
 
 THE LIFE UP 
 
 A practice so fatal to the health and subsistence of thosu 
 poor people and their families, pained Ben to the soul, and 
 he instantly set himself to break it up. But they laughed 
 him to scorn, boasting of their beloved porter, that it was 
 "meat and drink too," and the only thing to give them 
 strength to work. Ben was not to be put out of heart by 
 such an argument as this. He offered to prove to them that 
 the strength they derived from the beer could only be in pro- 
 portion to the barley dissolved in the water of which the beer 
 was made — that there was a larger portion of flour in a penny 
 loaf; and that if they ate this loaf and drank a pint of water 
 with it, they would get more strength than from a pint of 
 beer. But still they would not hearken to any thing said 
 against their darling beer. Beer, they said, was " the liquor 
 of life," and beer they must have, or farewell strength. 
 
 " Why, gentlemen," replied Ben, " don't you see me with 
 great ease carry up and down stairs, a large form of letters 
 in each hand; while you, with both hands, have much ado to 
 carry one? And don't you perceive that these heavy weights 
 which I bear produce no manner of change in my breathing, 
 while you, with only half the weight, cannot mount the stairs 
 without puffing and blowing most distressingly? Now is not 
 this sufficient to prove that water, though apparently the 
 weakest, is yet in reality the strongest liquor in nature, 
 especially for the young and healthy?" 
 
 But alas! on most of them, this excellent logic was all 
 thrown away. 
 
 " The ruling passion, be it what it will — 
 The ruling passion governs reason still." 
 
 Though they could not deny a syllable of Ben's reasoning, 
 being often heard to say that, " the American Aquatic 
 (or water drinker) as they called him, was much stronger 
 than any of the beer drinkers," still they would drink. 
 
 " But suppose," asked some of them, " we were to quit 
 our beer with bread and cheese for breakfast, what substitute 
 should we have?" 
 
 " Why, use," said Ben, " the substitute that I do; which 
 is a pint of nice oat-meal gruel brought to me from your beer- 
 house, with a little butter, sugar and nutmeg, and a slice of 
 dry toast. This, which is more palatable and still less costly 
 than a pint of beer, makes a much better breakfast, and keeps 
 the head clearer to boot. At dinner I take a cup of cold 
 water, which is the wholesomest of all beverages, and re- 
 quires nothing but a little use, to render it as pleasant In 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 113 
 
 this way, gentlemen, I save nine pence sterling every day, 
 making in the year nearly three thousand pence! an enor- 
 mous sum, let me tell you, my friends, to a small family; 
 and which would not only save parents the disgrace of being 
 dunned for trilling debts, but also procure a thousand com- 
 forts for the children." 
 
 Ben did not entirely lose his reward, several of his hearers 
 affording him the unspeakable satisfaction of following his 
 counsel. But the major part, "poor devils," as he em- 
 phatically styled them, "went on to drink — thus continuing 
 all their lives in a state of voluntary poverty and wretcli- 
 edness ! ! 99 
 
 Many of them, for lack of punctuality to pay the publican* 
 would often have their porter stopped. — They would then 
 apply to Ben to become security for them, their light, as 
 they called it, being out. I never heard that he upbraided 
 them with their folly; but readily gave his word to the pub- 
 lican, though it cost him the trouble of attending at the pay- * 
 table, every Saturday night, to take up the sums he had made 
 himself accountable for. 
 
 Thus, by virtue of the right education, i, e. a good trade, 
 and early fondness for labour and books, did Ben rise, like a 
 young swan of heaven, above the dark billows of adver- 
 sity; and cover himself with glory in the eyes of these 
 young Englishmen, who had at first been so prejudiced 
 against him. And, better still, when night came, instead 
 of sauntering with them to the filthy yet costly ale-houses 
 and porter cellars, he hastened to his little chamber at his 
 frugal boarding-house, (only Is. 6d. per week) there to en- 
 joy the divine society of his books, which he obtained on hire 
 from a neighbouring book-store. And commanding, as he 
 always did, through his steadiness and rapidity at work, all 
 the quick off-hand jobs, generally the best paid, he might 
 have made money and enjoyed great peace; but alas! there 
 was a moth in his purse which kept him constantly poor; a 
 canker in his peace which filled his life with vexation. That 
 canker and that moth was his young friend Ralph, whom, as 
 we have seen, he had made an infidel of in Philadelphia; and 
 for which good office, Ralph, as we shall presently see, re- 
 quited him as might have been expected. 
 
 10* 
 
114 
 
 THE' LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 14 Who reasons wisely, is not therefore wise ; 
 His pride in reasoning, not in acting, lies." 
 
 Some years ago a certain empiric whispered in the ear of 
 a. noble lord, in the British parliament, that he had made a 
 wonderful discovery. 
 
 " Aye," replied the nobleman, staring; " a wonderful 
 discovery, say you!" 
 
 " Yes, my lord, a wonderful discovery indeed! A disco- 
 very, my lord, beyond Gallileo, Friar Bacon, or even the 
 great sir Isaac Newton himself." 
 
 ik The d — 1! what, beyond sir Isaac?" 
 
 " Yes, 'pon honour, my lord, beyond the great sir Isaac. 
 'Tis true his attractions and gravitations and all that, 
 are well enough; very clever things to be sure, my lord; but 
 stiJ I nothing in comparison of this." 
 
 " Zounds, man, what can it be ?" 
 
 " Why, my lord — please come a little this way — now, 
 in confidence, my lord — I've been such a lucky dog as to 
 discover the wondrous art of raising a breed of sheep with- 
 out wool .'" 
 
 The nobleman, who, it is thought, was not very nearly 
 related to Solomon, had like to have gone into fits. " What 
 sir," asked he, with a countenance wild-staring with amaze- 
 ment, " a breed of sheep without wool! impossible!" 
 
 66 Pardon me, my lord, it is very possible, very true. I 
 have indeed, my lord, discovered the adorable art of raising 
 a breed of sheep without a lock of wool on their backs! not 
 a lock, my lord, any more than there is here on the back of 
 my hand." 
 
 " Your fortune is made, sir," replied the nobleman, 
 smacking his hands and lifting both them and his eyes to 
 heaven as in ecstasy—" Your fortune is made for ever. Go- 
 vernment, I am sure, sir, will not fail suitably to reward a 
 discovery that will immortalize the British nation." 
 
 Accordingly, a motion to that purpose was made in the 
 House of Lords, and the empiric was within an ace of being 
 created a peer of the realm; when, most unfortunately, the 
 duke of Devonshire, a district famed for sheep, got up and 
 begged a little patience of the house until it could be fully 
 understood what great benefit the nation was to derive from 
 a flock of sheep without wool. Why, zounds! my lards," 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 1 13 
 
 said the noble duke, 64 I thought all along thai wool was the 
 main chance in a Hock of sheep." 
 
 A most learned discussion ensued. And it being made 
 apparent to the noble lords, that wool is actually the basis of 
 broadcloths, flannels, and most other of the best British manu- 
 factures — and it being also made apparent to the noble lords, 
 which was another great point gained, that two good things 
 are better than one, L e. that wool and mutton together, are 
 better than mutton by itself, or wool by itself, the motion 
 for a title was unanimously scouted: and in place of a 
 pension the rascal had like to have got a prison, for daring 
 thus to trump up a vile discovery that would have robbed the 
 world of one its greatest comforts. 
 
 Just so, to my mind at least, it fares with all the boasted 
 discoveries of our modern atheists. Admitting that these 
 wonderful wizards could raise a nation of men and women 
 without religion, as easily as this, their brother conjurer, 
 could a breed of Merinos without wool — still we must ask 
 cut bono ? that is, what good would it be to the world ? 
 Supposing they could away at a dash, with all sense of so 
 glorious a being as God, and all comfort of so mighty a hope 
 as heaven, what benefit would it bring to man or beast ? 
 
 But, God be praised, this dismal question about the con- 
 sequence of discarding religion need not be asked at this 
 time of day. These gentlemen without religion, like bell- 
 wethers without wool, do so constantly betray their naked- 
 ness, I mean their want of morality, that the world, bad as 
 it is, is getting ashamed of them. Here, for example, is 
 master Ralph, who, for reasons abundantly convenient to 
 himself, had accompanied Ben to London — Ben, as he him- 
 self confesses, had lent a liberal hand to make Ralph a sturdy 
 infidel, that is, to free him from the restraints of the gospel. 
 Now mark the precious fruits of this boasted freedom. 
 Getting displeased with the parents of a poor girl, whom he* 
 had married, he determines to quit her for ever, as also a 
 poor unoffending child he had by her, whom, by the ties of 
 nature, he was bound to comfort and protect! Ben, though 
 secretly abhorring this villany of Ralph, yet suffered him- 
 self to be so enamoured of his vivacity and wit, as to make 
 him an inmate. " We were," says Ben, " inseparable com- 
 
 self owns afterwards, to boast of this connexion. But it 
 was fine sport for Ralph; for having brought no money with 
 him from America but what just sufficed to pay his passage, 
 
 panions. " Very little cause 
 
H6 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and knowing what a noble drudge Ben was, and also that he 
 had with him fifteen pistoles, the fruits of his hard labours 
 and savings in Philadelphia, he found it very convenient to 
 hang upon him; not only boarding and lodging at his expense, 
 and at his expense going to plays and concerts, but also 
 frequently drawing on his dear yellow boys, the pistoles, for 
 purposes of private pleasure. 
 
 If the reader should ask, how Ralph, even as a man of 
 honour, could reconcile it to himself, thus to devour his 
 friend, let me, in turn, ask what business had Ben to furnish 
 Ralph the very alphabet and syntax of this abominable les- 
 son against himself ? And, if that should not be thought 
 mite to the point, let me ask again, where, taking the fear 
 »f God out of the heart, is the difference between a man and 
 a beast ? If man has reason, it is only to make him ten- 
 told more a beast. Ralph, it is true, did no work; but what 
 of that? He wrote such charming poetry — and spouted such 
 fine plays — and talked so eloquently with Ben of nights! — 
 and sure this was a good offset against Ben's hard labours 
 and pistoles. At any rate Ralph thought so. Nay, more; 
 ne thought, in return for these sublime entertainments, Ben 
 ought to support not only him, but also his concubine. Ac- 
 cordingly he went and scraped aquaintance with a handsome 
 young widow, a milliner, in the next street: and what with 
 reading his fine poetry to her, and spouting his plays, he got 
 so completely into her good graces, that she presently 
 turned actress too; and in the " comedy of errors," or 
 " all for love," played her part so unluckily, that she was 
 hissed from the stage, by all her virtuous acquaintance, and 
 compelled to troop off with a big belly to another neighbour- 
 hood, where Ralph continued to visit her. 
 
 The reader will hardly wonder, when told that Ralph and 
 his fair milliner soon found the bottom of Ben's purse. He 
 will rather wonder what sort of love-powder it was that Ben 
 took of this young man that could, for such a length of time, 
 so fatally have befooled him. But Ben was first in the 
 transgression. Like Alexander the coppersmith, he had 
 done Ralph * much harm," and God, who is wiser than all, 
 had ordained that he should be " rewarded according to his 
 works " 
 
DR. FRANKLIN 
 
 117 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " Learn to be wise from others' ill, 
 And you'll learn to do full well." 
 
 As nothing is so repellant of base minds as poverty, soon 
 as Ralph found that Ben's pistoles were all gone, and his 
 finances reduced to the beggarly ebb of living jTrom hand to 
 mouth, he " cleared out" and betook himself into the coun- 
 try to teach school, whence he was continually writing fine 
 poetical epistles to Ben, not forgetting in every postscript, to 
 put him in mind of his dear Dulcinea, the fair milliner, and 
 to commend her to his kindness. As to Ben, he still per- 
 severed, after Ralph's departure, in his good old habits of 
 industry and economy — never indulging in tobacco or gin — 
 never sauntering to taverns or play houses, nor at any time 
 laying out his money but on books, which he always visited, 
 as frugal lovers do their sweethearts, at night. But still it 
 would not all do. He could lay up nothing. The daily postage 
 of Ralph's long poetical epistles, with the unceasing appli- 
 cation of the poor milliner, kept his purse continually in a 
 galloping consumption. At length he obtained a release 
 from this unpleasant situation, though in away that he him- 
 self never could think of afterwards without a blush. 
 
 After very frequent loans of money to her, she came, it 
 seems, one night to his lodgings on the old errand — to bor- 
 row half a guinea I when Ben, who had been getting too fond 
 of her, took this opportunity to offer freedoms which she 
 highly resented. 
 
 This Ben tells himself, with a candour that will for evei 
 do him credit among those who know that the confession of 
 folly is the first step on the way to wisdom. 
 
 66 Having, at that time/ says he, " no ties of religion 
 upon me, and taking adv?.jtage of her necessitous situation. 
 I attempted liberties (another great error of my life,) which 
 she repelled with becoming indignation. She informed 
 Ralph; and the affair occasioned a breach between us. 
 When he returned to London, he gave to understand that 
 he considered all the obligations he owed me as annihilated 
 by this proceeding; and that I was not to expect one farthing 
 of all the monies I had lent him." 
 
 Ben used to say, many years afterwards, that this conduct 
 of his friend Ralph put him in mind of an anecdote he had 
 some where heard, of good old Gilbert Tenant: the same 
 
118 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 that George Whitefield generally called hell-fire Tenant. 
 This eminent divine, believing fear to be a much strongei 
 motive with the multitude than love, constantly made a great 
 run upon that passion in all his discourses. And Boanerges 
 himself could hardly have held a candle to him in this way. 
 Nature had given him a countenance which he could, at will, 
 clothe with all the terrors of the tornado. And besides he 
 had a talent for painting the scenes of dread perdition in 
 such colours, that when aided by the lightning of his eyes, 
 and the bursting thunders of his voice, it was enough to 
 start the soul of lion-hearted innocence; what then of rabbit- 
 livered guilt ? The truth is, he wrought miracles in New- 
 Jersey: casting out devils — the devils of drunkenness, gam- 
 bling, and lust, out of many a wretch possessed. 
 
 Among the thousands whom he thus frightened for their 
 good, was a tame Indian of Woodbury, who generally went 
 by the name of Indian-Dick. This poor savage, on hearing 
 Mr. Tenant preach, was so terrified, that he fell down in 
 the meeting house, and roared as if under the scalping knife. 
 
 He lost his stomach: and even his beloved bottle was for- 
 gotten. Old Mr. Tenant went to see Dick, and rejoiced 
 over him as a son in the gospel; — heartily thanking God for 
 adding this Indian Gem to the crown of his glory. 
 
 Not many days after this, the man of God took his jour- 
 ney through the south counties of New- Jersey, calling the 
 poor clam -catchers of Cape May to repentance. As he re- 
 turned and drew near to Woodbury, lo! a great multitude! 
 He rejoiced in spirit, as hoping that it was a meeting of the 
 people to hear the word of God: but the uproar bursting 
 upon his ear, put him in doubt. 
 
 66 Surely," said he, " this is not the voice of praise; 'tis 
 rather, I fear, the noise of drunkenness." And so it was 
 indeed; for it being a day of election, the friends of the 
 candidates had dealt out their brandy so liberally that the 
 street was filled with sots of every degree, from the simple 
 stagger to the dead drunk. Among the rest, he beheld his 
 Indian convert, poor Dick, under full sail in the street, 
 reeling and hallooing, great as a sachem. Mr. Tenant strove 
 hard to avoid him; but Dick, whose quick eye had caught 
 the old pie-balled horse that Tenant rode on, instantly stag- 
 gered towards him. Tenant put forth all his horsemanship 
 to avoid the interview. He kicked old Pie-ball in one flank, 
 and then in the other; pulled this rein and then that; laia on 
 here with his staff, and laid on (here; but all would not do; 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 119 
 
 unless he could at once ride down the drunken beasts, there 
 was no way of getting clear of them. So that Dick, half 
 shaved as he was, soon got along side of old Pie-ball, whom 
 he grappled by the rein with one hand, and stretching forth 
 the other, bawled out, how do ? how do, Mr. Tenant ?" 
 Tenant could not look at him. 
 
 Still, Dick, with his arm full extended, continued to bawl, 
 " how do, Mr. Tenant, how do ?" Finding that there was no 
 getting clear of him, Mr. Tenant, red as crimson, lifted up 
 his eyes on Dick, who still, bold as brandy, stammered out, 
 "High, Mr. Tenant! d- d-d-don 9 1 you know me, Mr. Ten- 
 ant ? Dori>t you know Indian Dick ? Why, sure, Mr. 
 Tenant, you are the man that converted me?" 
 
 " I converted you !" replied Tenant, nearly fainting. 
 
 " Fes, roared Dick, /'// be d-d-d-nd, Mr. Tenant, if you 
 ari*t the very man that converted me." 
 
 "Poor fellow!" said Tenant, with a heavy sigh, "you 
 look like one of my handiworks. Had God Almighty con- 
 verted you, you would have looked like another guess sort 
 of a creature." 
 
 From Ben's constantly relating this story of old Tenant 
 and Indian Dick, whenever he mentioned the aforesaid case 
 of Ralph's baseness, many of his acquaintance were of 
 opinion, that Ben thereby as good as acknowledged, that at 
 the time he took Ralph in hand, he did not altogether under- 
 stand the art of converting; or, that at any rate, it would 
 have been mucn better for Ralph, if, as Mr. Tenant said of 
 Indian Dick, God Almighty had converted him. He would 
 hardly, for the sake of a harlot, have so basely treated his 
 best friend and benefactor. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Ben resolves to return to America. — Anecdote of a rare cha- 
 racter. 
 
 M A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod, 
 An honest man's the noblest work of God." 
 
 Ben used, with singular pleasure, to relate the following 
 story of his Quaker friend Denham. This excellent man 
 nad formerly been in business as 9 Bristol merchant^ but 
 
120 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 failing, he compounded with his creditors and departed foi 
 America, where, by his extraordinary diligence and fru- 
 gality, he acquired in a few years a considerable fortune. 
 Returning to England, in the same ship with Ben, he in- 
 vited ail his old creditors to a dinner. After thanking them 
 for their former kindness and assuring them that they should 
 soon be paid, he begged them to take their seats at table. 
 On turning up their plates, every man found his due, princi- 
 pal and interest, under his plate, in shining gold. 
 
 This was the man after Ben's own heart. Though he 
 never found in Denham any of those flashes of wit, or floods 
 of eloquence, which used so to dazzle him in Ralph, yet he 
 contracted such a friendship for him, on account of his 
 honesty and Quaker-like meekness, that he would often 
 steal an hour from his books at night, to go and chat with 
 him. And on the other hand, Ben's steady and persevering 
 industry, with his passion for knowledge, had so exalted him 
 in Denham's esteem, that he was never better pleased than 
 when his young friend Franklin, as he always called him, 
 came to see him. One night Denham asked Ben how he 
 would like a trip to America? 
 
 " Nothing on earth would so please me," replied Ben, 
 " if L could do it to advantage." 
 
 " Well, friend Benjamin," said Denham, " I am just 
 a-going to make up a large assortment of goods for a store 
 in Philadelphia, and if fifty pounds sterling a year, and bed 
 and board with myself, will satisfy thee, I shall be happy 
 of thy services to go and live with me as my clerk." 
 
 The memory of his dear Philadelphia, and the many 
 happy days he had spent there, instantly sprung a some- 
 thing at his heart that reddened his cheeks with joy. But 
 the saddening thought of his total unacquaintedness with 
 commerce, soon turned them pale again. U I should be 
 happy indeed to accompany you," replied he, with a deep 
 sigh, 66 if I were but qualified to do you justice." 
 
 "O! as to that, riend Benjamin, don't be uneasy," re- 
 plied Denham: 64 If thou art not qualified now, thou soon 
 wilt be. And then as soon as thou art fit; I'll send thee 
 with a cargo of corn and flour to the West Indies, and put 
 thee in a way wherein, with such talents and industry as 
 thine, thee may soon make a fortune." 
 
 Ben was highly delighted with this proposal, for though 
 filty pounds a year was not so much as he could earn at 
 printing, yet the prospects in other respects were so much 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 greater. Added to this, he was getting heartily tired of 
 printing. He had tried it five years at Boston, three at 
 Philadelphia, and now nearly two in London. At all 
 these places he had worked without ceasing; had lived most 
 sparingly; had left no stone unturned; and after all was 
 now, in his twenty-first year, just as indigent as when he 
 began! " Scurvy, starving business!" thought he to him- 
 self, " 'tis high time to quit you! and God be thanked for this 
 fair opportunity to do it; and now we will shake hands and 
 part for ever." Taking leave now of the printing business, and 
 as he believed and wished, for evei\ he gave himself up en- 
 tirely to his new occupation, constantly going from house 
 to house with Denham, purchasing goods and packing them. 
 When every thing was safe on board, he took a little leisure 
 to visit his friends, and amuse himself. This was a rule 
 which he observed through life — to do business first, and 
 then enjoy pleasure without a sting. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 On the 23d of July, 1726, Ben, with his friend Denham, 
 took leave of their London acquaintance, and embarked for 
 America. As the ebbing current gently bore the vessel 
 along down the amber coloured flood, Ben could not sup 
 press his emotions, as he looked back on that mighty city, 
 whose restless din was now gradually dying on his ear, as 
 were its smoke-covered houses sinking from his view, per- 
 haps for ever. And as he looked back, the secret sigh would 
 arise, for the many toils and heart aches he had suft'ered 
 there, and all to so little profit. But virtue, like the sun, 
 though it may be overcast with clouds, will soon scatter 
 those clouds, and spread a brighter ray after their transient 
 showers. 'Tis true, eighteen months had been spent there, 
 but they had not been misspent. He could look back upon 
 them without shame or remorse. He had broken no mid- 
 night lamps — had knocked down no poor watchman — had 
 contributed nothing to the idleness and miser}' of any 
 family. On the contrary, he had the exceeding satisfaction 
 to know, that he had left the largest printing-houses in 
 London in mourning for his departure — that he had shown 
 them the blessings of temperance, and had proselyted many 
 
122 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of them from folly to wise and manly living. And though, 
 when he looked at those eighteen months, he could not be- 
 hold them, like eastern maidens, dowered with gold and 
 diamonds, yet, better still, he could behold them like the 
 6 Wise Virgins," whose lamps he had diligently fed with 
 the oil of wisdom, for some great marriage supper— perhaps 
 that between liberty and his country. 
 
 After a wearisome passage of near eleven weeks, the 
 ship arrived at Philadelphia, where Ben met the perfidious 
 Keith, walking the street alone, and shorn of all the short- 
 lived splendours of his governorship. Ben's honest face 
 struck the culprit pale and dumb. The reader hardly need 
 be told, that Ben was too magnanimous to add to his con- 
 fusion, by reproaching or even speaking to him. But as 
 if to keep Ben from pride, Providence kindly threw into his 
 way his old sweetheart, Miss Read. Here his confusion 
 would have been equal to Keith's, had not that fair one fur- 
 nished him with the sad charge against herself — of marrying 
 during his absence. Her friends, after reading his letter 
 to her, concluding that he would never return, had advised 
 her to take a husband. But she soon separated from him. 
 and even refused to bear his name; in consequence of 
 learning that he had another wife. 
 
 Denham and Ben took a store-house, and displayed their 
 goods; which, having been well laid in, sold off very rapidly. 
 This was in October, 1726. Early in the following Feb- 
 ruary, when the utmost kindness on Denham's part, and an 
 equal fidelity on Ben's, had rendered them mutually dear, 
 as father and son; and when also, by their extraordinary 
 success in trade, they had a fair prospect of speedily making 
 their fortunes, behold! O, vanity of all worldly hopes! they 
 were both taken down dangerously ill. Denham, for his 
 part, actually made a die of it. And Ben was so far gone, 
 at one time, that he concluded it was all over with him; 
 which afforded a melancholy kind of pleasure, especially 
 when he was told that his friend Denham, who lay in the 
 next room, was dead. And when he reflected that now, 
 since his good patron had left him, he should be turned out 
 again upon the world, with the same hard struggles to en- 
 counter, and no prospect of ever being able to do any thing 
 for his aged father, he felt a secret regret, that he was called 
 back to life again. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 123 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Some people there are who tell us that every man is born 
 foi a particular walk in life, and that whether tie will or not, 
 in that walk he must go ; and can no more quit it than the 
 sun can quit his course through the skies. 
 
 This is a very pleasing part of faith; and really there 
 seems much ground for it. Certainly scripture, in many 
 places, has a powerful squinting that way. And in the lives 
 of many of our greatest men, we discover strong symptoms 
 of it. The great Washington was, a dozen times and more 
 within an ace of getting out of the only track that could 
 have led him to the command of the American armies. Bu* 
 yet there seems to have been always some invisible hand t« 
 meet him at the threshold of his wanderings, and to pu^i 
 him back. Dr. Franklin also appears, on several occasions, 
 to have been at the very point of breaking oft' from the print 
 ing business. But Heaven has decreed for him that walk in 
 life, and in it he must move. And though blind at times, 
 as Balaam's ass, he sought to turn out of the way, yet, 
 crouch as «he would, he still found at every turn a good 
 angel to bring him back. First he was to have been a sailor 
 out of Boston — then a swimming-master in London — then a 
 merchant in America. But it would not all do. And 
 though in this last brilliant affair, he seemed to have effected 
 his escape, losing the black-fingered printer in the sprucelj 
 powdered merchant, yet, comeback to the world-enlight- 
 ening types he must — for Denham dies, and with him all 
 the grand castles which Ben had built in the air. Still averse 
 to the printing business, he tries hard for another place be- 
 hind the counter, but nobody will take him in. His money 
 at length gone, and every avenue to honest bread hedged up 
 against him, he is constrained to take refuge in his old trade. 
 
 Keimer, his former employer, who well knew his worth, 
 waited on him, and made liberal offers if he would take 
 charge of his printing-office. It must have been a sore trial 
 to Ben to come under authority of a man whose ignorance 
 and hypocrisy he so heartily despised; and who, he well 
 Knew, had nothing else in view, but just to get him to in- 
 struct his numerous apprentices, and then pick a quarrel 
 and pack him off. Bat bad as he hated Keimer's vices, he 
 still worse hated idleness and dependence, and therefore 
 he accepted his invitation. He found Keimer's office in 
 
124 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the old way, i. e. quite out of order, and miserably destitute 
 of letters. There being at that time no such thing in 
 America, as a type-foundry, this defect appeared at first ut- 
 terly incurable. But Ben soon found a remedy. Having 
 once, while he lived in London, glanced his eye on the 
 practice of this art, he thought he could imitate it. And, 
 by casting in clay, he presently created a fine parcel of let- 
 ters in lead, which served at least, to keep the press from 
 stopping. He also, on occasion, engraved a variety of orna- 
 ments for printing — made ink — gave an eye to the shop, 
 and, in short, was in all respects the factotum of the esta- 
 blishment. But useful as he made himself, he had the mor- 
 tification to find that his services became every day of less 
 importance to Keimer, in proportion as his apprentices im- 
 proved; and when Keimer paid Ben his second quarter's 
 wages, he did it very grumblingly, and gave him to under- 
 stand, that they were too heavy. By degrees he became 
 less civil; was constantly finding fault, and seemed always 
 )ii the point of coming to an open rupture. 
 
 Ben bore it all very patiently, conceiving that his ill 
 humour was owing to the embarrassment of his affairs. 
 
 At length, however, the old wretch insulted him so grossly, 
 and that under circumstances of all others the most pro- 
 voking to a man of honest pride, i. e. in the presence ol 
 neighbours, that Ben could bear it no longer; but, after 
 upbraiding him for his ingratitude, took up his hat and left 
 him, begging a young man of the office to take care of his 
 trunk, and bring it to him at night. 
 
 The name of this young man was Meredith, one of Kei- 
 mer's apprentices. He had taken a great liking to Ben, be- 
 cause that while Keimer, ignorant and crabbed, taught him 
 nothing, Ben was every day giving him some useful lesson 
 in his trade, or some excellent hint in morals, conducive to 
 the government and happiness of his life. In the evening 
 he came and entreated Ben not to think of quitting the print- 
 ing office while he continued in it. "My dear sir," said 
 he to Ben, " I beg you will take no notice of what this Kei- 
 mer does. The poor man is always, as you see, half shaved; 
 and no wonder, for he is over head and ears in debt — oftea 
 selling his goods at prime cost for the sake of cash — con- 
 stantly giving credit without taking any account; and there- 
 fore cannot help shortly coming out of the little end of the 
 horn, which will leave a glorious opening for you to make 
 your fortune." - 
 
I) It. FRANKLIN. 
 
 125 
 
 Hen replied that he had nothing to begin with. " 0, as to 
 that difficulty," answered Meredith, " we can easily get 
 over it. My father has a very high opinion of you, and 
 will, I am sure, readily advance money to set us up, pro- 
 vided you will but go into partnership with me. I am 
 no workman, but you are. And so, if you like, I will 
 find the capital and you the skill, and let's go halves in the 
 profits. By spring we can have in from London, our press, 
 types, and paper, and then, as my time with Keimer will be 
 out, wt can fall to work at once, and make our jacks." 
 
 As this was an offer not to be met with every day, Ben 
 readily agreed to it, as also did old Mr. Meredith. 
 
 But the old gentleman had a better motive in view than 
 the pecuniary profits. He had marked, with great pleasure, 
 Ben's ascendancy over his son, whom he had already won- 
 derfully checked in his passion for tobacco and brandy. 
 And he fondly hoped, that by this connexion his son would 
 be perfectly cured. 
 
 With this hope, he desired Ben to make him out the list of 
 a complete prin^vig-office, which he immediately took to his 
 merchant, with orders to import it without loss of time. Kei- 
 mer was to know nothing of all this; and Ben, in the inte- 
 rim, was to get work with Brad lord. 
 
 On application, Bradford had no room. Ben, therefore, 
 had to rest on his oars. This, however, was but for a short 
 season: for Keimer getting a hint that he should be em- 
 ployed to print somt New-Jersey paper money, that would 
 require engravings and types which he knew nobody in 
 Philadelphia but Ben could make; and fearful that Brad- 
 ford, by engaging Ben, might deprive him of the job, sent a 
 very civil message to Ben, telling him that " old friends 
 ought not to part on account of a few hasty ivords dropt in 
 a passion," and conducing with a pressing invitation to 
 come back. 
 
 Ben went back; and Keimer met him with a most cordial 
 welcome* Although there was nothing in this poor old man 
 to excite his esteem, yet Ben could not help feeling happy 
 to see smiles of joy brightening over his witnered face; and 
 ne then felt, though not for the first time, that though learn- 
 ing is a pleasant thing, yet one touch of " kindred sentiment 
 varm at the heart," outweighs, in pure delight, all the learn 
 mg in the world. 
 
 11* 
 
126 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Keimer presently obtained what he so ardently wished, 
 the printing of the New-Jersey paper-money, and flew into 
 the office with the news to Ben, who immediately set about 
 constructing a copper-plate press, the first that had ever 
 been seen in Philadelphia. He also engraved various orna- 
 ments and devices for the bills; and putting every thing in 
 readiness for their paper-money coinage, he set out with 
 Keimer for Burlington, where the New-Jersey legislature 
 held their session. 
 
 At the first sight of Ben's paper-money, every eye was 
 struck with its beauty. " Why this Keimer must he a very 
 clever old fellow /" was the cry. But others who were 
 deeper in the secret, replied, "not so; young Franklin is 
 the man." Hereupon great attention was paid to Ben. 
 And he was sensibly taught, that though he had been griev- 
 ously tried and held back in the world, yet he had much 
 cause of gratitude. Presently another affair arose, furnish- 
 ing him fresh matter of congratulation, that he had ever 
 paid such attention to the improvement of his mind. 
 
 Fearing that our Philadelphia printers might strike off 
 more money bills than they had been desired, the New-Jer- 
 sey Assembly thought proper to send two or three commis- 
 sioners to superintend the press. These gentlemen, all of 
 the shrewd sort, and constantly with them while at work, 
 soon found out the difference between the master and his 
 young journeyman. Keimer, though a printer, had never 
 been a reader. Ben had devoted all his leisure hours to 
 reading. The one had ever courted pleasure in the furni- 
 ture of his mind: the other, popularity in the decorations 
 of his body. The shape of his whiskers; the cock of his 
 hat; the cut of his coat, were great things with Keimer. 
 Every trick at easy outside show was caught up by him. 
 Among other dashes at popularity, he pretended to be a 
 freemason, and was constantly grinning and making his 
 signs. But it would not all do. The New-Jersey commis- 
 sioners knew nothing of Jachin and Boaz. So that though, 
 while Ben, stripped to the buff, was heaving at the press, 
 old Keimer would stand by, stately as a prince at his levee, 
 his attitude perpendicular as the plummet, and his feet per- 
 fectly on the square, with his gilt snuff-box nicely poised in 
 his left hand, and his right, bespangled with rings, tastily 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 27 
 
 carrying the fragrant Maccabau to his nostrils, courting the 
 commissioners — yet, as before said, it would not all do. 
 The commissioners wanted new ideas, and Keimer had 
 none to give them. He had a pompous way of saying yes 
 or no. And this was all they could get from him in answer 
 to their questions. Presently they turned to Ben, whom 
 by the by, they hardly thought it worth while to interrogate, 
 considering the character of his master, and his own young 
 and raw appearance. But in place of the old yes and no 
 of master Keimer, Ben gave them such answers to their 
 ""questions, as at once surprised and delighted them. He 
 was slow to speak, but when the commissioners, curious to 
 explore his intellect, which had so unexpectedly startled 
 them, purposely put a number of deep questions to him on 
 the subject of their paper-money, such as its effects on agri- 
 culture and commerce, and the laws that should regulate its 
 quantity, lie answered all in his own peculiar way of saga- 
 cious brevity, that made them declare he must have studied 
 nothing else all his life. The reports which these gentle- 
 men made in his favour, produced their natural eifect. Ben 
 was invited every where, and treated with the most flattering 
 attention; while Keimer, though his employer, was entirely 
 neglected, or invited only as a compliment to Ben. 
 
 Among the many wealthy and great ones, his admirers, 
 was the inspector general, Isaac Deacon, a cunning old fox, 
 and rich as a Jew. He could never rest without Ben at 
 his house. " Young man," said he one day, as Ben was 
 hard at work, " / am mightily taken with you, and let me 
 tell you, I never look at you without thinking of myself, as 
 I was at your time of life. Now, do you know what was 
 my first employment, when I was a boy ?" 
 
 Ben replied that that was a question beyond his reach. 
 
 " Well then, I will tell you, sir, if you can but believe 
 me. I'll tell you. My first employment was to carry clay 
 to the brick-makers!" 
 
 " Impossible!" said Ben. 
 
 6 * No, indeed, not impossible at all, but very certain. 
 Yes, many a hot day have I carried the clay, and so daubed 
 with it all over, that my own mother would hardly have told 
 me from her house pig. Well, after that I became an un- 
 derling to a surveyor, and dragged his chain many a day 
 through the woods; and all the time did not know ' B from 
 a bulPs footS But the surveyor was a good man, sir, and 
 taught me to read and write. Ah! them were dark times, sir, 
 
128 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 dark times; all living here like Indians in the woods. A 
 young man, printing his books and pictures like you, would 
 have been looked on as a conjurer. And now let me tell 
 you one thing. Don't you be discouraged, but keep up a 
 good heart. A little, making every day, makes a great 
 deal in a long life. And I am mistaken if you don't make a 
 fortune, and come out a great man yet some of these days." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Having finished printing the New-Jersey money, Ben, 
 accompanied by Keimer, set out for Philadelphia, where he 
 had scarcely arrived before in came Meredith, with a face 
 of joy, and taking Ben aside, told him that their press and 
 types were all come. Immediately the two friends went 
 forth in search of a good house and stand, which they were 
 so lucky as to find near the market, at twenty-four pounds 
 a year I The fixing and putting all their things to rights, 
 having consumed every penny of their money, our young 
 beginners were at their wit's end what to be at. In this 
 extremity, one of their acquaintance, a Mr. George House, 
 brought them a countryman who wanted some advertise- 
 ments for a cow he had lost. Ben soon had the old cow up 
 for him in a " staring" shape, which so pleased the honest 
 rustic, that he instantly counted them down their Jive 
 shillings. Never did five shillings come more acceptably. 
 The gratitude which Ben felt towards George House for 
 this little kindness, fixed on him a determination from that 
 day, " never to miss an opportunity to lend a helping hand to 
 young beginners." 
 
 His favourite young Hercules, the printing-office, 
 which had been so long labouring in his brain, being now 
 happily brought to birth, Ben determined immediately U 
 give it the countenance and support of another noble bantling 
 of his own. I allude to his famous club, called the « Junto," 
 a kind of Robinhood society, composed of young men desi- 
 rous of improving themselves in knowledge and elocution, 
 and who met one night every week, to discuss some inter- 
 esting question in morals, politics, or philosophy. 
 
 The members at first were but few ; but Ben, now a com- 
 plete master of his pen, made such a dash with their speeches 
 
DR. FRANKLIN 
 
 129 
 
 in his newspaper, that the Junto soon got to be the talk of 
 the town; ant 1 members were added to it daily. Ben was 
 unanimously appointed moderator of the club; and in re- 
 ward for the great pleasure and profit derived from tin* 
 noble, mind-improving institution, the members all agreed 
 to support his printing-office. This was of service; but its 
 principal support was derived from a still higher source; I 
 mean his own astonishing industry. No sooner was it known 
 in town that Ben had set up a new paper and press, under 
 the very nose of two others, Keimer's and Bradford's, than 
 it became a matter of speculation whether it could possibly 
 stand. The generality gave into the negative. But Dr. 
 Bard, a shrewd old Scotchman, who well knew the effect of 
 persevering industry on young men's fortunes, laughed 
 heartily at the doubters. " Stand," said he, " gentlemen! 
 Yes, take my word it will stand. The industry of that 
 young Franklin will make any thing stand. I see him still 
 at work when I return from my patients at midnight, and he 
 is at it again in the morning before his neighbours are out 
 of bed." Ben was fairly entitled to his praise. He gene- 
 rally composed and corrected ten to twelve thousand m's a 
 day, though it constantly took him till near midnight. But 
 so intent was he on finishing this incredible task, that when 
 accident had deranged a good half of his hard day's work, 
 he has been known to fall to work and set it up again before 
 he went to bed. 
 
 The reputation acquired by this industry, made such an im- 
 pression in his favour, that the merchants, many of them, made 
 him liberal offers of their stationary on credit. But, not wishing 
 to have "too many irons in the fire" he declined their offers, 
 which added to his reputation of an industrious young man, 
 that of an upright and cautious one. This is mentioned, not 
 so much for praise of the dead, as for a hint to the living. 
 
 Business began now to make a flood-tide movement in the 
 new printing-office, and Ben made such good use of it, and 
 picked up money so fast, that he was in hopes he had near- 
 ly thrown all his troubles over the 64 left shoulder " But in 
 this he was miserably mistaken; for presently, as if ihp**e 
 was to be no end to troubles, there leaped out an other j mov * 
 alarming than all before. Old Meredith, finding that Ben 
 had not cured his son of his drunken fits, took a miff, and all 
 at once backed out of his promise to pay for their press and 
 printing materials! and the merchant who imported these 
 rostiy articles, and who had for some time been expecting 
 
130 
 
 TPIE LIFE OF 
 
 his money, commenced a suit, and threatened immediate 
 
 execution ! 
 
 Poor Ben! Imagination sees him, at first, standing like a 
 luckless merchant, who, after two noble ventures swallowed 
 up, now beholds the breakers that are to swallow up his third, 
 and last hope — " Yes," thought he, " but a few short weeks 
 and my press and type will be under the hammer; all my 
 delightful hopes annihilated; and myself turned adrift on 
 the wide world again!" 
 
 At this perilous moment, when nothing but infamy and 
 ruin stared him in the face, God was pleased to cause his 
 own virtues to leap forth like an armed Minerva, with 
 shield and buckler tor his defence. His industry and pru- 
 dence having, as aforesaid, been trumpeted through the town, 
 the public feelings were greatly excited by his misfortunes. 
 " Shame," said they, « that such a young man should fall. 
 Jls to that drunken fellow, that Meredith, no matter how soon 
 he is stripped and sent to jail. But this Franklin must not 
 fall for want of a little help. It were a disgrace to the town. " 
 Accordingly several gentlemen, two at least are recorded, 
 Coleman and Grace, without each other's knowledge, called 
 on him, and tendered whatever sum he should want! — but 
 hoping at the same time he would, if possible, get quit of 
 Meredith, who only served to disgrace and injure him; being 
 often seen at taverns and gambling tables. 
 
 A relief so unexpected, and in .a manner too so flatter- 
 ing, produced on the mind of Ben, a satisfaction beyond ex- 
 pression. After making the best acknowledgments he could 
 to such noble benefactors, he begged they would allow him a 
 day or two to effect, if possible, an honourable separation 
 from Meredith. Fortunately he found no difficulty in this: 
 for Meredith, heartily sick of the business, readily agreed, 
 for a small consideration, to give him up the printing-office to 
 himself. Ben then called on his two friends, accepted the 
 proffered supply, taking exactly one half from each for 
 fear of offending either, and making full settlement with the 
 Merediths, took the whole business into his own hands. 
 
 Ben's extreme alarm from the danger of having his print- 
 ing-office seized, and its fortunate rescue by the amiable 
 Coleman and Grace, has been very briefly narrated. But 
 transient as this event may seem in our narrative, it pro- 
 duced on his feelings a glow of gratitude which kings might 
 envy; and it led to an act which Angels would glory in. 
 The reader shall hear all in good time. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 131 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Having now got the printing-office in his own hands, 
 Ben began to find the unspeakable advantage of his past la- 
 bours to acquire ideas, and to convey them handsomely by 
 his pen. The town and country getting at this time prodi- 
 giously excited about a paper currency, Ben came out with 
 a most luminous pamphlet, on " The advantages and dis- 
 advantages of a paper currency." The pamphlet gave 
 such satisfaction to the legislature, that they rewarded him 
 with the printing of all their money bills. His pamphlet pro- 
 ducing the same effect on the legislature of Delaware, they 
 rewarded him in the same way — as also did both these le- 
 gislatures by throwing into his way several other jobs of 
 public printing. 
 
 Money now coming in, he went at once, and paid his 
 good friends Coleman and Grace what they had so nobly lent 
 him. With a light heart he then wiped off that old score of 
 Vernon's, which had given him so much uneasiness, but 
 which now receipted in full, principal and interest, made 
 him feel himself the freest, and therefore the happiest man 
 in Pennsylvania. Money still coming in, he fitted up a few 
 shelves in the front room of his printing-office, where he 
 spread out an assortment of Books, Blanks, Paper and 
 Quills; but all in the small way — for he always thought, 
 that though 
 
 " Vessels large may venture more, 
 Vet little boats should keep near shore." 
 
 Like a ship that after long tacking against winds and tides, 
 through dangerous straits and shallows, has at last got safely 
 out on the main ocean flood, and at liberty to lay her own 
 course; such was now the condition of Ben; who hereupon 
 felt it his duty immediately to take on board those two grand 
 guides and guardians of his voyage— religion and a good 
 wife. 
 
 As to religion — the grum looks and bitter sectarian ani- 
 mosities of the christians in those wretched days, had early 
 made a deist of him; and he, in turn, had made deists ot 
 others, as Collins and Ralph. But on coming to test the thing 
 by its fruits, he found that this new religion (deism) was not 
 yet the religion he could admire. He found that poor Col- 
 lins, with all his deism, was but a drunkard — Ralph, an un - 
 grateful swindler — governor Keith, a great rascal — and even 
 
132 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 nimself, though a prime deist, yet in his treatment of Miss 
 Read, as culpable as any of them all. This led him to a 
 train of thought which resulted in the conclusion, that though 
 he could not conceive that bad actions are bad, merely be- 
 cause revelation forbids them; nor good actions good, because 
 revelation enjoins them; yet he doubted not but the former 
 were forbidden, because they are hurtful, and the latter en- 
 joined because they are beneficial to us — all things consider- 
 ed. On this grand principle then, the inseparable connexion 
 between vice and misery, and virtue and happiness, he 
 determined from that day to shun the one, and embrace 
 the other $ thus summing up his religion in those beautiful 
 lines: — 
 
 " What CONSCIENCE dictates to be done, 
 
 Or warns me not to do ; 
 This leach me more than HELL to shun, 
 
 That more than HEAVEN pursue." 
 
 So much for his religion. As to his wife, his behaviour ir 
 this respect seems to have shown that there was some sub 
 stance in the religious ground he had taken. Having, at 
 the time of his sad disappointment in London, and when he 
 despaired of ever marrying her, neglected his old sweetheart 
 Miss Read, he resolved, now that he was getting into bettei 
 circumstances, to make her all the amends in his power. 
 ? Tis true, her mother, who had prevented the marriage be- 
 fore he set off for England, and during his absence had pre- 
 vailed on her to marry another lover, was most in fault, 
 and actually acquitted him, laying the blame altogether at 
 her own door. — But Ben never acquitted himself: he felt 
 condemned, and would therefore accept no absolution while 
 he could make reparation. He renewed his visits to the fa- 
 mily, who were rejoiced to see him. He saw his old sweet- 
 heart, Miss Read ; but O how altered from her who, former- 
 ly bright with love and joy, used to fly to the door to wel- 
 come his coming! How altered from her, whose rosy cheeks 
 crimsoned with blushes, he so fondly kissed at taking leave 
 for England, with sweetest promises of speedy return and 
 blissful marriage. Pale and wan were her looks, where she 
 sat silent and retired, and often deeply sighing, like one 
 much troubled in mind, or crossed in hopeless love. She 
 never reminded him of his " troth and broken vows" But 
 such patient suffering served but the more co harrow up his 
 feelings. Each stifled sigh sounded in his ear as a death- 
 bell; and each tender glance carried a point keener than the 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 133 
 
 lightning's fork. In a word, his heart was completely torn, and 
 he had wisdom to seek its only cure — reconciliation with the 
 injured. 'Tis true, pride whispered that Miss Read, having 
 treated him with great disrespect by marrying in his absence, 
 ought to be punished. But how could he think of revenge 
 on a poor girl, whom his own neglect had driven to that des- 
 perate act! Avarice, too, remonstrated against marrying a 
 woman, whose last husband had left debts which he might 
 be ruined to pay. But Ben felt resolved, that as he had ren- 
 dered this dear woman unhappy, he would restore her peace, 
 whatever might be the cost. As the coming forth of the 
 sun after clouds, such was the shining of conscious virtue 
 on Ben's face, after such noble resolving. As a flower after 
 long mourning its absent sun, rejoices again in his returning 
 beams; so the soul of Miss Read rejoiced in the smiles of her 
 returning lover. The hearts of her aged parents revived 
 with the cheerful rose once more blooming on her pallid 
 cheek; and heaven itself shed choicest blessings on their 
 happy union. 
 
 No debts of the former husband were ever exhibited against 
 them. No foe was permitted to triumph. And while old 
 Keimer, after all his roguery, was fain to run away from 
 his creditors to the West Indies, where he died in poverty — 
 and while his successor, Harry, elated with a puff of pros- 
 perity, and affecting the fine gentleman, soon came out 
 at the little end of the horn, Ben and his lovely bride, going 
 on in their virtuous toils, prospered together like twin trees 
 
 f>lanted by the rivers of water. Lured by her pleasant 
 ooks, the book-store, over which she presided, was con- 
 stantly thronged ; and equally pleased with the neatness and 
 fidelity of his printing, Ben's press was always at work. 
 Happy in the tender wish to please, " each was to the other 
 a dearer self." And whether their duties called them to the 
 kitchen, the book -store, or the printing-office, they still 
 found, in their mutual love, that divine cordial which light- 
 ened every burden and sweetened every care. Their table, 
 though frugal, was delicious, because seasoned with smiles 
 of mutual fondness. And doubly welcome the return of 
 night, where Hymen, unreprovecl, had lighted up his sacred 
 torch; and where pressed to the soft bosom of his affectionate 
 spouse, the happy husband could take his fill of pure con 
 nubial bliss, without remorse or dread of danger. Such 
 were the benefits which Ben derived from his generous 
 
 12 
 
134 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 dealings with the afflicted Miss Read; and as a farther re- 
 ward, it was in this self same year, that Ben was enabled to 
 incorporate his grand library-company. 
 
 This first of social blessings, a Public Library, was set 
 on foot by Franklin, about the year 1731. Fifty persons 
 subscribed forty shillings each, and agreed to pay ten shil- 
 lings annually. The number increased; and in 1742, the 
 company was incorporated, by the name of "The Library 
 Company of Philadelphia." It now contains eight thousand 
 volumes on all subjects, a philosophical apparatus, and a 
 good beginning towards a collection of natural and artificial 
 curiosities. The company have lately built an elegant house 
 in Fifth street, on the front of which is erected a marble 
 statue of their founder, Benjamin Franklin.* 
 
 The beneficial influence of this institution was soon evi- 
 dent. The cheapness of terms rendered it accessible to 
 every one. Hence a degree of information was extended 
 among all classes of people, which is very unusual in other 
 places. The example was soon followed. Libraries were 
 established in various places, and they are now become very 
 numerous in the United States, and particularly in Pennsyl- 
 vania. It is to be hoped, that they will be still more widely 
 extended, and that information will be every where increased. 
 This will be the best security for our liberties. Ji nation 
 who has been taught to know and prize the rights which 
 God has given them, cannot be enslaved. It is in the 
 regions of ignorance alone that tyranny reigns. 
 
 In 1732, Franklin began to publish POOR RICHARD'S 
 ALMANAC. 
 
 The eloquent Charles Fox used to say, that had Doctor 
 Franklin written nothing else, his "Poor Richard's Alma- 
 nac" were alone sufficient to immortalize him. Instead of 
 being taken up, as too many Almanacs are, with trifling 
 stories and fool-born jests, it abounds wjth the finest maxims 
 on Industry, Temperance, and Frugality, thrown together 
 with astonishing conciseness, and written with that happy 
 mixture of gravity and gaiety that captivates every body, 
 and never tires. It .took a wonderful run. From 10 to 
 15,000 a year were generally sold in Pennsylvania. And 
 to this Almanac, in a considerable measure, may be ascribed 
 that wonderful start which Pennsylvania has taken of the 
 
 * The gift of William Bingham, Esq. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 137 
 
 Doing come, they were conversing on the badness of the 
 times $ and one of the company called to a plain, clean old 
 man, with white locks, " Pray, father Abraham, what think 
 you of the times ? Will not these heavy taxes, quite ruin 
 the country? How shall we be ever able to pay them? What 
 would you advise us to do ?" Father Abraham stood up, 
 and replied, " If you would have my advice, I will give it 
 you in short; 'for a word to the wise is enough,' as poor 
 Richard says." They joined in desiring him to speak his 
 mind, and gathering round him, he proceeded as follows: — 
 Friends, said he, the taxes are, indeed, very heavy; and, 
 if those laid on by the government, were the only ones we 
 had to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but we 
 have many others, and much more grievous to some of 
 us. We are taxed twice as much by our idleness, three 
 times as much by our pride, and four times as much by our 
 folly; and from these taxes the commissioners cannot ease 
 or deliver us, by allowing an abatement However let us 
 hearken to good advice, and something may be done for us; 
 "God helps them that help themselves," as poor Richard- 
 says. 
 
 I. It will be thought a hard government that should tax 
 its people one tenth part of their time, to be employed in its 
 service: but idleness taxes many of us much more; sloth, by 
 bringing on diseases, absolutely shortens life. " Sloth, like 
 rust, consumes faster than labour wears, while the used key 
 is always bright," as poor Richard says. " But dost thou 
 love life, then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life 
 is made of," as poor Richard says. How much more than 
 is necessary do we spend in sleep? forgetting that the sleep- 
 ing fox catches no poultry, and that "there will be sleeping 
 enough in the grave," as poor Richard says. 
 
 " If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time 
 must be," as poor Richard says, "the greatest prodigality;" 
 since, as he elsewhere tells us, " lost time is never found 
 again; and what we call time enough, always proves little 
 enough;" let us then up and be doing, and doing to the pur- 
 pose; so by diligence shall we do more with less perplexity. 
 " Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all easy; and 
 tie that riscth late 5 must trot all day, and shall scarce over 
 take his business at night; while laziness travels so slowly, 
 that poverty soon overtakes him. Drive thy business, let 
 not that drive thee; and early to bed and early to rise, makes 
 a man healthy, wealthy and wise," as pom Richard says. 
 12* 
 
,38 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 So what signifies wishing and hoping for better times? we 
 may make these times better, if we bestir ourselves. " In- 
 dustry need not wish, and he that lives upon hope will die 
 fasting. There are no gains without pains; then, help 
 hands for I have no lands,'' or if I have they are smartly 
 taxed. " He that hath a trade, hath an estate; and he that 
 hath a calling, hath an office of profit and honour," as poor 
 Richard says; but then the trade must be worked at, and the 
 calling well followed, or neither the estate nor the office 
 will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are industrious, we 
 will never starve; for at the working man's house, " hunger 
 looks in but dares not enter." Nor will the bailiff or the 
 constable enter, for "industry pays debts, while despair in- 
 creaseth them." What, though you have found no treasure, 
 nor has any rich relation left you a legacy, " diligence is 
 the mother of good luck, and God gives all things to industry. 
 Then plough deep while sluggards sleep, and you shall have 
 corn to sell and to keep." 
 
 " Work while it is called to-day, for you know not how 
 much you may be hindered to-morrow. One to-day is worth 
 two to-morrows," as poor Richard says; and farther, " never 
 leave that till to-morrow, which you can do to-day." If 
 you were a servant, would you not be ashamed that a good 
 master should catch you idle ? Are you then your own mas- 
 ter ? be ashamed to catch yourself idle when there is so 
 much to be done for yourself, your family, your relations, 
 and your country. Handle your tools without mittens: re- 
 member that u the cat in gloves catches no mice," as poor 
 Richard says. It is true, there is much to be done, and, 
 perhaps, you are weak-handed; but stick to it steadily, and 
 you will see great effects; for 64 constant dropping wears 
 away stones; and by diligence and patience the mouse ate 
 in two the cable; and little strokes fell great oaks." 
 
 Methinks I hear some of you say, " must a man afford 
 himself no leisure?" I will tell thee, my friend, what poor 
 Richard says; " employ thy time well, if thou meanest to 
 gain leisure; and, since thou art not sure of a minute, throw 
 not away an hour. Leisure is time for doing something 
 useful; this leisure the diligent man will obtain, but the 
 lazy man never; for, a " life of leisure and a life of laziness 
 are two things. Many, without labour would live by their 
 wits only, but they break for want of stock: whereas in- 
 dustry gives comfort, and plenty, and respect." 44 Fly plea- 
 sures, anf* thry will follow you. The diligent spinner ha« 
 
DR. FRANKLIN- 
 
 139 
 
 k large shift; and now I have a sheep and a cow, every 
 body bids me good-morrow." 
 
 II. But with our industry, we must likewise be steady, 
 settled and careful, and oversee our own affairs with our 
 own eyes, and not trust too much to others; for, as poor 
 Richard says, 
 
 u I never saw an oft removed tree, 
 N »r yet an oft removed family, 
 That throve so well as those that settled he. 
 
 And again, " three removes are as bad as a fire;" and 
 Again, " keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee;" and 
 again, " if you would have your business done, go; if not, 
 send." And again, 
 
 " He that by the plough would thrive, 
 Himself must either hold or drive." 
 
 And again, "the eye of a master will do more work than 
 both his hands;" and again, "want of care does us more 
 damage than want of knowledge:" and again, 44 not to over- 
 see workmen is to leave them your purse open." Trusting 
 too much to others' care is the ruin of many; for, "in the 
 affairs of this world, men are saved, not by faith, but by 
 the want of it; but a man's own care is profitable;" for, " if 
 you would have a faithful servant, and one that you like, 
 serve yourself. A little neglect may breed great mischief; 
 for want of a nail the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe the 
 horse was lost; and for want of a horse the rider was lost, 
 being overtaken and slain by the enemy: all for want of a 
 little care about a horse-shoe nail." 
 
 III. So much for industry, my friends, and attention to 
 one's own business; but to these we must add frugality, if 
 we would make our industry more certainly successful. A 
 man may, if he knows not how to save as he gets, "keep 
 his nose all his life to the grindstone, and die not worth a 
 groat at last. A fat kitchen makes a lean will;" and, 
 
 " Many estates are spent in the getting, 
 
 Since women for tea forsook spuming and knitting, 
 
 And men for punch forsook hewing and splitting." v 
 
 It you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as ot 
 getting. The Indies have not made Spain rich because her 
 outgoes are greater than her incomes. 
 
 Av,'iy then with your expensive follies, and you will not 
 then have so much cause to complain of hard times, heavv 
 taxes, and chargeable families; for, 
 
140 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 "Women and wine, game and deceit, 
 Make the wealtii small, and the want great." 
 
 And farther, " what maintains one vice will bring up two 
 children." You may think, perhaps, that a little tea, or a 
 little punch now and then, diet a little more costly, clothes 
 a little finer, and a little entertainment now and then, can 
 be no great matter; but remember, " many a little makes a 
 mickle." Beware of little expenses; " a small leak wil 
 sink a great ship," as poor Richard says; and again, '« who 
 dainties love, shall beggars prove;" and moreover, "fools 
 make feasts, and wise men eat them." Here you are all 
 got together to this sale of fineries and nicknacks. You 
 call them goods, but if you do not take care they will prove 
 evils to some of you. You expect they will be sold cheap, 
 and, perhaps, they may, for less than they cost; but, if you 
 have no occasion for them, they must be dear to you. Re- 
 member what poor Richard says, " buy what thou hast no 
 need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thy necessaries." And 
 again, " at a great pennyworth pause awhile;" he means 
 that perhaps the cheapness is apparent only, and not reai 
 or the bargain, by straitening thee in thy business, may do 
 thee more harm than good. For in another place he says, 
 6 6 many have been ruined by buying great pennyworths." 
 Again, *< it is foolish to lay out money in a purchase of 
 repentance:" and yet this folly is practised every day at 
 auctions, for want of minding the Almanac. Many a one, 
 for the sake of finery on the back, have gone with a hungry 
 belly, and half starved their families; " silks and sattins, 
 scarlet and velvets, put out the kitchen fire," as poor 
 Richard says. These are not the necessaries of life, they 
 can scarcely be called the conveniences: and yet only be- 
 cause they look pretty, how many want to have them. By 
 these, and other extravagances, the genteel are reduced to 
 poverty, and forced to borrow of those whom they formerly 
 despised, but who through industry and frugality have main- 
 tained their standing; in which case it appears plainly, that 
 " a gloughman on his legs is higher than a gentleman on his 
 knees," as poor Richard says. Perhaps they have had a 
 small estate left them, which they knew not. the getting of: 
 they think " it is day, and will never be night;" that a little 
 to be spent out of so much is not worth minding: but 
 "always taking out of the meal-tub, and never putting in, 
 soon comes to the bottom," as poor Richard says; and then, 
 4 when the well is dry, they know the worth of water.' 
 
FRANKLIN 
 
 HI 
 
 Hut this they might have known before, if they had taken 
 his advice. " If you would know the value of money, go 
 and try to borrow some; for he that goes a borrowing goes 
 a sorrowing," as poor Richard says; and, indeed, so does he 
 that lends to such people, when he goes to get it again, 
 Poor Dick farther advises, and says, 
 
 "Fond pride of dress is sure; a very curse, 
 Ere fancy you consult, consult your ,,urse." 
 
 And again, " pride is as loud a beggar as want, and a great 
 deal more saucy." When you have bought one fine thing, 
 you must buy ten more, that your appearance may be all 
 of a piece; but poor Dick says, "it is easier to suppress the 
 first desire, than to satisfy all that follow it." And it is as 
 truly folly for the poor to ape the rich, as for the frog to 
 swell to equal the ox. 
 
 " Vessels large, may venture more^ 
 But little boats should keep near shore." 
 
 It is, however, a folly soon punished; for, as poor Richard 
 says, " pride breakfasted with plenty, dined with poverty, 
 and supped with infamy." And, after all, of what use is 
 this pride of appearance, for which so much is risked, so 
 much is suffered? It cannot promote health, nor ease pain; 
 it makes no increase of merit in the person, it creates envy, 
 it hastens misfortune. 
 
 But what madness must it be to run in debt for these 
 superfluities? We are offered, by the terms of this sale, 
 six months credit; and that, perhaps, has induced some of 
 us to attend it, because we cannot spare the ready money, 
 and hope now to be fine without it. But ah! think what 
 you do when you run in debt; you give to another power 
 over your liberty. If you cannot pay at the time, you will 
 be ashamed to see your creditor ; you will be in fear when 
 you speak to him ; you will make poor, pitiful, sneakiiig ex- 
 cuses, and by degrees, come to lose your veracity, and sink 
 into base, downright lying ; for " the second vice is lying, 
 the first is running in debt," as poor Richard says; and 
 again, to the same purpose, " lying rides on debt's back;" 
 whereas a free American ought not to be ashamed, nor afraid 
 to see or speak to any man living. But poverty often de- 
 prives a man of all spirit and virtue. " It is hard for an 
 empty bag to stand upright." What would you think of 
 that nation, or of that government, who should issue an 
 edict, fobidding you to dress like a gentleman or gentlewo- 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 man, on pain of imprisonment or servitude? Would yon 
 not say that you were free; have a right to dress as you 
 please, and that such an edict would be a breach of your 
 privileges, and such a government tyrannical? And yet you 
 are about to put yourself under that tyranny when you run 
 into debt for such a dress! your creditor has authority, at 
 nis pleasure, to deprive you of your liberty, by confining you 
 in jail for life, or by selling you for a servant, if you should 
 not be able to pay him: when you have got your bargain, you 
 may perhaps think little of payment; but as poor Richard 
 says, " creditors have better memories than debtors; credit- 
 ors are a superstitious set, great observers of set days 
 and times." The day comes round before you are aware, 
 and the demand is made before you are prepared to satisfy 
 it; or, if you bear your debt in mind, the term, which at 
 first seemed so long, will, as it lessens, appear extremely 
 short; time will seem to have added wings to his heels, as 
 well as his shoulders. " Those have a short Lent, who 
 owe money at Easter." At present, perhaps, you may think 
 yourself in thriving circumstances, and that you can bear a 
 little extravagance without injury; but, 
 
 *' For age and want save while you may, 
 No morning suns last the whole day." 
 
 Gain may be temporary and uncertain, but ever while you 
 live, expense is constant and certain; and " it is easier to 
 build two chimneys, than to keep one in fuel," as poor Rich- 
 ard says: so " rather go to bed supperless, than rise in debt." 
 
 "Get what you can, and what you get hold, 
 'Tis the stone that will turn your lead into gold.' 
 
 And when you have got the philosopher's stone, sure you 
 will no longer complain of bad times, or the difficulty of 
 paying taxes. 
 
 IV. This doctrine of my friend's is reason and wisdom; but 
 after all, do not depend too much upon your own industry 
 and frugality, and prudence, though excellent things; for 
 they may all be blasted without the blessing of heaven; and 
 therefore ask that blessing humbly, and be not uncharitable 
 to those that at present seem to want it, but comfort and help 
 them. Remember Job suffered, and was afterwards pros 
 perous. 
 
 And now to conclude, " experience keeps a dear school, 
 but fools will learn in no other," as poor Richard says, and 
 scarce in that; for it is true, " we may give advice, but we 
 
Page 147 
 
DR. FR 
 
 FRANKLIN. m * 
 
 Os nlunip young rabbit, as he thought, squatted among the 
 «, • .<ls 1 Down at once upon him, he pounced like thunder, 
 and bearing him aloft in his talons, thus chuckled to himself 
 with joy^Zounds, what a lucky dog I ami such a nice rah- 
 bit here, this morning, for my breakfast! * 
 m_" His ioy was but momentary; for the supposed rabbit 
 Hippened to be a stout cat, who, spitting and squa Wng with 
 rao-e, instantly stuck his teeth and nails, like any tury, into 
 the eagle's thighs, making the blood and feathers lly at a 
 
 dreadful rate. . . 
 
 C^old! holdI for mercy's sake, hMJfcvizd the eagle,, 
 his wings shivering in the air with very tot -incut. 
 
 ^ Viflian!' retorted the cat, with a tiger-like growl, <dare 
 you talk of mercy after treating me thus, who never injured 
 
 y wf£ God bless you, Mr. Cat) is that^lu? > rejoined the ea- 
 gle, mighty complaisant ;^'pon honour, I did not intend, sir. 
 ! thought it was only a rabbit I had got hold of-and you 
 know we are all fond of rabbits. Do you suppose, my dear 
 sir, that if I had but dreamt it was you, I would ever nave 
 touched the hair of your head? No, indeed: I am not such 
 a fool as all that comes to. And now, my dear Mr. Cat, 
 come let's be good friends again, and I'll let you go with all 
 
 my heart. . . . , 
 
 *<*Yes, you'll let me go, scoundrel, will you— here from 
 the clouds— to break every bone in my skini-^No, villain, 
 carry me back, and put me down exactly where you found 
 me, or I'll tear the throat out of you in a momenta 
 
 " Without a word of reply, the eagle stooped at once 
 from his giddy height, and sailing humbly down, with great 
 complaisance restored the cat to his simple farm-yard, there 
 to sleep, or hunt his rats and mice at pleasure." 
 
 A solemn silence ensued. At length, with a deep pro- 
 phetic sigh, lord Spencer thus replied: 46 Ah I Dr. franklin 
 I see the drift of your fable; and my fears have already made 
 the application. God grant, that Britain may not prove the 
 eagle, and America the cat." This fable paraphrased m the 
 Whig papers of that day, concludes in this way: 
 
 ^ Thus Britain thought in seventy-six, 
 Her l aions in a hare to fix ; 
 But in the scuffle it was found, 
 The bird received a dangerous wound, 
 Which, though pretending oft to hide, 
 Still rankles in his Royal side." 
 
204 THE LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 Doctor Franklin now be«;an to find his situation in Lon 
 don extremely unpleasant. For twelve years, like heaven's 
 own minister of peace, he had pressed the olive-branch on 
 the British ministry; and yet after all, their war- hawks 
 could hardly tolerate the sight of him. They even went so 
 far as to call him 44 the hoary headed villain, who first stirred 
 up the Americans to rebellion" As soon as he could obtain 
 his passports he left England. 
 
 His old friend, Strahan, advised him to continue in that 
 country, for that America would soon be filled with tumult 
 and bloodshed. He replied, 44 No, sir, where liberty is, there 
 is my country y 
 
 Unbounded was the joy of the Americans on the return 
 of so great a patriot and statesman. The day following he 
 was elected by the legislature of Pennsylvania, a member 
 of Congress. The following letters, in extract, to his con- 
 stant friend, and the friend of science/and liberty, the cele- 
 brated doctor Priestley, will show IWw full his hands were 
 I I < £ / 
 
 4 Philadelphia, July 7, 1775. 
 
 44 Dear Friend, 
 
 44 Britain has begun to burn our sea port towns; secure, I 
 suppose, that we shall never be able to return the outrage in 
 kind. She may doubtless destroy them all. But is this the 
 way to recover our friendship and trader She must certainly 
 be distracted; for no tradesman out of Bedlam ever thought 
 of increasing the number of his customers by knocking them 
 on the head; or of enabling them to pay their debts, by burn- 
 ing their houses. 
 
 46 My time was never more fully employed. I breakfast 
 before six. At six I hasten to the committee of safety, for 
 putting the province in a state of defence. At nine I go to 
 Congress, which sits till after four. It will scarcely be credited 
 in Britain, that men can be as diligent with us, from zeal for 
 die public good, as with you, for thousands per annum. Such 
 s the difference between uncorrupted new states, and cor- 
 rupted old ones. 
 
 44 Great frugality and great industry are now become 
 fashionable here: gentlemen, who used to entertain with two 
 or three courses, oride themselves now in treating with sim 
 
7 
 
 DR. FRANKLIN. V^^Z 
 governs the world, to whom all should look for a blessing 
 on their honest endeavours, doth not, in his wise provi 
 dence, otherwise determine. 
 
 AN OLQ TRADESMAN^ 
 
 IDLE CURIOSITY CURED. 
 
 On his first trip, by lancl, to see his father in Boston, he 
 was worried almost to death by the abominable inquisitive- 
 ness of the New England tavern-keepers. 
 
 Neither man nor beast could travel among them m com , 
 fort. No matter how wet or weary, how hungry or thirsty, ' 
 the poor traveller might be, he was not to expect an atom 
 of refreshment from these silly publicans until their most ( 
 pestiferous curiosity was first gratified. And then Job him- 
 self could not stand such questions as they would goad him 
 /with; such as, where he came from — and where he might be 
 / a-going — and what religion he might be of— and if he was 
 \ a married man — and so on. After having been prodigiously 
 teazed in this way for several days, until at last the bare 
 sight of a public house almost threw him into an ague, he 
 determined to try the following remedy at the very next tav- $ 
 ern. Soon as he alighted from his horse he desired the tavern 
 . keeper to collect his whole family, wife, children, and ser- 
 vants, every soul of them; for that he had something vastly 
 important to communicate. All being assembled and won- 
 dering what he had to say, he thus addressed them. "My 
 ' name is Benjamin Franklin. I am a printer by trade. 1 live, 
 when at home, in Philadelphia. In Boston I have a father, a 
 good old man who taught me, when I was a little boy, to read 
 my book and say my prayers. I have, ever since, thought 
 it my duty to visit' and pay my respects to such a father; 
 and I am on that errand to Boston now. This is all that 
 [ can at present recollect of myself that I think worth tell- 
 ing you. But if you can think of any thing else that you 
 wish to know about me, I beg you to out with it at once, 
 that I may answer, and so give you opportunity to get me 
 something to eat; for I long to be on my journey that I may 
 return as soon as possible to my family and business, where 
 I most of all delight to be." /* 
 
 Forty thousand sermons against Idle Curiosiiy could 
 nardly have driven it so effectually out of New England as 
 lid this little squib of ridicule. 
 
160 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The following jeu d'esprit is peculiarly in character with 
 Dr. Franklin. It proves that his wit and his benevolence 
 were equal to every emergence, and that if he carried the 
 Old Testament language in his head, he carried the New 
 Testament spirit in his heart. 
 
 WIT AND PERSECUTION. 
 
 The conversation turning, one day, on persecution, a doc 
 tor of divinity, distinguished for his wit, but, unfortunately, 
 a little too much infected with that acrimony which is 
 caught by reading books of religious controversy, took the 
 part of persecution and contended that it was sometimes 
 right to employ it. Franklin said, he could not think of 
 any case wherein persecution was admissible among rational 
 creatures. It might be very excusable in error to persecute, 
 whose nature it was to see things wrong, and to get angry; 
 but that for such a " divinity as truth," to persecute, was, in 
 his opinion, a sin against the Holy Ghost, never to be forgiven. 
 After using, in his facetious manner, a variety of arguments 
 honourable to wit and philanthropy, and the clergyman 
 still remaining unconvinced, Franklin called out to him 
 with an air of great surprise, " Why, my dear sir, I am asto- 
 nished that you plead thus for persecution when it is so dia- 
 metrically opposite to your Bible." 
 
 The clergyman replied, that he did not know what doctor 
 Franklin meant. He thought, he said, he knew something 
 of his Bible, but he did not recollect any chapter in point. 
 
 " No, sir!" answered Franklin, still with the look and voice 
 of surprise, "not that memorable chapter concerning Abra- 
 ham and the poor man ! Pray, sir, favour us with your 
 Bible a minute or two." 
 
 " With all my heart," replied the clergyman, " I should 
 like to see that memorable chapter." 
 
 The company manifested a solicitude for the issue of the 
 pending controversy — the family Bible was brought and laid 
 on the table by the side of doctor Franklin. " Well, reve- 
 rend sir," said he, looking at the preacher, as he took up 
 the Bible, " shall I read this chapter?" 
 
 " Certainly," replied the divine, settling himself in his 
 chair to listen. — The eyes of all were fixed on F rankling 
 when, opening the Bible and turning back the leaves as to 
 find the place, he thus audibly began: — 
 
 The twenty-seventh chapter of the first book of Moses, 
 commonly called the book of Genesis. 
 
Dll. FRANKLIN. 
 
 1GI 
 
 I. And it came to pass, after these things, that Abra- 
 nam sat in the door of his tent, about the going down of tiie 
 sun. 
 
 2 And behold a man, bowed with age, coming from the 
 way of the wilderness, leaning on a staff'. 
 
 3. And Abraham arose, and met him, and said unto him, 
 turn in, I pray thee, and wash thy feet, and tarry all night, 
 and thou strait arise early in the morning and go on thy way. 
 
 4. But the man said, nay, for I will abide under this 
 tree. 
 
 5. And Abraham pressed him greatly; so he turned, and 
 they went into the tent; and Abraham baked unleavened 
 bread, and they did eat. 
 
 6. And when Abraham saw that the man blessed not 
 God, he said unto him, wherefore dost thou not worship the 
 most high God, Creator of heaven and earth. 
 
 7. And the man answered and said, I do not worship thy 
 God, neither do I call upon his name; for I have made to 
 myself a God, which abideth always in mine house, and pro- 
 videth me all things. 
 
 8. And Abraham's zeal was kindled against the man, 
 and he arose and fell upon him, and drove him forth with 
 blows into the wilderness. 
 
 9. And at midnight God called unto Abraham, saying, 
 where is the stranger? 
 
 10. And Abraham answered, and said, Lord, he would 
 not worship thee, neither would he call upon thy name, 
 therefore have I driven him out from before my face into the 
 wilderness. 
 
 II. And God said, have f borne with him these hundred 
 and ninety and eight years, and nourished him and clothed 
 him, notwithstanding his rebellion against me; and couldest 
 not thou, that art thyself a sinner, bear with him one night? 
 
 12. And Abraham said, jlet not the anger of my Lord 
 wax hot against his servant; |lo, I have sinned: forgive me, 
 I pray thee. 
 
 13. And he arose, and went forth into the wilderness, 
 and sought diligently for the man and found him: 
 
 14. And returned with him to his tent; and when he had 
 entreated him kindly, he sent him away in the morning with 
 
 s ifts - I 
 
 15. And God spake again; unto Abraham, saying, for this 
 thy sin, shall thy seed be afflicted four hundred years in a 
 strange land: 
 
 14* 
 
cuij and thei 
 
 shall come forth with power, and with gladness of heart, 
 
 IfiV THE LIFE OF 
 
 16. feut for thy repentance, will I deliver them 
 iall come mrth with poM 
 and with much stji^tance. 
 
 That witty but splenetic old bachelor, Dean Swift, used 
 /to say, that 44 there was no dispute which a man of a tolera- 
 bly good head and heart might not easily avoid falling into, 
 or honourably get out of; and, therefore, as none but fools 
 and rascals fought duels, the sooner such beasts cut each 
 other's throats, the better for the community." -This, no 
 drrubt, is very true, but still it is too much like striking with 
 a war club, or tomahawk* to be allowed among christfans. 
 The following impromptu on duelling ? by Dr. Franklin, 
 claims a far higher admiration. It is an arrow pointed with 
 the diamond of wit, dipt in the oil of kindness, that wounds 
 but to heal. 
 
 THE FOLLY OF DUELLING. 
 
 This most pusillanimous practice was one day made the 
 theme of conversation in a large party in London, where 
 Doctor Franklin dined. The philosophers and divines of 
 the company joined unanimously to execrate it; and so many 
 sensible and severe things were said against it, that everybody 
 seemed willing to give it up to its father, the devil, except a 
 young officer, whose ugly distortions showed plainly enough 
 that he did not at all relish their strictures. Soon as they 
 were done, he called aloud, u well, gentlemen, you may preach 
 as much as you please against duelling, butPll never pocket 
 an insult for all that. No, if any man affront me, I'll call 
 him to an account, if 1 lose my life for it." 
 
 The philosophers and divines looked at each other in si- 
 lence, like fools who had shot their last bolt. 
 
 Here Franklin took up the cudgels; and looking at the 
 young officer with a smile, said, 44 This, sir, puts me in mind 
 of an affair that lately happened in a Philadelphia coffee- 
 house." 
 
 The young fellow, rather pertly, said he should like to 
 hear what had lately happened in a Philadelphia coftee-nouse. 
 
 44 Why, sir," continued the doctor, "two gentlemen were 
 sitting together in the coffee-house, when one said to the 
 other, for heaven's sake, sir, sit further off, and don't poison 
 me; vou smell as bad as a pole-cat.' V.. 
 
 Sir," retorted the other, 44 what do you mean? Draw, 
 and defend vourself.'t 
 
^ im. FKANKCT T — 16* ..... 
 
 "Ml, sir,'^ quoth the first, V I'll meet yon in a moment, if 
 you insist on it; but let's see first how that's to mend the 
 mattefi [f you kill me, I shall smell as bad as a pole-eat too 
 And if I kill you, you will only smell ten times worseP- 
 
 In s!toi4,- that divine motto, G&wCk 
 
 u Homo sum, nil humani a me alienum puto." 
 In English thus, 
 
 A man I am, in man I take a par/, 
 Arid good of man is ever next my heart. 
 
 has seldom been more justly applied than to Dr. Franklin. 
 He seems to have been all eye, all ear, all touch, to every 
 thing that affected human happiness. Did he, even at the 
 early age of twenty-five, form an acquaintance with young 
 persons fond of reading, but unable to purchase books? In- 
 stantly he suggested the plan for obviating that great, great 
 misfortune, by founding a Public Library; whereby, at a 
 small expense in hand, and a much smaller paid annually, a 
 subscriber might have his choice of books, on all subjects, 
 whether of pleasure or profit. This Library, which was com- 
 menced in 1731, by Franklin and only thirty -seven mem- 
 bers, and no more than one hundred volumes, consisting of 
 such little parcels of books as each subscriber possessed, is 
 now, 1820, enlarged to six hundred members, and upwards 
 of twenty thousand volumes. 
 
 The great advantages arising from this library became so 
 sensibly felt that others were soon founded; and they have 
 now kindled up their salutary lights not only in several parts 
 of the city, but in almost every county in the state. From 
 the choicest books on Religion, Morals, History, Voyages. 
 Travels, &c. thus brought home to their fire-sides and con 
 stantly lying on their mantlepieces, the citizens derive ad- 
 vantages incalculable. Their idle hours, formerly so dan- 
 gerous, were now innocently filled up; solitude was cheered 
 with a succession of new ideas; company enlivened by witty 
 conversation, and labour itself sweetened by the thought of 
 a beloved book at night. 
 
 With their taste thus exalted to better pleasures, the youth 
 of all classes were saved from the brutalizing sensualities tha> 
 destroy character and health. Having their understandings 
 enlightened, they were led to greater virtues and usefulness. 
 And being thus taught to enjoy life, they felt the strongest 
 inducements to preserve it. Hence the astonishing prospe- 
 rity of Philadelphia in industry and morals, population and 
 wealth. \ 
 
rG4 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The mother Library now displays its twenty thousand 
 volumes, in an elegant building, on the corner of Fifth and 
 Chestnut. In a niche on the wall above the door is a fine 
 marble likeness of Dr. Franklin at full length, presented 
 by William Bingham, Esq. 
 
 Again: — Did Franklin catch a glimpse of those poor pusil 
 lanimous creatures, who rather than live nobly independent 
 in the pure aired country, by cultivating their own sweet 
 vegetables, and raising fat poultry, will run into the sickly 
 towns to sell whiskey and apples in the summer, and take 
 their chance to starve and freeze in the winter? Did he, I 
 say, catch a glimpse of these poor spiritless creatures with 
 their children, shivering over small fires kindled by a little 
 " charity wood?" Instantly his bowels of compassion were 
 stirred within him. Although he was no friend to such lazy 
 self-made paupers, nor to the miserable policy that winks at 
 them, yet it was impossible for him to remain unconcerned 
 at their sufferings. In a letter to one of his friends, he says, 
 " since we can get no more wood for the poor, we must try 
 from that wood to get more warmth for them." He set him- 
 self to examine the principles of the stoves generally in use. 
 His genius, as usual, discovered such room for amendment, 
 that he soon came out with a stove, which to this day, >in 
 honour of him, is called 46 the franklin stove," and 
 wherein one cord of charity oak would afford as much heat 
 and comfort to those poor people, as two cords in the old 
 way! 
 
 Did he hear the shrill midnight cry of fire! and mark the 
 deep distress of the citizens, as with tearful eyes they be- 
 held the flames swallowing up their pleasant habitations and 
 furniture ? Instantly he set himself to call up ail the energies 
 of the public against this dire calamity, and to point them 
 to the only adequate remedy, Mutual Insurance Com- 
 panies. 
 
 "Man," said he, in his calls to the citizens through his 
 popular newspaper, " Man separate from man, is but a fee- 
 ble creature; and like the filament of flax before the thread 
 is formed, he is without strength, because without connexion. 
 But ifNioN will make us strong, and enable us to do all things 
 essential to our safety. The houses burnt every year are, 
 compared with all the houses in the city, but feiv. find were, 
 all the housekeepers in the city, joined for mutual security, 
 to pay a certain sum ; and were that sum put to interest, it 
 would not only cover all the losses by fire, but would actually 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 of his own life into pleasure and profit to others. ttexrrrte- - U : 
 
 STOOP, AND GO SAFE. 
 To the late Dr. Mather, of Boston. 
 
 nt, 
 
 When I was a boy, I met with a book, entitled, " Es 
 says to do good," which, I think, was written by your fa- 
 ther. It had been so little regarded by a former possessor, 
 that several leaves, of it were torn out : but the remainder 
 gave me such a turn for thinking, as to have an influence 
 on my conduct through life; for I have always set a greater 
 value on the character of a doer of good than any other kind 
 of reputation; and if I have been, as you seem to think, 
 a useful citizen, the public owes the advantage of it to that 
 book. 
 
 The last time I saw your father was in the beginning of 
 1724, when I visited him after my first trip to Pennsylva- 
 nia. He received me in his library; and on my taking 
 leave, showed me a shorter way out of the house, through a 
 narrow passage, which was crossed by a beam over head. 
 We were still talking, as I withdrew; he accompanying me 
 behind, and I turning partly towards him, when he said 
 hastily, "stoop! stoop!" I did not understand him, till I 
 felt my head hit against the beam. He was a man, who 
 never missed any occasion of giving instruction; and upon 
 this he said to me, "you are young, and have the world be- 
 fore you. Stoop, as you go through, and you will miss 
 many hard thumps." This advice, thus beat into my head, 
 has frequently been of use to me; and I often think of it, 
 when I see pride mortified, and misfortune brought upon 
 people, by carrying their heads too high. 
 
 I long much to see again my native place; and did hope 
 to have been there in 1783; but could not obtain my dis- 
 mission from employment here. And novfc I fear I shall 
 never have that happiness. My best wishes, however, attend 
 my dear country. It is now blessed with an excellent con- 
 stitution. May it last for ever ! 
 
 This powei^l monarchy continues its friendship for the 
 United States. \ It is a friendship of the utmost importance 
 to our security; a^nd should be carefully cultivated. Bri- 
 tain has not yet digested the loss of its dominion over us^ N 
 and has still, at times*, some flattering hopes of recovering it. 
 Accidents may increase those hopes, and encourage dan- 
 
148 
 
 THE LIFE OP 
 
 gerous attempts. A breach between us and France would 
 infallibly bring the English again upon our backs: and yet. 
 we have some wild beasts among our countrymen, who are 
 endeavouring to weaken that connexion. 
 
 Let us preserve our reputation, by performing our en- 
 gagements; our credit, by fulfilling our contracts; and our 
 friends, by gratitude land kindness: for we know not how 
 soon we may again htave occasion for all of them. — With 
 great and sincere esteem, I have the honour to be — Re- 
 verend sir, 
 
 Your most obedient and most humble servant, 
 
 B. FRANKLIN. 
 
 Passy, May 12, 1784; 
 
 The witty little essay that follows, will show how very 
 closely Dr. Franklin observed every thing around him, and 
 what gross errors in education yet remain to be corrected. 
 
 THE HUMOUROUS PETITION. 
 
 I address myself to all the friends of youth, and conjure 
 them to direct their compassionate regard to my unhappy 
 fate, in order to remove the prejudices of which I am the 
 victim. There are twin sisters of us, and the two eyes of 
 man do not more resemble, nor are capable of being upon 
 better terms with each other, than my sister and myself, 
 were it not for the partiality of our parents, who make the 
 most injurious distinctions between us. From my infancy 
 I have been led to consider* my sister as being of a more 
 elevated rank. I was suffered to grow up without the least 
 instruction, while nothing was spared in her education. She 
 had masters to teach her writing, drawing, music, and other 
 accomplishments, but if, by chance, I touched a pencil, a 
 pen, or a needle, I was bitterly rebuked; and more than 
 once, I have been beaten for being awkward, and wanting a 
 graceful manner. It is true, my sister associated me with 
 her upon some occasions; but she always made a point of 
 taking the lead, calling upon me only from necessity, or to 
 figure by her side. 
 
 But conceive not, sirs, that my complaints are instigated 
 merely by vanity — no, my uneasiness is occasioned by an 
 object much more serious. It is the practice in our family, that 
 the whole business of providing for its subsistence falls upon 
 my sister and myself. If any indisposition should attack 
 
rt 
 
 mi. franklin 
 
 living; all the pleasures of doing good to others ill th- 
 
 ble improvement of the mind, or of his fortunf „ , , ' 
 
 in see one fond of line clothes, fine furniture fine,„„i , 
 ages, all abo»e hb fortune for which he cou Set d£hB 
 
 «Ae /to* jj«k/ so mMC / 8 y 0 r Acr whistle." J 
 
 In short, I conceived, that area, nt.rt nf *k„ • • 
 mankind were brought' upon CCtt tl ™Sdl 
 
 THE HANDSOME AND UGLY LEG. 
 
 There are two sorts of people in the world, who with 
 equal advantages of life, become, the one hapjy and t 
 other miserable. This arises, very much, from £ HH& ! 
 views ,n which they consider thfcs, and t Hfftt of t o" 
 different views upon their own minds 
 
 In every situation men can be placed, they may find con 
 veniences and inconveniences; ,n every comnnnv „ 
 and conv f sation more or less pllasingTit eS file^ 
 
 Tlt^l ° f better ,° r W ° rSe taSte ' SkesbelL aid wort 
 dressed; In every climate, good and bad weather- and on 
 
 tionSfi T- Clr «ances, the tw ° c ^sses above men. 
 honed, fix their attention— those who are disnosed tnt 
 happy, on the coniiemW of things, the plea'Z l£ If 
 wireTheT' th %^.^dile;, tL^3 S fof tS 
 wine, t.he> e &c. and enjoy all with c/.e e r/ M /J 
 
\ Gr 
 
 146 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Those who are to be unhappy, think and speak only of th& 
 contraries. Hence they are continually discontented them- 
 selves, and, by their remarks, sour the pleasures of society, 
 and make themselves every where disagreeable. 
 
 Nobody loves this sort of people; no one shows them more 
 than the commonest civility, and scarcely that; and this fre- 
 quently puts them out of humour, and draws them into dis- 
 putes. If they aim at obtaining any advantage in rank or 
 fortune, nobody wishes them success, or, will stir a step to 
 favour their pretensions. If they incur public censure or 
 disgrace, no one will defend or excuse, and many join to 
 aggravate their misconduct, and render them completely 
 odious. If these poor gentlemen will not change this bad 
 habit, condescend to be pleased with what is pleasing, with- 
 out fretting themselves and others about the contraries, it is 
 good to avoid an acquaintance with them, which is always 
 disagreeable, and sometimes very inconvenient, especially 
 when one finds one's self entangled in their quarrels. 
 
 An old philosophical friend of mine was grown, from 
 experience, very cautious in this particular, and carefully 
 avoided any intimacy with such people. He had, like other 
 philosophers, a thermometer, to show him the heat of the 
 weather, and a barometer, to mark when it was likely to 
 prove good or bad; but there being no instrument invented to 
 discover, at first sight, this unpleasing disposition in a per- 
 son, he, for that purpose, made use of his legs, one of which 
 was remarkably handsome; the other, by some accident, 
 crooked and deformed. If a stranger, at the first interview, 
 kept his eyes on his ugly leg more than the handsome one, 
 he doubted him; if he spoke of it, and took no notice of the 
 handsome leg, that was sufficient to determine my philoso- 
 pher to have no further acquaintance with him. Every body 
 has not this two-legged instrument; but every one, with a 
 little attention, may observe signs of that carping, fault- 
 finding disposition, and take the same resolution of avoid- 
 ing the acquaintance of those infected with it. I therefore 
 advise those critical, querulous, discontented, unhappy peo- 
 ple, that if they wish to be respected and beloved by others, 
 and happy in themselves, they should leave off looking at 
 the ugly leg. &^%r%> ^ ft) 
 
 " A good wit will turn every thing to advantage," says 
 Shakespeare; and the following^will show what a singular 
 passion Dr. Franklin had to turn every little cross incident 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. / 145 
 
 cannot give conduct;" however, remember this, " they that 
 will not be counselled cannot be helped; and farther, that 
 " if you will not hear reason, she will surely wrap your 
 knuckles," as poor Richard says. 
 
 Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. The people 
 heard it and approved the doctrine, and immediately prac- 
 tised the contrary, just as if it had been a common sermon; 
 for the auction opened, and they began to buy extrava- 
 gantly. I found the good man had thoroughly studied my 
 Almanacs, and digested all I had dropt on those topics du 
 ring the course of twenty-five years. The frequent mention 
 he made of me must have tired any one else; but my vanity 
 was wonderfully delighted with it, though I was conscious, 
 that not a tenth part of the wisdom was my own, which he 
 ascribed to me; but rather the gleanings that I had made of 
 the sense of all ages and nations. However T resolved to be 
 the better for the echo of it; and though I had at first deter- 
 mined to buy stuff for a new coat, I went away, resolved to 
 wear my old one a little longer. Header, if thou wilt do the 
 same, thy profit , will be as great as mine. ~i~ttm, as ever 
 thine to serve tkee. 
 
 Richard Saunders. 
 
 — ♦»►© ©««« — 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 " WHEN poverty comes in at the door" said a shrewd 
 observer, "love flies out at the window." When foolish fa- 
 milies, " wasting their substance in riotous living," have 
 fairly run their estates through the girt, and brought a host 
 of hungry sheriffs and constables to the door, seizing on all 
 their trumpery of fine carpets and curtains, and side-boards, 
 and looking-glasses for auction, oh what sudden palpitations 
 and blank looks ensue! what bitter upbraidings between 
 husbands and wives, parents apd children! what lyings, and 
 perjuries, and secret transfers of property to cheat credi- 
 tors ! with universal wreck of character, and conscience, 
 ind every thing else that can give dignity or pleasure to life! 
 
 But while Franklin, by his famous Almanack u poor Rich- 
 ard," was generously striving to prevent all these curses of 
 doth and extravagance, his wide spread newspapers were 
 scattering thousands of the finest lectures on that honest in- 
 dustry and prudence, which makes nations wealthy and glo- 
 
144 
 
 THE LfFE OF 
 
 nous. And his lecturing, like one born to be the moralist 
 of nations, was in that sVvle of brevity, sprightliness, and 
 nerve, that young and old, men, women, and children 
 were never tired, of reading. And to give more value to these 
 beautiful little essays, they were always written under the 
 smarting recollection of what himself had suffered, from the 
 follies which he wished to guard others against Witness 
 first, his celebrated little story, entitled 
 
 THE WHISTLE. 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 WRITTEN TO HIS NEPHEW. 
 
 When I was a child, about seven years old, my friends, 
 on a holiday, filled my pocket with coppers. I went di 
 rectly to a shop, where they sold toys for children, and 
 being charmed with the sound of a whistle, that 1 met by the 
 way, in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered him all 
 my money for it. I then came home, and went whistling all 
 over the house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturb- 
 ing all the family. My brothers, and sisters, and cousins, 
 understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given 
 four times as much for it as it was worth. This put me in 
 mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of 
 my money; and they laughed at me so much for my folly, 
 that I cried with vexation; and the reflection gave me more 
 chagrin than the whistle gave me pleasure. 
 
 This, however, was afterwards of use to me. The im 
 pression continued on my mind; so that, often, when I was 
 tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself, 
 * don't give too much for the whistle; and so I saved my money. 
 
 As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the ac- 
 tions of men, I thought I met with many, very many who 
 gave too much for the whistle. 
 
 When I saw any one too ambitious of court tavours, sa- 
 crificing his time in attendance on levees, his repose, his 
 liberty, his virtue, ^and perhaps his friends, to attain it; I 
 have said to myself, \hisman gives too much for his whistle. 1 
 
 When I saw another fond of popularity, constantly em- 
 ploying himself in political bustles, neglecting his own af- 
 fairs, and ruining them by that neglect; he pays indeed, says 
 I, 'Voo much for his whistle. 1 
 
 If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of comfortable 
 
Page 1K7. 
 
OR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 165 
 
 bring in every year, clear profit on his money to each sub 
 scriber. 
 
 Numbers of the citizens came into his scheme; and a large 
 " Mutual Insurance Company " was immediately formed, 
 l^e great benefits, foretold to flow from it, being soon 
 -°aJized, several others were presently set on foot: and now 
 ^in 1820,) there are, in Philadelphia, no fewer than forty 
 engines, with eight thousand feet of hose, (strong leathern 
 ^ipes,) to convey the water from the pumps or hydrants to 
 u.ie engines; whereby in less than two minutes they are in 
 full play, pouring their watery cataracts on the flames. 
 Hence, while for lack of one Franklin, one intelligent and 
 Public spirited philanthropist, many of our promising young 
 towns are suddenly turned to ashes, and their hapless families, 
 driven out naked into the weather; the favoured citizens of 
 Philadelphia, guarded by forty engines, and hundreds of 
 well trained young firemen, seldom suffer any thing beyond 
 a momentary pang from this most alarming element! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 *« To him who hath shall be given, and he shall have 
 abundance" 
 
 The life of Dr. Franklin appears to have been one con- 
 tinued exemplification of this most animating promise; for 
 scarcely had he finished that noble work just mentioned, 
 before he was called to another which acquired him a still 
 higher reputation, I mean his wonderful discoveries in elec- 
 tricity, and his application of them to the preservation of 
 h:unan life and property. The manner in which this honour 
 was conferred on Dr. Franklin, is enough to convince all 
 honest minds that there is a kind Providence over the ways 
 of men, that often turns their " seeming evils into real 
 good." 
 
 Among the many benefits which he derived from the dan- 
 gerous scenes of London, where he was so severely tried, 
 and where he so gloriously triumphed, was his acquaintance 
 with a Mr. Collinson, of that city. This gentleman had a 
 soul of uncommon sensibility to the charms of virtue. His 
 first interview with Franklin, was in Watts's printing-oflice. 
 The sight of a youthful stranger, not yet out of his teens, 
 
166 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 exhibiting such practical lessons of virtue to the deluded 
 young porter drinkers of London, filled him with admira 
 tion of his character. On getting acquainted with him, he 
 was in pleasing doubt, whether most to esteem his heart or 
 admire his head. 
 
 When Franklin left England, the generous Collinson ac- 
 companied him on board the ship, and at parting, the two 
 friends exchanged canes, with promises of everlasting friend- 
 ship and constant correspondence by letters. Soon as all 
 London had become filled with the aforesaid rage for elec- 
 tricity, and electrical experiments, Collinson wrote the whole 
 history of them to Franklin, with a compliment to his genius, 
 and an earnest request that he would turn it to that subject, 
 and accompanied all with the present of a small electrical 
 instrument. Franklin's curiosity was excited. He imme- 
 diately set to work; and presently made discoveries thatfa* 
 exceeded all that Collinson had promised himself. He dis- 
 covered the power of metallic points to draw oft* the electrical 
 matter — he discovered a positive and a negative state of 
 electricity — he explained on electrical principles, the phe- 
 nomena of the famous Leyden vial — he explained the phe- 
 nomena of the aurora borealis, and of thunder-gusts — he 
 showed the striking resemblance in many respects between 
 electricity and lightning. 
 
 1st. In giving light. 
 
 2d. In colour of the light. 
 
 3d. In crooked direction. 
 
 4th. In swiftness of motion. 
 
 5th. In being conducted by metals. 
 
 6th. In cracking in exploding. 
 
 7th. In subsisting in water or ice. 
 
 8th. In rending the bodies it passeth through. 
 
 9th. In killing animals. 
 10th. In melting metals. 
 11th. Firing inflammable substances. 
 12th. Emitting a sulphurous smell. 
 13th. In being attracted by iron points. 
 " We do not, indeed," says he, " know that this property 
 is in lightning, but since electricity and lightning agree in 
 so many other particulars, is it not probable that they agret 
 also in this?" 
 
 He resolved at any rate to make the experiment. Hut 
 foreseeing what a blessing it would be to mankind, to disarm 
 the Ughtnings of their power \o harm, he did not in the piti- 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 Hi? 
 
 ful spirit of ordinary inventors, cautiously conceal the daw fl- 
 ings of a discovery that promised so much glory to his name 
 On the contrary, and with a philanthropy that throws eter- 
 nal loveliness over his character, he published his ideas, in- 
 viting all the philosophers to make experiments on this im- 
 portant subject, and even pointed the way, L e. by insulated 
 bars of iron raised to considerable heights in the air. 
 
 Immediately, metallic bars, some of them forty feet high, 
 were raised towards the heavens, by sundry philosophers, 
 both in France and England. But God, as if pleased with 
 such disinterested virtue, determined to reserve to Franklin 
 the honour of confirming the truth of his own great theory. 
 H:<* plan to accomplish this, was in that simplicity which 
 chv acterizes all his inventions. 
 
 l.o a common kite, made of silk rather than paper, be- 
 
 ise of the rain, he fixed a slender iron point. The string 
 Wiiich he chose for his kite was of silk, because of the fond- 
 ness of lightning for silk; and for the same reason, at the 
 lower end of the string he tied a key. With this simple 
 preparation, he went out on the commons back of Philadel- 
 phia, as a thundergust was coming on, and raised his kite 
 towards the clouds. The lightning soon found out his me- 
 tallic rod, as it soared aloft on the wings of the kite, and 
 greeted its polished point with a cordial kiss. With joy he 
 beheld the loose fibres of his string raised by the fond salute 
 of the celestial visitant. 
 
 He hastened to clap his knuckle to the key, and behold, 
 a smart spark! having repeated a second, and a third time, 
 he charged a phial with this strange visitor from the clouds, 
 and found that it exploded gunpowder, set spirits of wine 
 on fire, and performed in all respects as the electrical fluid. 
 
 It is not easy to express the pleasure which this clear con- 
 firmation of his theory must have given to our benevolent 
 philosopher, who had already counted up some of the great 
 services which he should thereby render to the world. 
 
 He lost no time in communicating these discoveries to his 
 friend Collinson in London, by whom they were read with 
 unimaginable joy. Collinson instantly laid them before the 
 Royal Society, not doubting but they would be printed 
 among their papers, with the same enthusiasm which lie had 
 felt. But to his great mortification they were utterly re- 
 jected. Upon this, Collinson went in high dudgeon and print- 
 ed them himself, which was looked on as a very desperate 
 kind of undertaking, especially as he chose for his book, a 
 
168 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 title that seemed to carry a death warrant o.i its face, viz, 
 " New Experiments on Electric ity, made at Philadel- 
 phia, in North America." Some ventured however fr» 
 read the Experiments on Electricity made in North 
 America, though with pretty nearly such motives as usual- 
 ly lead people to see the learned pig, or to hear a woman 
 preach. But the scoffers were soon turned into admirers. 
 Discoveries so new and astonishing, presented in a manner 
 so simple, struck every reader with admiration and plea- 
 sure. The book soon crossed the British channel, and was 
 translated into most of the languages of Europe. A copy 
 of it, though miserably translated, had the fortune to fail 
 into the hands of the celebrated Buffon, who immediately 
 repeated the experiments and with the most complete suc- 
 cess. Lewis XV. hearing of these curious exhibitions, ex- 
 pressed a wish to be a spectator of them. A course of 
 experiments was made before him and his court, to their ex- 
 ceeding surprise and diversion, by Buffon and De Lor. The 
 history of electricity has not recorded those experiments. 
 But it is probable, that they were not of so comic a charac- 
 ter as the following, wherewith Dr. Franklin would some- 
 times astonish and delight his Philadelphia friends, during 
 the intervals of his severer studies. 
 
 I. In the presence of a large party at his house, he took 
 up a pistol which he had beforehand charged with inflam- 
 mable air, well stopped with a cork, and presented it to 
 Miss Seaton, a celebrated belle in those days. She took it 
 from the doctor, but could not help turning pale, as though 
 some conjuration was brewing. u Don't be afraid, madam" 
 said he, ''for I give you my word that there is not a grain 
 of poivder in it; and now turn it against any gentleman in 
 the room that you are angry ivitlu" With a sudden blush, 
 she turned it towards a gentleman whom she soon after mar- 
 ried. In the same instant, the doctor drew a charged rod 
 near the mouth of the pistol, the electric spark rushed in, 
 and set fire to the inflammable air; off went the pistol; out 
 flew the cork, and striking her lover a smart shock in the 
 face, fell down on the floor, to the exceeding terror at first, 
 but afterwards, to the equal diversion of the young lady and 
 the whole company. This he called the magic pistol. 
 
 II. At another time, in a large party at his house, ah 
 eager, as usual, to see some of his electrical curiosities, 
 ne took from the drawer a number of little dogs, made of the 
 pith of elder, with straw for feet and tails, and set them on 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 109 
 
 the table. All eyes were fixed on him. " Well, Miss Eliza," 
 said he, addressing the elegant Miss E. Sitgreaves, 44 can 
 you set these little dogs a dancing ?" " No indeed, I can't," 
 replied she. 44 Well," replied he, 44 if I had such apair of 
 eyes as you have, I think I could do it." She blushed. 46 How- 
 ever, let us see" continued he, 4k if we can't do something." 
 He then took a large tumbler from the table, which he had 
 previously charged with the electric fluid, and clapped the 
 tumbler over the dogs; whereupon they instantly fell to 
 skipping and jumping up the sides of the tumbler, as if they 
 were half mad to get out of it. This he called "the 
 
 DANCING DOGS." 
 
 III. During something like a levee, at his house, one night, 
 a couple of ladies who had been at London and Paris, were 
 speaking in rapturous terms of the splendours of those royal 
 courts, and of the diamond stars which they had seen, glit- 
 tering with more than solar lustre on the breasts of the 
 Prince of Wales and the Dauphin. At length one of the 
 fair orators, as if wrought up to a perfect adoration of the 
 wondrous stars which she had been so elegantly depicting, 
 turned to the doctor, and smartly asked him if he would not 
 like mightily to have such a star. 44 To be sure, madam," 
 replied he with his usual gallantry, 44 and suppose we ordei 
 one?" She looked surprised. "Boy," continued he, 
 44 bring me doivn one of my electrical jars, and put it on the 
 sideboard" While the servant was gone, the doctor took a 
 plate of tin, and cutting it into a dozen angles, like a star, 
 poised it on a wire projecting from his prime conductor. 
 " Well now, ladies, put out the candies, and you shall see a 
 star not inferior to that of the prince of Wales." The can- 
 dles were put out, and a turn or two of the jar being made, 
 the lightning flew to the plate of tin. and appeared at the 
 extremities of its angles, in a blaze of light beautiful as the 
 morning star. This he called 44 the f.lectric star.*' 
 
 IV. On his sideboard was placed an electrical jar, con- 
 cealed behind a large picture of a man dressed in purple and 
 fine linen. At a short distance stood a little brass pillar, 
 in tront of which was the picture of a poor man lying down 
 ragged and wan as Lazarus. From the ceiling, and reach- 
 ing down to the sideboard, was suspended by a fine thread, 
 the picture of a boy, with a face benevolent and beautiful as 
 a youthful cherub. 44 Well, now, gentlemen, do you know 
 who these arc? — This is the proud, unfeeling Dives; that, 
 the poor dying Lazarus; and here is a beautiful boy, that 
 
 15 
 
TO 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 for humanity's sake, we will call the son of Dives. Nun, 
 gentlemen, can any of you make this lovely child the minister 
 of Dives'' bounty to poor Lazarus ?" 
 
 They all confessed their inability; regarding him at the 
 same time with an eye of expectation. Without being no- 
 ticed by his company, he charged the jar behind the picture 
 of Dives with electric fluid from his prime conductor. In- 
 stantly, the beauteous youth flew to it, and getting charged 
 flew to the brass pillar behind Lazarus, which possessed no 
 electricity, and imparted to it his whole load. He then flew 
 back to the jar of Dives, and receiving a second supply, has- 
 tened to poor Lazarus and emptied himself again. And 
 thus it went on to the astonishment of the spectators, alter- 
 nately receiving and imparting until it had established a 
 balance betw een them, and then, as if satisfied, it came to a 
 pause. 
 
 Seeing their surprise, the doctor thus went on. 4< Well, 
 now, gentleman, here is a fine lesson for us all. This elec- 
 tric fluid, which you saw animating that youth, came down 
 from heaven to teach us that men were as assuredly de- 
 signed to be helpmates to men, as were the tv/o eyes, the 
 two feet, or the two hands, to assist one another. And if 
 all who are overcharged with this world's riches would but 
 imitate this good little electrical angel, and impart of their 
 superabundance to the empty and the poor, they would, no 
 doubt, even in this world, find a much higher pleasure than 
 in hoarding it up for ungrateful heirs, or spending it on 
 vanity." This he called " Dives and Lazarus." 
 
 But it were an endless task to enumerate all the rare and 
 beautiful phenomena, wherewith he would surprise and de- 
 light the vast circles of friends and citizens, whose curiosity 
 w as so pressing, that, as he says, it almost v)ore him out. 
 
 Sometimes, in order to show them the force of electricity 
 he would turn his wires against a pack of cards, or a quire 
 of paper, and the subtle fluid would instancy dart through, 
 leaving a beautiful perforation like the puncture of a large 
 needle. 
 
 Sometimes, to show the wondrous qualities of electricity, 
 he would let them see it darting, like a diamond bead, 
 through a long cylinder of water, not hurt, like other fires, 
 by that element. 
 
 Sometimes he would place a young lady, generally the 
 handsomest of the company, on his electrical stool; then by 
 slily touching her dress with his magic wand, he would so 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 171 
 
 till her lovely frame with the electric fluid, that, on the ap- 
 proach of any you no; gentleman to kiss her, a spark from 
 her ruby lips would suddenly drive him frightened and stag- 
 gering back. This was called the " magic kiss." 
 
 Sometimes he would fix figures of horses cut in paper, on 
 wires nicely poised, so as to move in circles round his prime 
 conductor, then, from his magic wand, he would dash on 
 them a stream of mimic lightning, which, potent as the 
 whips and. spurs of Newmarket, would set them all in full 
 speed, bending and buckling with glorious emulation in the 
 beautiful contest, to the great amusement of the spectators. 
 The public named this the " electrical horse race." 
 
 Sometimes he would suspend, near the ceiling, a large 
 Hock of finely picked cotton, or place on a distant table, a 
 paper of gunpowder; then from his wires, artfully directed, 
 he would send a flash of lightning, instantly exploding the 
 powder, and wrapping the cotton into a blaze. 
 
 Sometimes he would take the model of a double-geared 
 water mill, turning two pair of stones, and placing it near 
 his prime conduc'ur, direct a stream of electric fire against 
 the large wheel, setting it in motion, and with it the whole 
 machinery of his mill, to the equal surprise and pleasure of 
 the beholders. 
 
 Sometimes he would take the figures of the sun, moon, 
 and earth, cut in papers, and fix them on wires, nicely 
 balanced. Then, by the force of the electric fluid, he would 
 set them a-going in most harmonious style — the earth re- 
 volving round her own axis; the moon round the earth; and 
 both round the sun; all exactly according to the course 
 which the hand of the Creator had prescribed to these 
 mighty orbs. 
 
 For the sake of those who have never considered this 
 wonderful attraction of lightning to iron rods, I beg leave to 
 relate the following very extraordinary and daring experi- 
 ments of Dr. FranMin. 
 
 In a large chamber, which he kept for his electrical appa 
 ratus and experiments, he suspended a number of bells, alt 
 connected by wires, and communicating, through the gable 
 end of the house, with the large lightning rods that de - 
 scended along the chimney to the ground. His aim in this 
 contiivance was, that he might know whenever a lightning 
 cloud passed over his house in the night; and also what 
 freight of electrical fluid it carried about with it. For? as 
 it seldom passes, without paying a loving visit to his rod, so* 
 
172 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 it always told, with great honesty, the amount of its m 
 flammable cargo, especially if it was ample; in which case, 
 it was alwavs sure to set the bells a ringing at a terrible rate 
 
 And besides these, he had numbers of men and women of 
 the Lilliputian stature, cut in paper, and so artfully at- 
 tached to the clappers, that as soon as the bells began to 
 ring, the men and women began to dance also, and all of 
 them more and more merrily, according as this extraordinary 
 kind of music played up more briskly. But though, for the 
 amusement of his friends, Franklin would sometimes set his 
 bells and dolls to ringing and dancing, by his electricity, 
 yet his main object was, to invite the lightnings to be the 
 bell ringers, and dancing masters to his puppets, that, as 
 before observed, he might become better acquainted with 
 the nature of lightning, and thus extend his electrical ex- 
 periments and knowledge. 
 
 But it must be owned, that when the lightnings were 
 drawn down for this purpose among the bells and wires ot 
 his chamber, the entertainment was almost too terrible to 
 be agreeable to any but philosophers. 
 
 The elegant J. Dickinson, Esq. informed me, that he was 
 at Dr. Franklin's one evening, with a large party, when a 
 dreadful cloud began to rise, with distant thunder and 
 lightning. The ladies, panic struck, as usual, were all in a 
 prodigious bustle for their bonnets, to get home. The doc- 
 tor entreated them not to be frightened ; for that they were 
 in the safest house in Philadelphia; and indeed, jokingly 
 offered to underwrite their lives at the low premium of a 
 groat a head. 
 
 When the storm was near its worst, he invited his com- 
 pany up into his large chamber. A glimmering light faintly 
 showed them his electrical apparatus of globes, cylinders, 
 bells, wires, and the Lord knows what, conveying to those 
 of the superstitious sort, a strong idea of a magic cell, or a 
 nauuted castle, at least. Presently a dreadful clap of thun- 
 der shook the house over their heads, the chamber was filled 
 with vivid lightnings, darting like fiery serpents, crackling 
 and hissing along the wire all around them, while the strong 
 smell of sulphur, together with the screams of the poor la- 
 dies, and the ringing of the bells, completed the terrible- 
 ness of the scene, inspiring a fearful sense of the invisible 
 world. 
 
 " But all these things, gentlemen," he would say, smiling 
 all the time on his crowding and gaping friends, as a parent 
 
DR. FRANK UN. 
 
 173 
 
 '»n his children, whom ho saw surprised at small ma (Iris, 
 " all these things are mere nothings; the childish sportings 
 of an art bat yet in its cradle. Electricity, gentlemen, is of 
 the terrible family of lightning, that most powerful of the 
 works of God on this globe, and the chosen instrument of 
 most of his operations here below. It is the electric fluid, 
 (passing from a full cloud to an empty one,) that makes his 
 voice, and that, as the scripture says, a terrible voice, even 
 the thunder, to terrify the guilty, and to increase in the 
 virtuous a becoming reverence of the Creator. For if the 
 electric fluid passing from a small jar, cause so loud a 
 crack, why should we wonder at the dreadful peals of thun- 
 der that are occasioned, when thousands and myriads of 
 acres of clouds are throwing oft* their electric fluid in rivers 
 of living fires, sufficient to blow up the globe itself, if the 
 Almighty were but to let loose his hold on these furious 
 agents. And this electric fluid is that same lightning which, 
 as David says, shines out from one end of Heaven to another, 
 and that so instantaneously, that were all the men, women, 
 and children, on earth, joining hands, to form a ring round 
 this great globe, an electric shock given to the first person 
 in that ring, would so suddenly reach the last, that they 
 themselves would probably be at a loss to determine which 
 of them received it first. 
 
 " Thus the electric fluid, in the form of lightning, serves 
 also in the hand of heaven as the red rod to restrain the 
 vicious. Does the benevolent governor of the world seek to 
 impress a salutary awe on the gambler, the drunkard, and 
 such immoral characters, whose lives are in constant oppo- 
 sition to their own and the happiness of others ? He but 
 speaks to his ready ministers, the lightnings. Quickly, 
 from the sultry cloud, coming up with muttering thunder, 
 black and terrible as nature's approaching pall, the fright- 
 ening flash bursts forth, rending the trees and houses over 
 their heads; killing their flocks and herds; and filling the 
 air with smoking sulphur, a strong memento of that dismal 
 place to which their evil practices are leading them. And 
 when, to unthinking mortals, he sees fit to read instruction 
 on a wider scale, he only needs but beckon to the electric 
 fluid. Straightway this subtle servant of his power rushes 
 forth, clad in various forms of terror, sometimes as the roar- 
 ing whirlwind, unroofing the palaces of kings, and desolat- 
 ing the forests in its course. Sometimes with dreadful stride 
 it rushes forth upon the ' howling wilderness of waves,' in 
 
 15* 
 
\T4 
 
 THE MFE OF 
 
 shape of the funnelled water-spout, with hideous roar and 
 , roam, whirling the frightened billows to the clouds, or dash- 
 ing them back with thundering crash into their dismal 
 gulphs; while the hearts of the seamen, looking on, sink 
 with terror at the sight, and even sharks and sea-monsters 
 Hy for refuge to their oozy caverns. 
 
 " Sometimes, with the bolder aim of the earthquake, it 
 strikes both sea and land at once, sending the frightened 
 globe bellowing and trembling along her orbit, sadly pon- 
 dering the coming day, when the measure of sin being filled 
 up, she shall be wrapt in these same electric fires, perhaps, 
 and lose her place for ever among the starry train." 
 
 Hut though the experiments above mentioned are highly cu- 
 rious; and also Dr. Franklin's reflections on them abundantly 
 philosophical and correct, for what I know, vet the world 
 should learn that the gratification of public curiosity formed 
 but a very small part of his many and grand discoveries in 
 electricity. For soon as he had ascertained that lightning 
 was tlie same thing with the electric fluid, and like it, so 
 passionately fond of iron that it would forsake every tiling 
 else in its course, to run along upon that beloved metal, he 
 conceived the plan of putting this discovery to those benefi- 
 cent uses for which alone he thought the power of discovery 
 was given to man, and which alone can consecrate it to the 
 divine Giver. 
 
 " The grand practical use," says the learned Mr. Immi- 
 son, who, though a Scotch monarchist himself, had the ex- 
 traordinary virtue to be a profound admirer of our republi- 
 can American, — 66 the grand practical use which Dr. Frank- 
 lin made of this discovery was to secure houses and ships 
 from being damaged by lightning; a thing of vast conse- 
 quence in all parts of the world, but more especially in 
 North America, where thundergusts are more frequent and 
 their effects, in that dry air, more dreadful than they are 
 ever known to be with us. This great end he accomplished 
 by the cheap, and seemingly trifling, apparatus of a pointed 
 metallic rod, fixed higher than any part of the building, and 
 communicating with the ground, or rather the nearest water. 
 This rod the lightning is sure to seize upon preferably to 
 my other part of the building, unless it be very large; in 
 which case, rods may be erected at each extremity; by 
 which means this dangerous power is safely conducted to the 
 earth, and dissipated without doing any harm to the edifice." 
 
 Had any thing more been necessary to convince the world 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 149 
 
 my sister — and 1 mention it in confidence, upon this occa- 
 sion, that she is subject to the gout, the rheumatism, and 
 cramp, without making mention of other accidents — what 
 would be the fate of our poor family ? Must not the regret 
 of our parents be excessive, at having placed so great a dis- 
 tance between sisters who are so perfectly equal ? Alas! 
 we must perish from distress: for it would not be in my 
 power even to scrawl a suppliant petition for relief, having 
 been obliged tp employ the hand of another in transcribing 
 the request which I have now the honour to prefer to you. 
 
 Condescend, sirs, to make my parents sensible of the in- 
 justice of an exclusive tenderness, and of the necessity of 
 distributing their care and affection among all their children 
 equally. I am, with profound respect, Sirs, 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 THE LEFT HAND. 
 
 The following essays strikingly illustrate the admirable 
 wisdom and philanthropy of Dr. Franklin; and, if read 
 practically, would, no doubt, greatly lessen the number both 
 of physicians and patients. 
 
 THE ART OF PROCURING PLEASANT DREAMS. 
 
 As a great part of our life is spent in sleep, during which 
 we have sometimes pleasing, and sometimes painful dreams, 
 it becomes of some consequence to obtain the one kind, 
 and avoid the other; for whether real or imaginary, pain is 
 pain, and pleasure is pleasure. If we can sleep without 
 dreaming, it is well that painful dreams are avoided. If, 
 while we sleep, we can have pleasing dreams, it is so much 
 clear gain to the pleasures of life. 
 
 To this end, it is, in the first place, necessary to be care- 
 ful in preserving health — for, in sickness, the imagination 
 is disturbed; and disagreeable, sometimes terrible ideas are 
 apt to present themselves. But for health, our main depen- 
 dence is on exercise and temperance. These render the 
 appetite sharp, the digestion easy, the body lightsome, and 
 the temper cheerful, with sweet sleep and pleasant dreams. 
 While indolence and full feeding never fail to bring oh 
 loaded stomachs, with night-mares and horrors — we fall 
 from precipices — are stung by serpents — assaulted by wild 
 beasts — murderers — devils — with all the black train of un- 
 imaginable danger and wo. Temperance, then, is all-im- 
 13* 
 
150 
 
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 portant to sweet sleep and pleasant dreaming. But a mam 
 point of temperance, is to shun hearty suppers, which are 
 indeed not safe, even when dinner has been missed; what 
 then must be the consequence of hearty suppers after full 
 dinners? why only restless nights and frightful dreams; and 
 sometimes a stroke of the apoplexy, after which they sleep 
 till doomsday. The newspapers often relate instances of 
 persons, who, after eating hearty suppers, are found dead in 
 their beds next morning. 
 
 Another grand mean of preserving health, is to admit a 
 constant supply of fresh air into your chamber. A more 
 sad mistake was never committed than that of sleeping in 
 tight rooms, and beds closely curtained. This has arisen 
 from the dread of night air. But, after all the clamour and 
 abuse that have been heaped on night air, it is very certain 
 that no outward air, that may come in, is half so unwhole- 
 some as the air often breathed in a close chamber. As boil- 
 ing water does not grow hotter by longer boiling, if the 
 particles that receive greater heat can escape; so living bo- 
 dies do not putrify, if the particles, as fast as they become 
 putrid, can be thrown off. Nature expels them by the pores 
 of the skin and lungs, and in a free open air they are carried 
 off ; but, in a close room, we receive them again and again, 
 though they become more and more corrupt. A number of 
 persons crowded into a small room, thus spoil the air in a 
 few minutes, and even render it mortal, as in the black hole 
 at Calcutta.* A single person is said to spoil a gallon of 
 air per minute, and therefore requires a longer time to spoil 
 a chamber full; but it is done, however, in proportion, and 
 many putrid disorders hence have their origin. It is re- 
 corded of Methusalem, who, being the longest liver, may be 
 supposed to have best preserved his health, that he slept 
 always in the open air; for when he had lived five hundred 
 years, an angel said to him, '* arise, Methusalem, and build 
 thee an house, for thou shalt live yet Jive hundred years 
 longer." But Methusalem answered and said, " If I am to 
 live but fivf hundred years longer, it is not worth while to 
 build mc an house — / will sleep in the air, as I have been 
 used io dr."" Physicians, after having for ages contended 
 that the sick should not be indulged with fresh air, have at 
 length discovered that it may do them good. It is therefore 
 
 * In India, where out of 140 poor British prisoners shut up in a close 
 small room 120 of them perished in one night. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 151 
 
 to be hoped that it is not hurtful to those who are in health, 
 and that we may be then cured of the acrophobia that at pi e- 
 sent distresses weak minds, and makes them choose to be 
 stifled and poisoned, rather than leave open the windows of 
 a bed chamber, or put down the glass of a coach. 
 
 Confined air, when saturated with perspirable matter,* 
 will not receive more; and that matter must remain in our 
 bodies, and occasions diseases; but it gives some previous 
 notice of its being about to be hurtful, by producing certain 
 uneasinesses which are difficult to describe, and few that 
 feel know the cause. But we may recollect, that sometimes, 
 on waking in the night, we have, if warmly covered, found 
 it difficult to get asleep again. We turn often without 
 finding repose in any position. This fidgetiness, to use a 
 vulgar expression for the want of a better, is occasioned 
 wholly by an uneasiness in the skin, owing to the retention 
 of the perspirable matter, the bed-clothes having received 
 their quantity, and, being saturated, refusing to take any 
 more. 
 
 When you are awakened by this uneasiness, and find you 
 cannot easily sleep again, get out of bed, beat up and turn 
 your pillow, shake the bed-clothes well, with at least twenty 
 shakes, then throw the bed open, and leave it to cool; in the 
 meanwhile, continuing undrest, walk about your chamber, 
 till your skin has had time to discharge its load, which it 
 will do sooner as the air may be drier and colder. When 
 you begin to feel the cool air unpleasant, then return to 
 your bed, and you will soon fall asleep, and your sleep will 
 be sweet and pleasant. All the scenes presented by your 
 fancy, will be of the pleasing kind. I am often as agreeably 
 entertained with them, as by the scenery of an opera. It 
 you happen to be too indolent to get out of bed, you may 
 instead of it, lift up your bed-clothes so as to draw in a good 
 deal of fresh air, and. by letting them fall, force it out again. 
 This, repeated twenty times, will so clear them of the per- 
 spirable matter they have imbibed, as to permit your sleep- 
 ing well for some time afterwards. But this latter method 
 is not equal to the former. 
 
 Those who do not love trouble, and can afford to have 
 two beds, will find great luxury in rising, when they wake 
 
 * What physicians call the perspirable matter, is that vapour which 
 passes off from our bodies, from the lungs, and through the pore* of 
 the skin. The quautitv of this is said to be five-eighths of what we 
 
152 
 
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 in a hot bed, and going into the cool one. Such shifting oi 
 beds, would be of great service to persons ill in a fever; as 
 it refreshes and frequently procures sleep. A very large 
 bed, that will admit a removal so distant from the first 
 situation as to be cool and sweet, may in a degree answer 
 the same end. 
 
 These are the rules of the art. But though they will 
 generally prove effectual in producing the end intended, 
 there is a case in which the most punctual observance of 
 them will be totally fruitless. This case is, when the per- 
 son who desires to have pleasant dreams has not taken care 
 to preserve, what is necessary above all things — A GOOD 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 ON THE ART OF SWIMMING. 
 
 The exercise of swimming is one of the most healthy 
 and agreeable in the world. After having swam for an 
 hour or two in the evening, one sleeps coolly the whole 
 night, even during the most ardent heat of summer. Per- 
 haps the pores being cleansed, the insensible perspiration 
 Increases, and occasions this coolness. It is certain that 
 much swimming is the means of stopping a diarrhoea and 
 even of producing a constipation. With respect to those 
 who do not know how to swim, or who are affected with a 
 diarrhoea at the season which does not permit them to 
 use that exercise, a warm bath, by cleansing and purifying 
 the skin, is found very salutary, and often effects a radical 
 cure. I speak from my own experience, frequently re- 
 peated, and that of others, to whom I have recommended this 
 
 You will not be displeased if I conclude these hasty re- 
 marks by informing you, that as the ordinary method of 
 swimming is reduced to the act of rowing with the arms and 
 legs, and is consequently a laborious and fatiguing operation, 
 when the space of water to be crossed is considerable; there 
 is a method in which a swimmer may pass a great distance 
 with much facility, by means of a sail. This discovery I 
 fortunately made by accident, and in the following manner. 
 
 When I was a boy, I amused myself one day with Hying 
 a paper kite; and approaching the bank of a pond, which 
 was near a mile broad, I tied the string to a stake, and the 
 kite ascended to a very considerable height, above the pond> 
 while 1 was swimming. In a little time, being desirous of 
 amusing myself with my kite, and enjoying at the same 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 of the value of lightning rods to buildings, it was abundantly 
 furnished by several very terrible instances of destruction 
 which took place about this time in several parts of America, 
 for no other reason upon earth, as every one must admit who 
 reads the account, but the want of lightning rods. 
 
 There, for example, was the affair of the new church, in 
 the town of Newberry, New-England. This stately build- 
 ing was adorned om its north etad with an elegant steeple or 
 tower of wood, running up in a fine square, seventy feet 
 from the ground to the bell, and thence went oft* in a taper 
 spire of wood, likewise seventy feet higher, to the weather- 
 cock. Near the bell was fixed an iron hammer to strike 
 the hours; and from the tail of the hammer, a wire went 
 down through a small gimblet hole in the floor that the bell 
 stood upon, and through a second floor in like manner; then 
 horizontally under the plaistered ceiling of that floor to a 
 plaistered wall, then down that wall to a clock which stood 
 about twenty feet below the bell. 
 
 Now come, gentlemen, you who have no faith in lightning 
 rods — you who think it blasphemy to talk of warding oft 
 Gop Almighty's lightning 1 — as if it were not just as 
 pleasing to him to see you warding off the lightning by steel 
 rods, as warding off the ague and fever by Jesuit's bark; 
 come, I say, and see how very visibly he approbates our 
 works of wisdom, which make us like himself. You have 
 read the structure of this steeple — the top, a seventy feet 
 spire without any rod — then a rod that went down zigzag, 
 about thirty feet; then a plaistered brick and stone wall 
 without any rod, to the ground. A dreadful cloud came 
 over the steeple. At the first flash, away went the whole 
 of the seventy foot wooden spire, scattered all over the 
 church yard in splinters fit to boil the preacher's tea kettle. 
 The lightning then found the iron wire which it instantly 
 seized on, quitting all things else for that, and darting along 
 with it in so close an embrace, as barely to widen a little 
 the gimblet holes through which it passed. It then followed 
 the wire in all its meanders, whether perpendicular or hori- 
 zontal — never turning either to the right or to the left, to 
 hurt the building, but passed through it the whole length of 
 the wire, which was about thirty feet, as harmlessly as a 
 lamb. But soon as its dear chain was ended, it assumed 
 the furious lion again; attacking the building with the most 
 destructive rage, dashing its foundation stones to a great 
 distance, and in other respects damaging it dreadfully. 
 
176 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Now what can bo more reasonable than doctor Franklin's 
 remarks on this very remarkable occurrence ? 
 
 64 I. That lightning, in its passage through a building, 
 will leave wood, brick, or stone, to pass as far as it can in 
 metal; and not enter those again, till the metal conductor 
 ceases. 
 
 " II. The quantity of lightning that passed through this 
 steeple must have been very great, by its»effects on the lofty 
 spire, &c, and yet great as this quantity was, it was con 
 ducted by a small wire without the least damage to the 
 building as far as the wire extended. 
 
 " lit. Hence it seems probable, that if even such a small 
 wire had been extended from the top of the steeple to the 
 earth, before the storm, no damage would have been done 
 by that stroke of lightning." 
 
 A fate exactly similar to this attended the great Dutch 
 church, of New York, in 1750. As far as the wire was ex 
 tended, which was from the top ot the steeple, to within a 
 few feet of the earth, the lightning closely accompanied it, 
 passing with it through small holes in the floors, without do- 
 ing the least damage. But the instant it quitted the wire, 
 it commenced its ravages on the building. 
 
 The summer of 1760 was dreadfully hot in Pennsylvania; 
 and the thunder gusts frequent and terrible. Several ships 
 at the wharves were struck and greatly injured. One of 
 them in particular, a very large ship, had her mainmast torn 
 to pieces, and her captain and three seamen killed. Of 
 houses, both in town and country, many were struck; and 
 some of them, as barns with large quantities of hay, and 
 warehouses with hemp, were set on fire and destroyed to the 
 great detriment and terror, both of the unfortunate sufferers 
 and their neighbours. 
 
 These things, though melancholy in themselves, were not 
 without their good effects. They served to place in the 
 strongest point of view, the admirable efficacy of the newly 
 invented lightning rods. For, while buildings destitute of 
 them, were often struck, and sometimes with great loss of 
 lives and property, those houses that had them, were hardly 
 ever known to be hurt, though the neighbours who saw the 
 dismal clouds when they bursted, with such hideous peals 
 of thunder and streams of lightning, were sickened with 
 horrid apprehension that all was lost. - And even the house 
 keepers themselves, when recovered from their terrors and 
 Caintings, would fly shrieking from chamber to chamber, 
 
DR. FRANKLIN 
 
 17? 
 
 amidst the clouds of sulphur to see who were dead. But 
 behold, to the delicious wonder of themselves and congratu- 
 lating friends, ali were safe. But still the cry was, certainly 
 the house was struck.' the house was surely struck! let us ex- 
 amine the conductors. 
 
 The conductors were resorted to and examined, and be- 
 hold! the wondrous laws imposed of God on the most pow- 
 erful of his creatures.! The furious lightnings had fallen on 
 the houses in torrents of fire, threatening a wide destruction. 
 But the iron rods, faithful to their trust, had arrested the 
 impending bolts, and borne them in safety to the ground. 
 
 But it was found that the cataracts of lightning had proved 
 too powerful for the rods$ in some instances melting them in 
 two at their slenderest parts, and in others entirely con- 
 suming them into smoke. But thougn these guardian rods 
 had perished in their conflict w ith the rude lightnings, yet 
 they had succeeded in parrying the dreadful stroke with 
 perfect safety to the buildings and their terrified inhabitants; 
 thus impressing all men with joy and thankfulness, that God 
 had given such complete victory over one of the most terrible 
 of all our natural enemies. 
 
 In short, to use the handsome language of president 
 Adams, ** nothing perhaps that ever occurred on earth, could 
 have better tended to confer universal celebrity on man, 
 than did these lightning rods of doctor Franklin's. The idea 
 was certainly one of the most sublime ever suggested to the 
 human imagination. That mortal man should thus be taught 
 to disarm the clouds of heaven, and almost snatch from his 
 hand 6 the sceptre and the rodP " 
 
 The ancients would, no doubt, have enrolled among their 
 gods, the author of so wonderful an invention. Indeed the 
 reputation w hich franklin acquired by it, not only in Ame- 
 rica, but in Europe also, far transcended all conception. 
 His lightning rods, or as the French called them, his "para- 
 toner res," elected their heads, not only on the temples of 
 God and the palaces of kings, but also on the masts of ships 
 and the habitations of ordinary citizens. The sight of them 
 every where reminded the gazing world of the name and 
 character of their inventor, who vva» tnought of by the multi- 
 tude as some great magician dwelling in the fairy lands of 
 North America, and to whom God had given controul over 
 the elements of nature. 
 
 And equally wonderful was the change produced by them 
 in the state of general comfort The millions, who had hitherto 
 
178 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 trembled at the cloud rising in the heat of summer, cuml 
 mow look on it with pleasing awe as it rose dark and solemn, 
 with all its muttering thunders. And even amidst the min- 
 gled flash and crash of the earth shaking tornado, the very 
 women and children, if they had but Franklin paratonerres 
 to their chimnies, would sit perfectly composed, silently 
 adoring God for teaching such great salvation to men. 
 
 But the pleasure which doctor Franklin found in these 
 plaudits of an honest world was not without an alloy. 
 Though the end of his labours had been to do good; yet he 
 soon discovered that there were some who sickened at his 
 success. Alas! 
 
 " Among the suns of men, how few are known 
 Who dare be just to merit, not t heir own." 
 
 Certain invidious scribblers, in London and Paris, began 
 to decry his well-earned glory, by pretending that it was all 
 due to the Abbe Noilet, to doctor Gilbert, or some other 
 wonderful Frenchman or Englishman, as the real father of 
 electricity. Franklin took no notice of all this impotent 
 malice; nor indeed was it necessary; for soon as it dared to 
 present its brazen front in print, it was attacked by the first- 
 rate philosophers of Europe, who nobly taking the part of 
 Franklin, soon showed, to the general satisfaction, that 
 whatever others may have dreamed about the late wonder- 
 ful discoveries in electricity, they were all due, under God, 
 to the great American philosopher, who for these, and many 
 other important discoveries, had a good right to share with 
 Newton in the following bold compliment. 
 
 "Nature and nature's works lay hid in night, 
 God said, let Franklin be, and all was light*" 
 
 —>•»♦© @ — 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 A curious demonstration of Dr. Franklin's philosophy 
 of lightning. About thirty -four years after this date, when 
 Doctor Franklin, by his opposition to Lord North's mea- 
 sures, had become very unpopular, George III. was per- 
 suaded to pull down the sharp points of that " hoary 
 rebel," and set up the blunts of an impudent quack, be- 
 cause, forsooth, he was a loyal subject ! Scarcely were the 
 marps taken down from the palace, to which, during thirty 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 181 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 I have been told that Dr. Franklin on his death bed often 
 returned thanks to God for having so kindly cast his lot of 
 life in the very time when of all others he would have chosen 
 to live for the great purposes of usefulness and pleasure. 
 And so indeed it appears; for scarcely had he matured, as 
 above, his most useful discoveries in electricity, before a new 
 door was opened to him for another noble charity to his country 
 
 Some there are who for a good work begun by themselves 
 will do every thing; but for the same work begun by others 
 will do nothing; and yet will call themselves christians. 
 Franklin lived to set the example of a better Christianity. 
 A notable instance of this occurred about this time, 1754. 
 
 A Dr. Thomas Bond, having noticed a number of families 
 so extremely poor, as to be in imminent danger not only of 
 suffering grievously in case of sickness, but of actually pe- 
 rishing for want of wholesome food and medicine, generously 
 undertook, by subscription, to build a hospital for these suf- 
 ferers. Meeting with but little encouragement, and knowing 
 Dr. Franklin's influence and public spirit, he applied to him 
 for assistance. Perfectly indifferent who got the praise, 
 provided he but shared the pleasure of founding so god-like 
 an institution, Franklin entered very heartily into the plan 
 with Dr. Bond, and inserted in his newspaper, a series of es- 
 says, " on the great duty of charity to the sick and miserable," 
 which made such an impression on the public mind, that 
 the noble sum of twelve thousand dollars was quickly sub- 
 scribed. With this the trustees bought a lot, and finished one 
 wing of their hospital, for immediate use. On the foundation 
 stone is to be seen the following inscription by Dr. Franklin* 
 
 "In the year of Christ MDCCLV, 
 George the Second, happily reigning, 
 Tor he sought the HAPPINESS OF HIS PEOPLE,) 
 Philadelphia flourishing, 
 (For its inhabitants were public spirited,) 
 This Building 
 By the bounty of the Government 
 And of many private persons 
 Was piously founded 
 For the relief of the sick and miserable. 
 MAY THE GOD OF MERCIES BLESS THE 
 UNDERTAKING!" 
 
 36 
 
182 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Never did benevolence put up an ejaculation more fer- 
 vent. And never was one more signally answered. Indeed 
 the blessings of heaven have been so signally showered on this 
 excellent charity, that it now forms one of brightest orna- 
 ments of the fairest city in America, presenting to the 
 delighted eye of humanity a noble front, of elevation and 
 extent far beyond that of Solomon's temple, even a royal 
 range of buildings, two and three stories high, two hundred 
 and seventy-eight feet long, and forty wide, containing about 
 one hundred and thirty spacious well-aired rooms, for the 
 accommodation of the sick, wounded, and lunatic of every 
 description; affectionately waited on by skilful physicians 
 and active nurses; comforted by refreshing baths both hot 
 and cold; and abundantly supplied with the best loaf bread, 
 nice vegetables, fresh meats, soups, wines and medicines. 
 
 And while other parts of the city have been very sickly; 
 and especially in the summer of 1793, when no fewer than 
 4000 persons perished of the yellow fever, Lot a single case 
 of disease occurred in this hospital. The destroying angel 
 as he passed along, smelt the odour of that precious grace 
 (charity) which embalmed the building, and let fall his 
 avenging sword. 
 
 Gentlemen travellers falling sick in Philadelphia, will 
 please be informed of this famous hospital, that if they wish 
 excellent physicians, experienced nurses, pleasant chambers, 
 pure air, and sweet retirement, they may here have all those 
 of the first quality at half price; and even that a donation 
 to the Institution. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV11I. 
 
 Dr. Franklin, about this time, 1756, commenced his po 
 iitical career. 
 
 When we see some peerless Childers, (whose figure almost 
 proves the divinity of matter, and who in matchless speed 
 leaves the stormy winds behind him,) bending under the 
 weight of a miller's bag, or tugging at the hames of some 
 drunken carman, how can we otherwise than mourn such a 
 prostitution of excellences; so how can we but mourn, when 
 we see such a man as Franklin, born for those divine arts 
 which widen our empire over nature, and multiply a. thou- 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 183 
 
 sand -fold the comforts of life, wasting his precious time in 
 combatting; the unreasonable claims of selfish and wicked 
 man? 
 
 This, for a portion of his eventful life, was the sad destiny 
 of Dr. Franklin. Scarcely had he passed his first forty years 
 in his favourite philosophical labours, equally useful to the 
 world, and delightful to himself, when he was at once stop- 
 ped short — stopped by the voice of public gratitude. The 
 wise and virtuous people of Pennsylvania, chiefly quakers, 
 who estimate a man, not by the fineness of his coat, but the 
 usefulness of his life, were not to overlook such a man as 
 Franklin. His astonishing industry, and his many valuable 
 inventions, had long made him the favourite theme of their 
 talk. But it was not for approbation so general and hearty, 
 to be satisfied with mere talk. 
 
 What shall be done for the man whom the people delighteth 
 to honour ? was the question in every circle. God* they said, 
 has lighted up this candle for our use, it must not be hid under 
 a bushel Let it be placed on the great candlestick of the na- 
 tion^ the legislature. So strong, indeed, was the public feel- 
 ing in his favour, that from several of the wards, deputations 
 were appointed to w* it upon him, to beg he would serve the 
 city as their representative in the house of burgesses. 
 
 The sight of his name in the papers, as a candidate at the 
 next election, to serve the city of Philadelphia, gave a gene- 
 ral joy. Among his opponents were several of the weal- 
 thiest citizens, who had long served as representatives, and 
 whose numerous friends could not bear the idea of their being 
 turned out. Great exertions were made on both sides; and 
 the polls were uncommonly crowded. But when the con- 
 test came to issue, it was found that the Philadelphia printer, 
 and son of the good old psalm-singing Boston tallow-chan- 
 dler, carried the day with great ease. 
 
 O ye simple ones, how long will you love simplicity! you, 1 
 mean, who can once a year look sweetly on your constitu- 
 ents, and once a year invite them to barbacues, and make 
 them drunk with whiskey, thus ignobly begging those 
 votes which you feel you have not the sense to deserve, O 
 learn from this your great countryman, wherein consists the 
 true art of electioneering; not in ignoble tricks like these, 
 to court the little, but in high qualifications, like Dr. Frank- 
 lin's, to be courted by the great. 
 
 The exalted expectations formed of him. by the public 
 were not disappointed. Heartily a lover of man and the 
 
184 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 friend of equal rights, he had scarcely taken his seat in the 
 legislature before he had to turn the torrent of his honest 
 indignation against the proprietaries and their creatures the 
 Governors. 
 
 The reader will please here be reminded that in the year 
 1680, that great good man, William Penn, a quaker, was 
 paid off a large claim against Charles II. of England, by a 
 grant of lands in North America. To make the best of a 
 bad bargain, honest William gathered together a caravan of 
 his poor persecuted brethren, and taking ship came over to 
 North America. 
 
 . The good angel that guided the steps of pious Jacob as 
 he sojourned from Padan-aram to the land Uz, seeking a 
 rest, guided Penn and his gentle followers to the mouth of 
 the Delaware bay. lie followed the stately flood in all its 
 wanderings anions the green marshes and forests of the new 
 found world, until he reached the pleasant spot where now 
 Philadelphia stands. The majestic grove that shaded the 
 extended level on the western bank, bordered on the back 
 by the beautiful serpentine river called by the natives, the 
 Schuylkill, struck his eye as a fine site for his future city. 
 
 Abhorring the idea of killing his fellow men, the poor na- 
 tives, and taking away their lands, he sent around among 
 them the Calumet, or pipe of peace, inviting them to " a 
 friendly talk." Painted in red ochre, and decked in all 
 tiie savage pomp of wild skins and feathers, the kings of the 
 soil with all their simple tribes assemoled themselves to- 
 gether. The meeting was in the summer of 1681, under the 
 trees near the margin of the great river. The scene was 
 lovely to the eye of humanity. The red and white men 
 from different continents were seen to meet, not as enemies 
 for mutual slaughter, but as brothers for loving commerce. 
 The shores were covered with British merchandize. The 
 eyes of the simple children of nature sparkled on those 
 rich wares, the like of which they had never seen before. 
 
 Penn gave them every thing. He gave them precious 
 axes to master the forests; and still more magic guns to 
 master the wolves and panthers He gave them warm 
 clothes for defence against the cold, and plough-share* and 
 noes for plentiful harvests. In return they gave him that 
 large tract of land in their country, which, in honour of this 
 good man, has been called Pennsylvania. Instantly the 
 aged forests began to resound with the strokes of axes and 
 the crash of falling trees. And the corner stone was laid of 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 185 
 
 the new city, which, with great propriety, was named of 
 Penn, Philadelphia, or the city of brotherly love. 
 
 Having thus laid the foundation of this colony in justice 
 to the poor natives, and in generosity to his own tol lowers 
 in the great cheapness of his lands, in perfect liberty of 
 conscience, and in the exceeding moderation of his govern- 
 ment, this wise statesman then looked to God for his bless- 
 ings. Nor did he look in vain. The fame of "Penn Co- 
 lony," resounded throughout Great Britain. An immense 
 emigration were quickly on their way to Pennsylvania. 
 The young city grew apace, and farms and fair buildings in 
 the country, spread in every direction with a rapidity une- 
 qualled in history. 
 
 But alas! when honest William fell asleep, there rose 
 after hiin a race of heirs " who knew not Joseph who not 
 content, like /urn, with modest drab, and simple dinners, and 
 aspiring to the true happiness of imitating God in godlike 
 loves and deeds, basely prostituted their hearts to carnal 
 lusts and pride. 
 
 The worship of these gods, though contemptible, is costly; 
 and to these wet-quaker successors of the good William 
 Penn, nothing promised such a swelling revenue as a bold 
 rise in the price of their lands. And in this pitiful kind of 
 management they soon gave the Pennsylvanians to under- 
 stand that like Rehoboam of old, " their little fingers ivere 
 heavier than their father's loins" I have not been able to 
 procure any thing like certainty as to the sum that good 
 William Penn gave to the natives for the vast tract of land 
 he purchased of them. But that he hardly gave at the rate of 
 a hatchet for what is now a noble farm, may be very fairly 
 inferred. In 1 754, which was seventy years later than the 
 first purchase, the house of Penn bought of the Indians seven 
 millions of acres lying within the royal grant. And what 
 do you suppose they gave for it? what do you suppose they 
 gave for seven millions of acres of rich, heavy timbered 
 Pennsylvania land? why not quite two thousand dollars! 
 not three cents the hundred acres! And what do you sup- 
 pose they immediately asked for it ? why fifteen pounds ten 
 shillings! near fifty thousand cents per hundred acres! And 
 yet with such a bank of millions in hand they were not 
 willing to bear their part of the taxes for public good ! ! 
 
 Like tlu3 starched Pharisees of old, they could throw 
 neavy weights on other men's shoulders, but not suflfer a flv 
 to light on theirs They could smile when they saw the 
 16* 
 
186 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 officer going round with his ink horn and pen, noting down 
 the poor man's paddock, but if he but looked at their 
 princely manors and parks they would make the whole co- 
 lony ring with it. 
 
 Grown beyond calculation rich by the sales and rents of 
 their lands in America, they scorned the country of theii 
 illustrious predecessor, and went over to London, where 
 they mimicked the pride and pageantry of princes. 
 
 Thinking they did the obscure Pennsylvanians honour 
 enough to govern them by proxy, they washed their hands 
 of the poor colony government, and sent them over depu- 
 ties. These hirelings, to augment their salaries, soon com- 
 menced a course of oppressions on the people, whom they 
 treated with great insolence. 
 
 It were too great an honour to those wretches to set the 
 people of the present day to reading their insolent messages 
 to the legislature. They were always, however, very pro- 
 perly chastised by Dr. Franklin; sometimes in the columns 
 of his own popular newspaper, and sometimes in the assem- 
 bly. Not, indeed, by long and eloquent orations, for which 
 he either had no talent, or declined it, preferring the pithy 
 and pungent anecdote or story, which was always so admi- 
 rably appropriate, and withal so keen in wit and truth, that 
 like a flash from his own lightning rods, it never failed to 
 demolish the fairest fabric of sophistry, and cause even its 
 greatest admirers to blush that they had been so fascinated 
 by its false glare. 
 
 In 1756, he was appointed deputy post-master general for 
 the British colonies. It is asserted that in his hands, the 
 post-office in America yielded annually thrice as much as 
 did that of Ireland. An extraordinary proof of our passion 
 for reading and writing beyond the Irish. Perhaps it was 
 owing to this that we saved our liberties, while they lost theirs. 
 
 Several of the middle colonies suffering much at this time 
 from Indian depredations on their frontiers, it was agreed 
 among them to send commissioners to Albany to devise 
 means for mutual defence. Dr. Franklin, commissioner on 
 the part of Pennsylvania, had the honour to draw up a plan, 
 which was thought excellent. Knowing the colonists to be 
 the best marksmen in the world, and supposing it infinitely 
 safer that the defence of their own firesides should be en- 
 trusted to them than to British hirelings, he hajji with his 
 •isual sagacity recommended that muskets and powdei 
 should be put into their hands. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 187 
 
 Rut when nis phn was presented to the king and coun- 
 for ratification, it was indignantly rejected. It was 
 thought by some that hardly could Satan and his black jani- 
 saries have been more seriously offended, had a cargo of 
 Bibles and hymn books been recommended for their pande- 
 monium. 
 
 The truth is, the British ministry had for a long time de 
 pressed the unfortunate Americans into mere hewers of 
 wood and drawers of water, by making them bring all their 
 rich produce of tobaccos, furs, &c. to English ports, and 
 there give them the meanest prices; sometimes a penny, and 
 even half a penny a pound for their brightest tobacco, which 
 they would the next hour sell to the Dutch merchants for 
 two shillings a pound. To preserve such a trade as this, as 
 lord Howe ingenuously confessed, from going into any other 
 channel, was a grand object to the ministry. But this the}' 
 could not long count on, if the Americans were furnished 
 with muskets, cannon, and powder. They therefore, very 
 prudently, determined to leave Or, Franklin's excellent 
 marksmen out of the question, aiui confide to their own 
 creatures the protection of a country whose trade could so 
 well repay them for it. 
 
 But their folly in preferring such troops was soon made 
 evident, as Franklin had predicted. In the spring of 1755, 
 two thousand veterans, the elite of the British military, 
 were sent over to drive the French from the Ohio. One half 
 that number of Virginia riflemen would have done the busi- 
 ness completely. But such was the ministerial jealousy of 
 the American riflemen, and so great their dread to embody 
 and arm that kind of troops, that they permitted no more 
 than three companies to join the army. And even these 
 were so ludicrously scrimped up by governor Dinwiddie, 
 in jackets scarcely reaching to their waists, that they be- 
 came a mere laughing stock of the British army, who nevei 
 called them by any other name than the " Virginia short 
 rumps.'' Many believed that this was done purposely, that 
 by being thus constantly laughed at, they might be cowed 
 thereby, and be led to think meanly of themselves, as quite 
 an inferior sort of beings to the mighty English. But 
 blessed be God whose providence always takes part with 
 the oppressed. A few short weeks only elapsed when this 
 motley army was led, by an incautious commander, into a 
 faui ambuscade of the French and Indians — general Brad- 
 dock, at the head of his 2000 British veterans, and young 
 
188 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Geoige Washington at the head of his two hundred * Vir- 
 ginia short rumps." Then was displayed the soundness of 
 Dr. Franklin's judgment, in the wide difference, as to self- 
 possession and hard fighting, between these two kind of 
 troops. 
 
 The conceited Englishmen behaved no better than wild 
 turkies; while the despised " Virginia short rumps" fought 
 like lions, and had the glory of saving the wreck of the 
 British army. 
 
 This sad defeat had like to have ruined doctor Franklin, 
 by whose credit with the Pennsylvanians, colonel Dunbar 
 of the rear guard of his army, had been furnished with 
 fifty wagons, which were all burnt on the retreat. His es- 
 cape from this danger was owing to the generosity of gover- 
 nor Shirley, who learning that Franklin had incurred this 
 debt on account of the British government, undertook to 
 discharge it. 
 
 Seeing no end to the vexation and expense brought on 
 the colony by those selfish beings, the proprietaries, the 
 assembly came at length, to the resolution to petition the 
 king to abolish the proprietary government, and take the 
 colony under his own care. Doctor Franklin was appointed 
 to the honour of presenting this petition to his majesty 
 George II. and sailed for England, June, 1757. 
 
 Learning at last that by obstinately contending for too 
 much, they might possibly lose all, the proprietaries signi- 
 fied to doctor Franklin a willingness that their land should 
 be taxed. 
 
 After the completion of this important business, Franklin 
 remained at the court of Great Britain as agent for the pro- 
 vince of Pennsylvania. The extensive knowledge which he 
 possessed of the situation of the colonies and the regard which 
 he always manifested for their interests, occasioned his ap- 
 pointment to the same oflice by the colonies of Massachusetts, 
 Maryland and Georgia. 
 
 He had now an opportunity of visiting those illustrious 
 Englishmen, whom his useful writings and discoveries had 
 strongly bound to him, though they had never seen his face. 
 The high opinion which they had formed of him at a dis- 
 tance, was greatly increased by a personal acquaintance. 
 
 Such vastness of mind with such sweetness of spirit and 
 simplicity of manners, formed a spectacle as rare as it was 
 lovely. And as a proof that superior sense and superior 
 benevolence will always prevail against prejudice, he w is 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 189 
 
 ow courted by those learned societies who formerly affect- 
 ed to deride his discoveries in philosophy and electricity. 
 The Royal Society of London, which had at first refused his 
 performances admission into its transactions, now deemed it 
 an honour to class him among its fellows. The universities 
 of St. Andrews, of Edinburgh, and Oxford, conferred on 
 him the degree of doctor of laws; and the most distinguished 
 philosophers of Europe sought his correspondence. In read- 
 ing his letters to those great men, we are at a loss which 
 most to admire, the majesty of his sense, or the simplicity 
 of his style. While in England, which was from July. 
 1757, to July, '62, he suggested to the British ministry the 
 duty of dispossessing the French of that great country on 
 the north of our colonies called Canada. To this end, he 
 published his famous Canada pamphlet, exhibiting in strong 
 colours the many mischiefs and murders committed on his 
 countrymen, even in times of peace, by the Indians in French 
 pay. This little tract served to rouse the British nation to 
 the pitch he desired. 
 
 An army of English regulars and New-England militia 
 were sent under the command of general Wolfe, who pre- 
 sently succeeded in driving the French out of a fine country, 
 of which, by their cruelties, they had rendered themselves, 
 utterly unworthy. 
 
 About this time the celebrated doctor Cullen, of Scotland, 
 made some curious discoveries in the art of producing cold 
 by evaporation. Hoping that the genius of Franklin might 
 throw some lights on this dawning science, a friend of doc- 
 tor C alien's wrote a statement of the facts to Franklin. 
 The American philosopher, though now immersed in politi- 
 cal pursuits, took a little leisure to repeat doctor Cullen's 
 experiments on cold, which he so improved as easily to pro- 
 duce ice in the dog days. But it was one of those dis- 
 coveries, which, as he says, he never valued, because it was 
 too expensive to be of general utility. 
 
 About the autumn of 1761, he rendered himself prodi- 
 giously popular among the ladies in London, by completing 
 that sweet toned little instrument of music, the Harmonica. 
 
 I have been told that his fame at court on this account, 
 so awakened the recollection of George III. that he caused 
 it to be signified to Dr. Franklin, that he felt a disposition 
 to "do something for Aim." Our philosopher replied, that 
 he wanted nothing for himself, but — that, he had a son in 
 Jlmerica. The king took the hints and immediately made 
 
190 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 uut a commission of " Governor of his colony of New Jersey^ 
 for his beloved subject, Temple Franklin, Esq." On such 
 small things are the fortunes of men sometimes founded ! 
 
 Doctor Franklin was now become so great a favourite 
 that the people of all classes seemed to take a pride in talk- 
 ing of him, and his savings, insomuch that not a word of the 
 brilliant sort could fall from his lips but it was sure to be 
 caught up instantly and re-echoed through every circle, from 
 proud St. James to humble St. Giles. The following im- 
 promptu made a great noise in London about this time. 
 
 One evening in a large party at his friend Vaughan's he 
 was, laughingly, challenged by a very beautiful girl, a Miss 
 Gun, to make her a couplet of verses extempore. Well, 
 madam, replied he, with great gallantry, since every body is 
 offering a tribute to your graces, let me tender the following: 
 
 " Cupid now to ensure his fun, 
 Quits his bow and takes to gun." 
 
 This handsome play on her name instantly suffused the 
 cheeks of Miss Gun with celestial roses, making her look 
 much more like an angel than before. 
 
 I mention this merely to show what an extraordinary 
 mind that man must have possessed, who with such equal 
 ease, could play the Newton or the Chesterfield, and charm 
 alike the lightnings and the ladies. 
 
 In the summer of 1762, he took leave of ;iis friends in 
 England to return to his native country. On his voyage he 
 discovered in oil or grease thrown on the water, a property, 
 which few people ever dreamt of. When we learn of gold 
 that it may by beating, be expanded into a leaf of such in- 
 credible fineness, that a guinea might in that way be made 
 to cover Solomon's temple, or deck Noah's ark, we are 
 filled with wonder of such a metal. Doctor Franklin tells 
 us of equal wonders in oil. He informs us, that a wine 
 glass full of pure oil poured on a mill pond, will presently 
 spread over it, with a film inconceivably thinner than a cob- 
 web, and so adhesive that the winds shall not excite it to 
 mad-caps and breakers. Hence, he infers, that oil might be 
 made a mean of saving ships during a violent storm at sea. 
 
 In this voyage he made also another discovery, which 
 ought to be known to all going by sea, viz. that if persons 
 perishing of thirst on a voyage, would but bathe half a 
 dozen times a day in the sea water, which they easily might, 
 by using tb'HF empty water casks as bathing tubs, they 
 would obtain great relief from their thirst, and live several 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 193 
 
 he to the govern r, 66 has no subjects in all Ins wide do- 
 minions, who more heartily love him than do his American 
 subjects. Nor do there exist on earth, the Englishmen who 
 hold more dear the glory of old England than they do. 
 Hut the same spirit ot their gallant forefathers, which makes 
 them ready to lay down their lives and fortunes, in a con- 
 stitutional way, for their king and country, will for ever 
 secure them from being slaves. We exult, sir, in the recol- 
 lection, that of all the governments on earth, that of Great 
 Britain has long been the freest; and that more blood has 
 been shed for freedom's sake in England in one week, than 
 on the whole continent for fifty years. Now, on the bright 
 face of that government, the first and fairest feature is this 
 that no king can touch a penny belonging to the poorest sub 
 ject, without his own consent, by his representative in par- 
 liament. For, if, say they, 6 a king can at pleasure take ow 
 money, he can take every thing else; since with that he can 
 easily hire soldiers to rob, and then murder us if we but 
 open our lips against him. ' As Americans glory in being 
 Englishmen on the western side of the Atlantic, they very 
 naturally claim the common right of Englishmen, not to be 
 taxed without their own consent, by their representatives in 
 parliament. But the British ministry, though they obsti- 
 nately refuse to the Americans the sacred rights of repre- 
 sentation, yet as wickedly insist on the right of taxation ; 
 and accordingly have brought into parliament the famous 
 stamp act bill, whereby no business that requires a record on 
 paper, as deeds, bonds, wills, marriages, fyc. can be legally 
 done but on paper that has received the royal stamp. Now, 
 sir, you well know that the same minister who proposes this 
 most iniquitous and unconstitutional act, would not dare 
 propose to any the most drunken tavern-keeper in England, 
 a farthing tax on a pot of his ale without the consent of his 
 representative in parliament; and yet, without being allowed 
 a hearing in parliament, three millions of free-born Ameri- 
 cans, sons of Englishmen, are to be taxed at the pleasure of 
 a distant minister! Not, honoured sir, that the Americans 
 care a fig for the pence imposed on this bit of stamp paper, 
 but for the principle. For they well know that if parlia- 
 ment claim a right to take from us a penny in the pound, 
 there is no line drawn to bound that right; and what shall 
 hinder their calling whenever they please for the other 
 nineteen shillings and eleven pence? And besides, sir, 
 where is the necessity for this most degrading measure ? 
 
 17 
 
194 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Have not the Americans ever shown themselves the warmest 
 friends of their king and country? Have they not, in aU 
 cases of danger, most readily voted both their men and mo 
 ney to the full extent of their means, and sometimes fai 
 beyond ? 
 
 " And in addition to all this, are they not daily paying 
 large monies in secret taxes to Great Britain ? 
 
 66 I. We are not permitted to trade with foreign nations! 
 All the difference in the price of what we could buy cheaper 
 from them, but must buy dearer from Britain, is a clear tax 
 to Britain. 
 
 " II. We are obliged to carry our produce to Britain! 
 All that it sells for less there than it would in any other 
 market, is a clear tax to Britain. 
 
 All the manufactures that we could make, but 
 are forbidden and must buy of British merchants, is a clear 
 tax to Britain. 
 
 " And what freeborn Englishman can, without indignation, 
 think of being so daringly defrauded of his birthright, that 
 if he wants a pipe of good wine, he cannot go to the island 
 of Madeira and get it on easy exchange for his bread stuff, 
 and return at once to his home and business; but must go a 
 thousand miles farther from his family, even to Great Bri- 
 tain, and there run the gauntlet, through so many ruinous 
 charges, as to bring his wine up to almost double what it 
 ought to have cost ? And all this most flagrant injustice 
 done to the whole people of the colonies, just to enrich half 
 a dozen British merchants engaged in the Portugal wine trade! 
 
 " A similar outrage on another of the dearest rights of 
 Englishmen, i. e. ; to make the most that they honestly can of 
 their property,' is committed on the British subjects in 
 America, for the sake of favouring a few hatters and nail 
 makers in England. No country on the globe, furnishes 
 better iron or better beaver than does North America. But the 
 Americans must not make a hob-nail or a felt hat for them- 
 selves. No; they must send all their iron and fur to 
 England for the hatters and nail makers there; who may 
 givs them their own price for the raw materials, and ask 
 their own price for the manufactures. 
 
 « All that a wise government wishes, is, that the people 
 should be numerous and wealthy enough to fight the battles 
 of their country, and to pay the faxes. But they care not so 
 much whether the fighting be done by John or Thomas, or 
 the tax paid by William or Charles. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 195 
 
 "What imports it to the government, whether a mer- 
 chant, a smith, or a hatter, grows rich in Old England or 
 New England? And if, through increase of the people, 
 two smiths are wanted for one employed before, why may 
 not the new smith be allowed to live and thrive in the new 
 country, as well as the old in the old? In short, why should 
 the countenance of a state be partially afforded to its people, 
 unless it be most in favour of those who have most merit?" 
 
 The whig papers in London soon got this letter, and laid 
 it before the public. 
 
 Among a high-minded people like the British, who pride 
 themselves in their love of liberty and their perfect scorn of 
 fold play, such sentiments could not be read without the 
 liveliest emotions. And though some, the ministerial junto 
 r or example, with the merchants and manufacturers, did not 
 ike such plain truths, yet the nation in general gave him 
 great credit both for his singular honesty and abilities; and the 
 name of Dr. Franklin became very dear to thousands of 
 the most enlightened and virtuous patriots of Britain. 
 
 But the pleasure of admiration was dashed with fear, that 
 the minister would suffer no good to be done to the nation 
 by all this divine counsel, merely because the giver was not 
 an Englishman. 
 
 The lights, however, which Dr. Franklin had thrown on 
 this great subject, were pressed upon the minister with such 
 courage by numbers of honest English writers, that he pru- 
 dently delayed ordering the collection of the tax until he 
 could get further information. It was not long before an 
 opportunity was offered him to obtain this information in a way 
 highly complimentary to Dr. Franklin, i. e. by summoning 
 him, then in London as colony agent from Pennsylvania, 
 February 2, 1766, to appear before the Bar of the British 
 House of Commons, to answer certain questions, fyc. 
 
 The next day, accompanied by Mr. Strahan, afterwards 
 member of parliament, with several illustrious Englishmen, 
 his warm friends, he went to the house. The concourse was 
 immense. To see Dr. Franklin — the American, whose phi- 
 losophical discoveries and political writings had filled the 
 world with his name, excited universal curiosity. The gal- 
 leries were filled with ladies of the first distinction, and 
 every seat below was occupied by the members from the 
 house of lords. At ten o'clock he appeared at the bar be- 
 fore the eager waiting crowd. The profound est silence en- 
 sued. Al) eyes were fixed on him; and, from their deep 
 
TFIE LIFE OF 
 
 regard, it appeared, that though they beheld no stars noi 
 garters glittering on his breast, no burning velvets nor 
 flaming diamonds adorning his person, yet they were not 
 disappointed. They beheld a spectacle still more inter- 
 esting and novel. — The spectacle of a man whose simple 
 dress evinced that he asked no aid of the tailor and silk- 
 worm to recommend him, but stood solely on the majesty 
 of his mind. The hour for examination being come, and 
 the attendant officer beckoning him thereto, he arose — 
 
 And in his rising seemed a pillar of state — deep on his 
 brow engraven deliberation sat and public care. His looks 
 drew audience and attention still as night, or summer's 
 noontide air." 
 
 Who can paint the looks of the minister, as with darkly 
 scowling eye-balls, he beheld this terror of aristocracy! or 
 who can paint the noble lorolings, as lost in equal stare, 
 they gazed and gazed at the wondrous American, forgetting 
 the while, " to quiz" as they were wont, '"his homespun 
 coat and simple shoe-strings. 99 
 
 But never did the mind-illumined looks of man shine 
 more divinely bright than did those, that day, of the gene- 
 rous Barry, the godlike Chatham, and the high-minded 
 Dunning, when they beheld the noble form of Franklin. 
 Though born in North America, he shines before their eyes 
 as a true born son of Britain — the luminous and brave inter- 
 preter of her sacred constitution, and the wise politician 
 who seeks to exalt her glory, lasting as the skies, on the broad 
 base of impartial justice to all her children. With eyes 
 sparkling with esteem unutterable, they hail him as a bro- 
 ther; and breathe the ardent wish that in the impending ex- 
 amination he may succeed in diverting the minister from 
 that unconstitutional course which may involve the ruin 
 both of England and America. 
 
 The moment for trial being come, and the minister giving 
 the signal to begin, the speaker thus commenced: — 
 
 Q. What is your name and place of abode ? 
 
 A. Franklin, of Philadelphia. 
 
 Here followed nearly three hundred questions and answers^ 
 which were once read with exceeding interest by men, wo- 
 men, and children in America. But as they turn altogether 
 on that great quarrel which the British ministry formerly 
 excited in this country; and which God, to his endless glory, 
 was pleased to put asleep in our favour near half a century 
 ago, then let all these questions and answers lie asleep with 
 
D\l. FRANKLIN. 
 
 197 
 
 it. However, it is but justice to Dr. Franklin to observe, 
 that when we consider these questions, what a wide range 
 they take both of the British and American relations and in- 
 terests — together with the luminous, prompt, and decisive 
 manner in which they were solved, we are lost in astonish- 
 ment at the extent of his information and the powers of his 
 mind, and are almost tempted to believe that the answers, 
 and not the questions must have been studied with the nicest 
 discrimination of circumstances. 
 
 Charles Fox, an honest Englishman, and an excellent judge 
 in these matters, being asked his opinion of Dr. Franklin 
 and the ministers in the late examination, replied, in his 
 strong way, " Dwarfs, sir, mere dwarfs in the hand of a 
 giant!" 
 
 Edmund Burke used to say, that this examination of Dr. 
 Franklin before the ministers, always put him in mind of a 
 w Master examined before a parcel of school-boys " 
 
 But though his abilities cn this occasion excited the admi- 
 ration of generous enemies, while his more partial friends 
 set no bounds to their praise, yet it would appear from the 
 following that all afforded him but little pleasure. In a 
 letter to a friend in Philadelphia, he has these remarkable 
 words: w You have, no doubt, heard that I have been ex- 
 amined before the House of Commons in this country. 
 And it is probable you have also been told that I did not 
 entirely disappoint the expectations of my friends, nor be- 
 tray the cause of truth. This, to be sure, gives me some 
 pleasure; and, indeed it is the only thing that does; for, as 
 to any good being done by my honest statement to minis- 
 ters, of what I firmly believe to be the best interests of die 
 two countries, 'tis all, I fear, a lost hope. The people of 
 this country are too proud, and too much despise the poor 
 Americans, to allow them the common rights of Englishmen^ 
 that is, a representation in parliament. And until this be 
 done, I apprehend that no taxes laid by parliament, will ever 
 be collected, but such as must be stained with blood. How 
 lamentable it is that two people, sprung frrom the same 
 origin, speaking the same language, governed by the same 
 laws, and worshipping at the same altar of God, and capa- 
 ble, by a wise use of the extraordinary means he has now 
 put into their hands, of becoming the greatest nation on 
 earth, should be stopped short and perhaps reduced to in- 
 significance by a civil war, kindled by ministers obstinately 
 contending for what thev cannot but know to be utterly uu 
 17* 
 
198 
 
 THE LIFE OK 
 
 constitutional and eternally inadmissible among the free-barn 
 so?is of Englishmen. But 1 suppose the repeal will not 
 now be agreed to, from what I think a mistaken opinion, 
 that the honour and dignity of government are better sup- 
 ported by persisting in a wrong measure, once entered 
 into, than by rectifying an error as soon as it is discovered.'" 
 Differently, however, from the apprehensions of Franklin, 
 the stamp act was repealed, and even in the course of the 
 same year! 
 
 But though so little expected by him, yet was this event 
 ascribed, in a great measure, to Dr. Franklin. His famous 
 examination, printed in a shilling pamphlet, had been dis- 
 tributed by myriads throughout Britain and America. In 
 America it served to brighten up the old land marks of 
 their rights as free-born sons of Englishmen, and to quicken 
 their sensibilities to ministerial frauds. In England, it 
 served to show the ignorance of the ministers; the impolicy 
 of their measures towards America; and the utter inexpe- 
 diency of the stamp act. The stamp act of course fell to 
 the ground. The reader, if a good man, exults, no doubt, 
 in this as a most fortunate event, and already hails this re- 
 moval of strife, as a certain prelude to that return of love 
 between the mother country and her colonies, which will 
 make them both, glorious and happy. He may hope it, but 
 alas! he is never to see the accomplishment of that good 
 hope. Death is whetting his scythe; and civil wars and 
 slaughters are now just as near at hand as though the stamp 
 act had never been repealed. For a pamphlet in some popu- 
 lar style that should unrip the black budget of ministerial 
 injustice and lay naked to view the causes of the coming 
 war; that unnatural war that is to sever England and her 
 colonies for ever! Brighter than a thousand sermons it 
 would illustrate to politicians that " the Lord is King" — 
 that the sole end of his government, is to glorify himself in 
 the happiness of his creatures — that thereunto he hath 
 established his throne in justice — the eternal justice of men 
 " doing unto others as they would that others should do unto 
 them " and that none, however great, shall ever violate this 
 blessed order with impunity. The British ministry are des- 
 tined to illustrate this. They are fond of power — to pre 
 serve this, they must continue in place — in order thereunto 
 they must please the merchants and manufacturers — to ac- 
 complish this they must favour their trade and lighten their 
 taxes. And how is this to be done ?' why, by a little pecca- 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 tlillo of injustice. They have only to sweat the "convicts 
 on their American plan' ations," — the rascals live a great 
 way off, and have no representative in parliament to make a 
 noise about it. Accordingly, soon as the Americans were 
 supposed to have gotten a little over their fever about the 
 stamp act, the minister, lord North, of famous memory, de- 
 termined to try them again. However it was but a small 
 affair now—only a three penny excise on the pound of tea. 
 
 When Dr. Franklin, our ARGUS, then in London, dis- 
 covered the designs of minister North, he exerted himself 
 to point that purblind gentleman to the horrible gulf that 
 was yawning at his feet. He wrote letters to several mem- 
 bers of parliament, his friends; and he published a number 
 of luminous pieces in the patriotic gazettes, all admirably 
 calculated to rouse the friends of the nation to a sense of the 
 impending dangers. 
 
 In three letters to the honourable Mr. W. Strahan, he 
 has, in the extract, these remarkable words: — 
 
 "London, November, 1768. 
 
 "Dear Sir, 
 
 " With respect to the present dispute between Great Bri- 
 tain and the colonies, there is nothing I wish Lor more than 
 to see it amicably settled. But Providence brings about its 
 own ends by its own means; and if it intends the downfall 
 of a nation, that nation will be so blinded by its pride and 
 other passions as not to see its danger, or how its fall may 
 be prevented. 
 
 " The friends of the ministry say that this tax is but a 
 trifle ; granted. But who does not see what will be the con- 
 sequence of submitting to it ? Is it not the more danger- 
 ous for being a trifle ? Is it not in this way that the devil 
 himself most effectually works our ruin ? If he can but 
 prevail on a poor thoughtless youth to shake hands with in- 
 nocence, and to steal, he is abundantly satisfied. To get 
 the boy's hand in, is all he wants. And he would as lea\e 
 the simpleton should begin with stealing a halter as a horse. 
 For he well knows that if he but begins with the one he is 
 sure to end with the other. Just so the minister, angling for 
 American liberty, artfully covers his hook with this delicate 
 bait. But the truth is, I have talked and written so much 
 and so long on the subject of this unhappy quarrel, that my 
 acquaintance are weary of hearing, and the public of reatl 
 ing, any more of it; which begins to make me weary of 
 
200 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 talking and writing; especially as I do not find that I have 
 gained any point in either country, except that of rendering 
 myself suspected, by my impartiality, in England of being 
 too much an American, and in America of being too much 
 an Englishman. However, as in reply to your polite ques- 
 tion, " what is t9 be done to settle this alarming dispute?" 
 I have often told you what I think the minister ought to do: 
 I now go a step farther, and tell you what 1 fear he will do. 
 
 " I apprehend he will, ere long, attempt to enforce this 
 obnoxious tax, whatever may be the consequences.- — I ap 
 prehend that in the mean time, the colonies will continue to 
 be treated with contempt, and the redress of their grievances 
 be neglected — that, this will inflame matters still more in 
 that country — that, further rash measures there, may create 
 more resentments here — that, their assemblies will be at- 
 tempted to be dissolved — that, more troops will be sent to 
 oppress them — that, to justify these measures of govern- 
 ment, your newspapers will revile them as miscreants, rogues, 
 dastards, and rebels — that, this will alienate the minds of 
 the people here from them, and theirs from you- — that, pos- 
 sibly too, some of their warm patriots may be distracted 
 enough to uo some mad act which will cause them to be 
 sent for hii\er — and that government may be indiscreet 
 enough to hang them for it — that mutual provocations will 
 thus go on to complete the separation, and instead of that 
 cordial affection which so long existed, and which is so ne- 
 cessary to the glory and happiness of both countries, an im- 
 placable malice, dishonourable and destructive to both, may 
 take place. I hope, however, that this may all prove foist 
 prophecy, and that you and I may live to see as sincere a 
 friendship established between our countries, as has so many 
 years subsisted between W. Strahan, Esq. and his truly 
 affectionate old friend, B. FRANKLIN." 
 
 But notwithstanding his prayer to the contrary, every 
 body recollects how, exactly as Dr. Franklin had predicted, 
 the minister continued to blunder and blunder on with his 
 face constantly towards war — how nothing was trumpeted by 
 the ministerial party, like the ingratitude and baseness of 
 the Americans — how certain newspapers perpetually vilified 
 them as miscreants, rascals and rebels — how the public mind 
 was so set against them that even the shoe-blacks, as Mr. 
 Wilkes said, talked of the colonies as their plantations, anil 
 ♦»i the people there as if they had been their overseers and 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 205 
 
 pie beef and pudding. By these means, and the stoppage of 
 our consumptive trade with Britain, we shall be better able to 
 pay our voluntary taxes for the support of our troops. Our 
 savings in the article of trade, amount to near five millions 
 of sterling per annum. — Yours, most affectionately, 
 
 B. FRANKLIN. 
 
 In another letter to the same, dated October 3d, he says: 
 "Tell our dear good friend, doctor Price, who sometimes 
 has his doubts and despondencies about our firmness, that 
 America is determined and unanimous: a very few tories 
 and placemen excepted, who will probably soon export them- 
 selves. Britain, at the expense of three millions has killed 
 in this campaign, one hundred and fifty yankees ! which is 
 20,000 pounds sterling a head; and at Bunker's hill she gain- 
 ed half a mile of ground! During the same time she lost, at 
 one place, near one thousand men, and we have had a good 
 sixty thousand children born in America. From these data, 
 with the help of his mathematical head, lord North will easily 
 calculate the time and expense necessary to kill us all, and 
 conquer our whole territory. — 
 
 Tarn yours, B. FRANKLIN." 
 
 In another letter to the same, and of the same date, he 
 says: 
 
 "Britain still goes on to goad and exasperate. She de- 
 spises us too much; and seems to forget the Italian proverb, 
 that 6 there is no little enemy.' 9 I am persuaded the body of 
 (he British people are our friends; but your lying gazettes may 
 soon make them our enemies — and 1 see clearly that we are on 
 the high road to mutual enmity, hatred, and detestation. A 
 separation will of course be inevitable. It is a million of pities 
 so fair a plan, as we have hitherto been engaged in for in- 
 creasing strength and empire with public felicity, should 
 be destroyed by the mangling hands of a few blundering; 
 ministers. It will not be destroyed: God will protect 
 and prosper it: you will only exclude youselves from any 
 share of it. We hear that more ships and troops are coming 
 out. We know you may do us a great deal of mischief, but 
 we are determined to bear it patiently; but if you flatter 
 yourselves with beating us into submission, you know neithei 
 the people nor the country. 
 
 I am ever your's, most affectionately, 
 
 B. FRANKLIN 
 
 18 
 
106 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 This letter of Doctor Franklin's is the first thing I have 
 
 seen that utters a whisper about Independence. It was, 
 however, a prophetical whisper, and soon found its accom- 
 plishment in the source that Franklin predicted — the bar- 
 barity of Britain. To see war waged against them by a 
 power whom they had always gloried in as their Mother 
 Country — to see it waged because as the children of En- 
 glishmen, they had only asked for the common rights of 
 Englishmen — to see it waged with a savageness unknown 
 among civilized nations, and all the powers of earth and hell, as 
 it were, stirred up against them — the I ndians with their bloody 
 tomahawks and scalping knives — the negroes with their mid- 
 night hoes and axes — the merciless flames let loose on their 
 midwinter towns — with prisons, chains, and starvation of their 
 vorthiest citizens. " Such miserable specimens," as Franklin 
 tinned them, " of the British government," produced every 
 where in the colonies a disposition to detest and avoid it as a 
 complication of robbery, murder, famine, fire and pestilence. 
 
 On the 7th of June, resolutions respecting independence, 
 were moved and seconded in Congress. Doctor Franklin 
 threw all the weight of his wisdom and character into the 
 scale in favour of independence. 
 
 " Independence," said he, "zvill cut the Gordian knot 
 at once, and give us freedom. 
 
 46 1. Freedom from the oppressive kings, and endless wars, 
 and mad politics, and forced religion of an unreasonable and 
 cruel government. 
 
 k < II. Freedom to choose a fair, and cheap, and reasonable 
 government of our own. 
 
 u III. Freedom to live in friendship with all nations ; and 
 
 " IV. Freedom to trade with all." 
 
 On the 4th of July, the Independence of the United States 
 was declared. Immediately on the finishing of this great 
 work, doctor Franklin, with a committee of the first talents 
 in Congress, prepared a number of very masterly addresses 
 to the courts of Europe, informing what the United States 
 had done; assigning their reasons for so doing; and tender- 
 ing in the most affectionate terms, the friendship and trade 
 of the young nation. The potentates of Europe were, gene- 
 rally, well pleased to hear that a new star had risen in the 
 west, and talked freely of opening their treasures and pre- 
 senting their gifts of friendship, &c. 
 
 But the European power that seemed most to rejoice in 
 this event was the French. In August, doctor Franklin 
 
DR. FRANKLIN 
 
 207 
 
 was appointed by Congress to visit the French court, for the 
 purpose of forming an alliance with that powerful people. It 
 was his friend, Doctor B. Rush, who first announced to him 
 the choice which Congress had made, adding, at the same 
 time, his hearty congratulations on that account. 
 
 " Why, doctor," replied he with a smile, u Iam now, like 
 an old broom, worn down to the stump in my country's ser- 
 vice — near seventy yeais old. But such as I am, she must, 
 I suppose, have the last of me." Like the brave Dutch repub- 
 licans, each with his wallet of herrings on his back, when 
 they went forth to negotiate with the proud Dons, so did doc- 
 tor Franklin set out to court the great French nation, with no 
 provisions for his journey, but a few hogsheads of tobacco, 
 tie was received in France, however, with a most hearty 
 welcome, not only as an envoy from a brave people fighting 
 for their rights, but also as the famed American philosopher, 
 who by his paratonerres (lightning rods) had disarmed the 
 clouds of their lightnings, and who, it was hoped, would re- 
 duce the colossal power of Great Britain. 
 
 He had not been long in Paris, before the attention of all 
 the courts of Europe was attached to him, by a publication, 
 wherein he demonstrated, that, the young, healthy, and 
 sturdy republic of America, with her simple manners, labori- 
 ous habits, and millions of fresh land and produce, would be 
 a much safer borrower of money, than the old, profligate, and 
 debt-bur thened government of Britain. The Dutch and 
 French courts, in particular, read his arguments with such 
 attention, that they soon began to make him loans. To the 
 Fiench cabinet he pointed out, u the inevitable destruc- 
 tion OF THEIR FLEETS, COLONIES, AND COMMERCE, IN CASE 
 
 of a re-union of bhitain and America." There wanted 
 but a grain to turn the trembling balance in favour of Ame- 
 rica. 
 
 But it was the will of Heaven to withhold that grain a 
 good long while. And Franklin had the mortification to 
 hnd, that although the French were an exceedingly polite 
 people; constantly eulogizing General Washington and 
 the Brave Bostonians, on every little victory; and also 
 for their tobacco, very thriftily smuggling all the fire arms 
 and ammunition they could into the United States, yet they 
 had no notion of coming out manfully at once upon the 
 British lion, until they should first see the American Eagle 
 lay the monster on his back. Dr. Franklin, of course, was 
 permitted to rest on his oars, at Passy, in the neighbourhood 
 
SOS 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of Paris. His characteristic philanthropy, however, could 
 not allow him to be idle at a court, whose pride and extra 
 vagance were so horribly irreconcileable with his ideas of 
 the true use of riches, i. e. Independence for ourselves, and 
 Beneficence to others. And he presently came out in t ie 
 Paris Gazette with the following master piece of Wit and 
 Economics. 
 
 To the Editors of the Paris Journal. 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 I was the other evening in a grand company, where the 
 new lamp of Messrs. Quinquet and Lange was introduced, 
 and much admired for its splendour; butageneral inquiry was 
 made, whether the oil it consumed, was not in proportion 1o 
 the light it afforded; in which case there would be no saving 
 in the use of it. No one present could satisfy us on that 
 point; which all agreed ought to be known, it being a very 
 desirable thing to lessen, if possible, the expense of lighting 
 our apartments, when every other article of family expense 
 was so much augmented. 
 
 I was pleased to see this general concern for economy; 
 for I love economy exceedingly. 
 
 I went home, and to bed, three or four hours after mid- 
 night, with my head full of the subject. An accidental sud 
 den noise awaked me about six in the morning, when I was 
 surprised to find my room filled with light; and I imagined, 
 at first, that a number of these lamps had been brought intc 
 it ; but rubbing my eyes, I perceived the light came in at 
 my windows. [ got up, and looked out to see what might 
 be the occasion of it, when I saw the sun just rising above 
 the horizon, whence he poured his rays plentifully into my 
 chamber, my domestic having negligently omitted, the pre- 
 ceding evening, to close the shutters. 
 
 I looked at my watch, which goes very well, and found 
 that it was but six o'clock; and still thinking it something 
 extraordinary that the sun should rise so early, I looked in- 
 to the almanack; where I found it to be the hour given for 
 its rising on that day. 
 
 Your readers, who, with me, have never seen any signs 
 of sunshine before noon, and seldom regard the astronomical 
 part of the almanack, will be as much astonished as I was. 
 when they hear of his rising so early; and especially when I 
 assure them that he gives light as soon as he rises. I am 
 certain of the fact. / saw it with my own eyes. And 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 having repeated this observation the three following morn- 
 ings, I found always precisely the same result. 
 
 Yet so it happens, that when I speak of this discovery to • 
 others, I can easily perceive by their countenances, though 
 they forbear expressing it in words, that they do not quite 
 believe me. One, indeed, who is a learned natural philoso- 
 pher, has assured me that I must certainly be mistaken as 
 to the circumstance of the light coming into my room; for it 
 being well known, as he says, that there could be no light 
 abroad at that hour, it follows that none could enter from 
 without; and that of consequence, my windows being acci- 
 dentally left open, instead of letting in the light, had only 
 served to let out the darkness. 
 
 This event has given rise, in my mind, to several serious 
 and important reflections. I considered that, if I had not 
 been awakened so early in the morning, L should have slept 
 six hours longer by the light of the sun, and in exchange have 
 lived six hours the following night by candle-light; and the lat- 
 ter being a much more expensive light than the former, my 
 love of economy induced me to muster up what little arithme 
 tic I was master of, and to make some calculations, which 1 
 shall give you, after observing, that utility is, in my opinion, 
 the test of value in matters of invention, and that a disco 
 very which can be applied to no use, or is not good for 
 something, is good for nothing. 
 
 I took for the basis of my calculation, the supposition that 
 there are 100,000 families in Paris; and that these families 
 consume in the night half a pound of candles, per hour. 1 
 think this a moderate allowance, taking one family with 
 another; for though I believe some consume less, I know 
 that many consume a great deal more. Then, estimating 
 seven hours per day, as the medium quantity between the 
 time of the surfs rising and ours, and there being seven 
 hours, of course, per night, in which we burn candles, the ac- 
 count will stand thus: 
 
 In 12 months there are nights 365; hours of each night 
 in which we burn candles 7; multiplication gives for the to- 
 tal number of hours 2555. These multiplied by 100,000, 
 the number of families in Paris, give 255,500,000 hours 
 spent at Paris by candle-light, which, at half a pound of 
 wax and tallow per hour, give 127,750,000 pounds, worth, 
 at 3 livres the pound, 383,250,000 livres ; upwards of 
 
 THIRTY MILLIONS OF DOLLARS ! ! ! 
 
 An mmense sum! that the citv of Paris might save everj 
 
 18* 
 
210 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 year, by the economy of using sunshine instead of candles., 
 — If it should be said, that the people are very apt to be 
 obstinately attached to old customs, and that it will be diffi- 
 cult to induce them to rise before noon, consequently my 
 discovery can be of little use, I answer, we must not 'despair. 
 I believe all, who have common sense, as soon as they have 
 learnt, from this paper, that it is daylight when the sun 
 rises, will contrive to rise with him; and to compel the rest, 
 1 would propose the following regulations: 
 
 First. Let a tax be laid of a louis, (a guinea,) per window, 
 on every window that is provided with shutters to keep out 
 the light of the sun. 
 
 Second. Let guards be placed in the shops of the wax 
 and tallow-chandlers; and no family be permitted to be 
 supplied with more than one pound of candles per week. 
 
 Third. Let guards be posted, to stop all the coaches, &c. 
 that would pass the streets after sunset, except those of 
 physicians, surgeons, and mid wives. 
 
 Fourth. Every morning, as soon as the sun rises, let all 
 the bells in the city be set ringing; and if that be not suffi- 
 cient let cannon be tired in every street, to awake the 
 sluggards effectually, and make them open their eyes to see 
 their true interest. 
 
 All the difficulty will be in the first two or three days: 
 after which the reformation will be as natural and easy as 
 the present irregularity. Oblige a man to rise at four in the 
 morning, and, it is more than probable, he shall go willingly 
 to bed at eight in the evening; and having had eight hours 
 sleep, he will rise more willingly at four, in the morning 
 following. 
 
 For the great benefit of this discovery, thus freely com- 
 municated and bestowed by me, on the good city of Paris, 
 1 demand neither place, pension, exclusive privilege, nor 
 any other reward whatever. I expect only to have the honour 
 of it. And yet I know there are little envious minds, who 
 will, as usual, deny me this, and say that my invention was 
 known to the ancients. I will not dispute that the ancients 
 knew that the sun would rise at certain hours. They possi- 
 bly had almanacks that predicted it; but it does not follow, 
 thence, that they knew that he gave light as soon as he rose. 
 This is what I claim as my discovery. If the ancients knew it ? 
 it must long since have been forgotten; for it certainly was 
 unknown to the moderns, at least to the Parisians; which to 
 Drove, I need use but one plain simple argument. They are 
 
DR. FRANKLTN. 
 
 213 
 
 court wore so dazzled with the brilliancy of his mind that 
 they never looked at his stockings. And while many other 
 ministers who figured in all the gaudy fashions of the day 
 are now forgotten, the name of Dr. Franklin is still men- 
 tioned., in Paris with all the ardour of the most affectionate 
 enthusiasm 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 
 Imagination can hardly conceive a succession of pleasures 
 more elegant and refined than those which Dr. Franklin, 
 now on the shady side of threescore and ten, continued daily 
 to enjoy in the vicinity of Paris — his mornings constantly 
 devoted to his beloved studies, and his evenings to the cheer- 
 ful society of his friends — the greatest monarch of Europe 
 heaping him with honours unasked, and the brightest Wits 
 and Beauties of his court vying with each other in their at- 
 tentions to him. And thus as the golden hours rolled along, 
 they still found him happy — gratefully contrasting his pre- 
 sent glory with his hum We origin, and thence breathing no- 
 thing but benevolence to man—firmly confiding in the care 
 of Heaven — and fully persuaded that his smiles would yet 
 descend upon his countrymen, now fighting the good fight of 
 liberty and happiness. 
 
 While waiting in strong hope of this most desirable of all 
 events, he received, by express, December 1777, the wel- 
 come news that the battle had been joined in America, and 
 that God had delivered a noble wing of the British army 
 into the hands of the brave republicans at Saratoga. O ye, 
 who, rejecting the philosophy of all embracing love, know no 
 joys beyond vvhat.the miser feels when his own little heap in- 
 creases, how faintly can you conceive what this great apos- 
 tle of liberty enjoyed when he found that his countrymen 
 still retained tae fire of their gallant fathers, and were re- 
 solved to live free or press a glorious grave! He lost no time 
 to improve this splendid victory to the good of his country. 
 In several audiences with the king and his ministers, he 
 clearly demonstrated that France in all her days of ancient 
 danger had never known so dark a cloud impending over her 
 as at this awful crisis. " If Great Britain," said he, " already 
 so powerful were to subdue the revolted colonies and add 
 
214 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 all North America to her empire, she would in twenty years 
 be strong enough to crush the power of France and not leave 
 her an island or a ship on the ocean." As a sudden flash of 
 lightning from the opening clouds before the burst of thun- 
 der and rain, such was the shock produced by this argu- 
 ment on the mind of every thinking man throughout France. 
 The courtiers with all their talents for dissembling could not 
 conceal their hostile feelings from the British minister resi 
 dent among them. He marked it, not without sentiments of 
 answering hostility, which he could no better conceal, and 
 which, indeed, after the honest bluntness of his national cha- 
 racter, he did not care to conceal. The increased attentions 
 paid to Dr. Franklin, and the rejoicings in Paris on account 
 of the American victories, were but illy calculated to soothe his 
 displeasure. Bitter complaints were presently forwarded to 
 his court — angry remonstrances to the French cabinet follow- 
 ed — and in a short time the embers of ancient hate were 
 blown up to flames of fury so diabolical that nothing but 
 war, with all its rivers of human blood could extinguish it. 
 War, of course, was proclaimed — Paris was illuminated — 
 and the thunder of the Royal cannon soon announced to the 
 willing citizens that the die was cast, and that the Grand 
 Monarcjue was become the Ally of the United States. 
 
 " Wliile there is any thing to be done nothing is done" said 
 Caesar. Franklin thought so too. He had succeeded in his 
 efforts to persuade the warlike French to take part with his 
 oppressed countrymen; but the Spaniards and the Dutch 
 were still neutral. To rouse their hostile feelings against 
 Great Britain, and to make them the hearty partisans of 
 Washington, was his next study. The event quickly showed 
 that he had studied human nature with success. He who 
 had been the playmate of lightnings for the glory of God, 
 found no difficulty in stirring up the wrath of man to praise 
 him — by chastising the sons of violence. The tall black 
 ships of war were soon seen to rush forth from the ports of 
 Holland and Spain, laden with the implements of death, to 
 arrest the mad ambition of Great Britain, and maintain the 
 balance of power. How dearly ought the American peo- 
 ple to prize their liberties, for which such bloody contribu- 
 tion was laid on the human race! Imagination glances with 
 terror on that dismal war whose spread was over half the 
 solid and half the watery globe. Its devouring fires burned 
 from the dark wilds of North America to the distant isles 
 of India; and the blood of its victims was mingled w ith the 
 
DR. FRANKLIN 
 
 brine of every ocean. Rut, thanks to God, the conflict 
 though violent, was but short. And much of the honour o» 
 bringing it to a close is to be conceded to the instrumen 
 talitv f Dr. Fmklin. 
 
 We have Seen that in 1763, he was sent (of Heaven no 
 doubt, for it was an act worthy of his all-benevolent charac- 
 ter,) a preacher of righteousness, to the proud court of Bri- 
 tain. His luminous preachings, (through the press,) on the 
 injustice and unconstitutionality of the ministerial taxing 
 measures on the colonies, shed such light, that thousands of 
 honest Englishmen set their faces against them, and also 
 against the war to which they saw it was tending. These 
 converts to justice, these doves of peace, were not sufficient 
 ly numerous to defeat the war-hawks of their bloody pur- 
 poses. But when they found that the war into which they 
 had plunged with such confidence, had not, instantly, as they 
 expected, reduced the colonies to slavish submission; but 
 that, instead thereof, one half Europe in favour of America, 
 was in arms against them with a horrible destruction of lives 
 and property which they had not counted on, and of which 
 they saw no end, they seriously deplored their folly in not 
 pursuing the counsel of doctor Franklin. The nation was 
 still, however, dragged -on in war, plunging like a stalled 
 animal, deeper and deeper in disaster and distress, until the 
 capture of lord Cornwallis and his army came like a thun- 
 der-bolt, inflicting on the war party a death blow, from which 
 they never afterwards recovered. 
 
 Dr. Franklin received this most welcome piece of news, 
 the surrender of lord Cornwallis, by express from America. 
 He had scarcely read the letters with the tear of joy swell- 
 ing in his patriot eye, when Mr. Necker came in. Seeing 
 the transport on his face, he eagerly asked what good news. 
 " Thank God," replied Franklin, "the storm is past. The 
 paratonerres of divine justice have drawn off the lightnings 
 of British violence, and here, sir, is the rainbow of peace,*" 
 holding up the letter. What am I to understand by that, 
 replied Necker. Why, sir, quoth Franklin, my lord Corn- 
 wallis and his army are prisoners of war to general Wash 
 ington. Doctor Franklin's calculation, on the surrender of 
 Cornwallis, that the storm was past, was very correct; for, 
 although the thunders did not immediately cease, yet, after 
 that event, they hardly amounted to any thing beyond a 
 harmless rumbling, which presently subsided altogether) 
 leaving a fine bright sky behind them. 
 
216 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 The rest ot* the acts of doctor Franklin while he icsided in 
 France, and the many pleasures he enjoyed there, were first, 
 the great pleasure of announcing to the French court, in 1781, 
 as we have seen, the surrender of lord Cornwallis and his 
 army to general Washington. Second, the still greater plea- 
 sure of learning in 1782, that the British ministry were 
 strongly inclined to "a peace talk." Third, 1783, the 
 greatest pleasure of all, the pleasure of burying the toma 
 hawk, by general peace. 
 
 Thus after having lived to see completely verified all his 
 awful predictions to the blind and obstinate British cabinet 
 about the result of this disastrous war; with losses indeed, be- 
 yond his prediction — the loss of two thousand ships ! — the loss 
 of one hundred thousand lives! — the loss of seven hundred 
 millions of dollars! and a loss still greater than all, the loss 
 of the immense continent of North America, and the mono- 
 ply of its incalculable produce and trade, shortly to fly on 
 wings of canvass to all parts of the globe. 
 
 Having lived to see happily terminated, the grand strug- 
 gle for American liberty, which even Englishmen have pro- 
 nounced "the last hope and probable refuge of mankinds 
 and having obtained leave from congress to return, he took 
 a last farewell of his generous Parisian friends, and embarked 
 for his native country. 
 
 On the night of the 4th of September, the ship made the 
 light-house at the mouth of the Delaware bay. On coming 
 upon deck next morning, he beheld all in full view and close 
 at hand the lovely shores of America, " where his fathers haa 
 dwelt.' 9 ' 9 Who can paint the joy -brightened looks of oui 
 veteran patriot, when, after an absence of seven years, he be- 
 held once more that beloved country for whose liberties and 
 morals he had so long contended? Formerly, with an aching 
 heart, he had beheld her as a dear mother, whose fame was 
 tarnished, and her liberties half ravished by foreign lords. 
 But now he greets her as free again, and freed, through hea- 
 ven's blessing on her own heroic virtue and valour. Crown- 
 ed thus with tenfold glory, he hails her with transport, as the 
 grand nursery of civil and religious freedom, whose fair 
 example of republican wisdom and moderation is, probably, 
 destined of God to recommend the blessings of free govern 
 ment to all mankind. 
 
2 
 
 *18 miC LIFE OF,j_ 
 
 her councils in thejjrand convention that was about to sit in ^ 
 Philadelphia for thepqrpOse of framing the present excellent 
 constitution. He was called to this duty in \7^7/f\ TIh5\«.i 
 speech which^te made in tfcltt Convention .has a high claim 
 -fco our notice/not only because it was the Mast speech that 
 Dr. Franklin ever made in public; but because nothing ever 
 yet placed in a fairer light the charm of modesty in a great 
 man kind also the.#fc©e of temperance, exercise and cheer- 
 ^<^*^** <7 fulness, which could preserve the intellectual faculties in 
 such vigour, to the^ astonishing age of 
 
 Final Speech of ifotfsrr Frjmklin in the Federal Convention 
 
 ^Mr. Presidej^^) /\ ^T^S ^* 
 
 I do not entirely approve this constitution at present, 
 but, sir, I am not sure I shall never approve it; for, having 
 lived long, I have experienced many instances of being 
 obliged, by better information, to change opinions which 1 
 once thought right. It is, therefore, that the older I grow, 
 the more apt I am to doubt my own judgment, and to pay 
 more respect to the judgment of others. Most men, indeed, 
 as well as most sects of religion, think themselves in posses- 
 sion of all truth, and that whenever others differ from them, 
 it is so far error. Steele, a protestant, tells the pope, that 
 fc * the only difference between our two churches, in their 
 opinion of the certainty of their doctrines, is, the Romish 
 church is infallible, and the church of England never in the 
 wrong." 
 
 But though mar.v private persons think almost as highly 
 of their own infallibility, as of that of their sect, few express 
 it so naturally as a certain French lady, who, in a little dis- 
 pute with her sister, said, " I don't know how it happens, 
 sister, but I meet with nobody but myself that is always in 
 the right" In these sentiments, sir, I agree to this constitu- 
 tion, with all its faults, if they are such; because I think a 
 general government necessary for us, and there is no form 
 of government but what may be a blessing, if well adminis- 
 tered; and I believe farther, that this is likely to be well 
 administered for a course of years, and can only end in des- 
 potism, as other forms have done before it, when the people 
 shall become so corrupted, as to need despotic government, 
 being incapable of any other. I doubt too, whether any 
 other convention we can obtain, may be able to make a bet- 
 ter constitution. For when you assemble a number of men, 
 
FRANKLIN. |\ 217 
 
 The next day in the ajfternoon he arrived at Philadelphia. 
 It is not for me to descijibe what he felt in sailing al^ng up 
 these lovely shores, whilje the heaven within diffused a double 
 brightness and beauty oyer all the fair and magnificent scenes 
 around. Neither is it fbr me to delineate the numerous de- 
 monstrations of public joy, wherewith the citizens of Phila- 
 delphia welcomed the man whom they all delighted to honour 
 Suffice it to say, that he Was landed amidst the firing of can- 
 non — that he was crowded with congratulatory addresses — 
 that he was invited to sumptuous banquets, &c. &c. &c. But 
 though it was highly gratifying to others to see transcendent 
 worth so duly noticed, yet to himself, who had been so long 
 familiar with such honours, they appeared but as baubles that 
 had lost their tinsel. 
 
 But there were some pledges of respect offered him, which 
 afforded a heartfelt satisfaction; I mean those numbers of 
 pressing invitations to accept the presidencies of sundry 
 noble institutions for public good, as 
 
 I. A society for diffusing a knowledge of the best politics 
 for our republic. 
 
 II. A society for alleviating the miseries of public pri- 
 sons. 
 
 III. A society tor abolishing the slave trade — the relief 
 of free negroes unlawfully held in bondage — and for better- 
 ing the condition of the poor blacks. 
 
 " It was because," said the trustees, " they well knew he 
 nad made it the sole scopfc of his greatly useful life to pro- 
 mote institutions for the j happiness of mankind, that they 
 now solicited the honour dnd benefit of his special care and 
 guardianship." 
 
 Though now almost worn out with the toils of fourscore 
 years, and oftentimes grievously afflicted with his old com- 
 plaint, the gravel, he yet accepted the proffered appointments 
 with great pleasure, and attended to the duties of them with 
 all the ardour of youth. Thus affording one more proof, 
 
 " That, infae present as in all the past 
 O r E MY COUNTRY, HEAVEN ! was still his last* 
 
 66 But though the spiritjwas willing, the flesh was weak." 
 His strength was so sensibly diminished that it could 
 scarcely second his min(J, which seemed as unimpaired as 
 ever. 
 
 But there was still one) more service that his country look 
 ed to him for, before he went to rest; I mean that of aiding 
 19 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 221 
 
 sat by his side, a member of the grand Convention in 1788, 
 I took the greater pleasure in asking his opinion of that 
 great man in respect of his religion. "Why, sir,"' replied 
 he, u my opinion of doctor Franklin has always been, that, 
 although he was not, perhaps, quite so orthodox in some of 
 his notions, he was very much a Christian in his practice. 
 Nor is it indeed to be wondered at," continued this able 
 critic, " that a man of doctor Franklin's extraordinary sa- 
 gacity, born and brought up under the light of the Gospel, 
 should have imbibed its spirit, and got his whole soul en- 
 :iched, and as it were interlarded, with its benevolent af- 
 fections. " 
 
 And I have since found from conversation with many of 
 our most enlightened and evangelical divines, that they all 
 agree, with Mr. King, that doctor Franklin's extraordinarv 
 benevolence and useful life were imbibed, even unconsciously , 
 from the Gospel. For whence but from the luminious and 
 sublime doctrines of that blessed book could he have gained 
 such pure and worthy ideas of God — his glorious unity, and 
 most adorable benevolence: always, himself, loving and do 
 ing good to his creatures; and constantly seeking such to 
 worship him? Whence, we ask, could he have got all these 
 exalted truths — truths, so honourable to the Deity — -so con- 
 solatory to man — so auxiliary of human virtue and happi- 
 ness — whence could he have got them, but from the light of 
 the Gospel? Certainly, you will not say that he might have 
 got them from the light of nature. For, look around you 
 among all the mighty nations of antiquity. Look among the 
 Egyptians — the Greeks — the Romans, to equal him ? Two 
 thousand years have rolled between them and us, and 
 Vet the immortal monuments of their arts — their poetry — 
 their painting — their statuary — their architecture— their elo- 
 quence — all triumphant over the wreck of time, have come 
 down to our days, boldly challenging the pride of modern 
 genius to produce their parallels. Evidently then, they had 
 among them prodigies of mind equal to our Franklin. And 
 yet how has it yet come to pass, that, with all their astonish- 
 ing talents, and the light of nature besides, they were so 
 stupidly blind and ignorant of God, while he entertained such 
 exalted ideas of him ? That while they, like the modern 
 idolaters of J uggernaut, were disgracing human reason by wor- 
 shipping not only four-footed beasts and creeping things, but 
 even theives, murderers, &c. deified, doctor Franklin wa-9 
 
 19* 
 
222 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 elevating his devotions to the one all-perfect God, MOST 
 GLORIOUS IN ALL MORAL EXCELLENCE. 
 
 And how has it come to pass that while they, imitating 
 their bloody idols, could take pleasure in sacrificing their 
 prisoners of war ! beholding murderous fights of gladia- 
 tors! and even giving up their own children to he burnt alive! 
 Franklin, by imitating the moral character of God, attained 
 to all that gentle wisdom and affectionate goodness that we 
 fancy when we think of an angel? To what, I ask, can we 
 ascribe all this, but to the very rational cause assigned by 
 Mr. King, viz. his having been born and brought up in a 
 land of Gospel light and love? Indeed, who can read the 
 life of doctor Franklin, attentively, without tracing in it, 
 throughout, that true Christian charity which bound him, as 
 by the heart-strings, to his fellow men — on every occasion 
 going out of self to take an interest in them. " Rejoicing 
 with them, when they acted wisely and attained to honour." 
 — " Weeping with them when they acted foolishly and came 
 to shame." Never meeting with any good fortune, through 
 wise doings of his own, but he made it known to them for 
 their encouragement in similar doings — never falling into 
 misfortunes, by his own folly, but he was sure to publish 
 that too. to deter others from falling into the like sufferings 
 
 Now what was it but this amiable oneness of heart, with 
 his fellow men; this sweet Christian sensibility to their in- 
 terests and consequent generous delight in doing them good, 
 that filled his life with such noble charities. " Where love 
 i*5," said the great William Penn, "there is no labour; or 
 if there be, the labour is sweet." And what was it but this, 
 that bore him up so bravely under his many toils and hard- 
 ships for his selfish brother James ? 
 
 What made him so liberal of his money and services to 
 the base Collins and Ralph ? 
 
 What made him so patient and forgiving of the injuries 
 done him by the worthless Keimer and Keith? 
 
 What made him so importunate with his young acquain- 
 tance in London, to divert them from their brutalizing and 
 fatal intemperance? 
 
 What set him so vehemently against pride and extrava- 
 gance, which besides starving all justice and hospitality 
 among neighbours, tend to make them demons of fraud and 
 cruelty to one another? 
 
 What made him, through life, such a powerful orator f» • 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 223 
 
 industry, frugality, and honesty, which multiplied riches 
 and reciprocal esteem and usefulness among men, and would 
 make them all loving and happy as brothers ? 
 
 In short, all those labours which doctor Franklin took 
 under the sun — labours so various and unending, for public 
 and private good, such as his fire-engines; his lightning rods; 
 his public libraries; his free schools; his hospitals; his lega- 
 cies for encouragement of learning, and helping hundreds of 
 indigent young mechanics with money to carry on their 
 trades after his death — whence originated all this, but from 
 that love which is stronger than death, subduing all obstacles, 
 and overleaping the narrow limits of this mortal life ? 
 
 What but the ingenuity of love, eager to swell the widow's 
 mite of charity into the rich man's talent could have sug- 
 gested the following curious method of making a little do a 
 great deal of good ? 
 
 " Received of Benjamin Franklin, ten guineas, which I 
 hereby promise, soon as I get out of my present embarrass- 
 ments, to lend to some other honest and industrious man, as 
 near as I can guess, he giving his obligation to act in the 
 same way by the next needy honest man; so that by thus 
 going around it may in time, though a small sum, do much 
 good, unless stopped by a thief. 
 
 JAMES HOPEWELL." 
 
 Passy, Aug. 10, 1773. 
 
 What but the noble spirit of that religion whose sole aim 
 is to u overcome evil with good" could have dictated the 
 following instructions to Paul Jones, and his squadron, who 
 after scouring the British channel, was about to make a de- 
 scent on their coasts. 
 
 " As many of your officers and people have lately escaped 
 from English prisons, you are to be particularly attentive 
 to their conduct towards the prisoners you take, lest resent- 
 ment of the more than barbarous usage which they have re- 
 ceived from the English, should occasion a retaliation, and 
 an imitation of what ought rather to be detested and avoided 
 ftr the sake of humanity and the honour of our country. 
 
 B. FRANKLIN. 
 
 To Commodore P. Jones. 
 April 28, 1779 " 
 
224 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 What but the spirit of that benevolent religion which n 
 the firm patroness of all discoveries for human benefit, could 
 have dictated the ensuing letter " to the commanders of 
 American ships of war," in favour of captain Cook. 
 
 " Gentlemen, 
 
 "A ship having been fitted out from England, before the 
 commencement of this war, to make discoveries of new coun- 
 tries in unknown seas, under the conduct of that celebrated 
 navigator, captain Cook — an undertaking truly laudable in 
 itself, as the increase of geographical knowledge facilitates 
 the communication between distant nations, and the ex- 
 change of useful products and manufactures, and the exten 
 sion of arts, whereby the common enjoyments of human life 
 are multiplied and augmented, and science of other kinds in- 
 creased, to the benefit of mankind in general. 
 
 "This is, therefore, most earnestly to recommend to every 
 one of you, that in case the said ship, which is now expected 
 to be soon in the European seas, on her return, should hap- 
 pen to fall into your hands, you would not consider her as 
 an enemy, but that you treat the said captain Cook and his 
 people with all civility and kindness, affording them, as 
 common friends to mankind, ail the assistance in your 
 power, which they may happen to stand in need of. 
 
 I have the honour to be, &x. 
 
 B. FRANKLIN, 
 Minister plenipotentiary from the United States to 
 the court of Prance. 
 
 Passy* near Paris ', March 10, 1779." 
 
 The truly christian spirit of doctor Franklin, which dic- 
 tated this passport for captain Cook, was so highly approved 
 by the British government, that when Cook's voyages in 
 three splendid quarto volumes were printed, the lords of the 
 admiralty sent doctor Franklin a copy accompanied with 
 the elegant plates, and also a gold medal of that illustrious 
 navigator, with a polite letter from lord Howe, informing 
 him that this compliment was made to doctor Franklin with 
 the king's express approbation. 
 
 What but the religion that brings life and immortality to 
 light "could have sprung those high hopes and rich consola- 
 tions," which shine in the following letter from dor to l 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 225 
 
 Franklin to his nit ce, on the death of her father, his favourite 
 brother John Franklin. 
 
 ''Dear niece, 
 
 " I condole with you. We have lost a most dear and 
 valuable relation. But it is the will of God that these mor- 
 tal bodies be laid aside, when the soul is to enter into real 
 life. This is rather an embryo state — a preparation for liv 
 ing. A man is not completely born until he be dead. Why 
 then should we grieve that a new child is born among the 
 immortals — a new member added to their society? We are 
 spirits. That bodies should be lent us, while they can afford 
 us pleasure, assist us in acquiring knowledge, or doing good 
 to our fellow creatures, is a kind and benevolent act of God. 
 W r hen they become unfit for these purposes, and afford us 
 pain instead of pleasure, and answer none of the intentions 
 for which they were given, it is equally kind and benevolent 
 that a way is provided by which we may get rid of them. 
 Death is that way. We ourselves in some cases, prudently 
 choose a partial death. A mangled painful limb, which can- 
 not be restored, we willingly cut off. He who plucks out 
 a tooth parts with it freely, since the pain goes with it; and 
 he who quits the whole body, parts at once with all pains, 
 and possibilities of pains, it was capable of making him 
 suffer. 
 
 "Our friend and we were invited abroad on a grand 
 party of pleasure, which is to last for ever. His chair was 
 ready first, and he is gone before us. We could not all 
 conveniently start together; and why should you and J be 
 grieved at this, since we are soon to follow, and know where 
 to find him? B. FRANKLIN." 
 
 What but that religion which teaches "the price of truth," 
 could have made him so penitent for having said any thing, 
 in his youthful days against revelation ? And while the 
 popular infidels of Europe, the Voltaires, and Humes, and 
 Bolingbrokes were so fond of filling the world with their 
 books against Christ, that they might, as one of them said, 
 " crush the wretch," what but a hearty esteem of him could 
 have led Franklin to write the following pious reproof of a 
 gentleman, who having written a pamphlet against Christi- 
 anity, sent it to him, requesting his opinion of it 
 
226 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 DR. FRANKLIN'S ANSWER. 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 46 1 have read your manuscript with some attention. Bj 
 the argument it contains against a particular providence, 
 though you allow a general providence, you strike at the 
 foundation of all religion. For, without the belief of a, pro- 
 vidence, that takes cognizance of, guards, and guides, and 
 may favour particular persons, there is no motive to wor- 
 ship a DEITY, to fear his displeasure, or to pray for his 
 protection. I will not enter into any discussion of your 
 principles, though you seem to desire it. At present I shall 
 only give ynu my opinion, that though your reasonings are 
 subtile, and may prevail with some readers, you will not 
 succeed so as to change the general sentiments of mankind 
 on that subject; and the consequence of printing this piece 
 will be, a great deal of odium drawn upon yourself, mischief 
 to you, and no benefit to others. He that spits against the 
 wind, spits in his own face. But were you to succeed, do 
 you imagine any good would be done by it ? You yourself 
 may find it easy to live a virtuous life, without the assist- 
 ance afforded by religion; you having a clear perception of 
 the disadvantages of vice, and possessing a strength of reso- 
 lution sufficient to enable you to resist common temptations. 
 But think how great a portion of mankind consists of weak 
 and ignorant men and women, and of inexperienced incon- 
 siderate youth of both sexes, who have need of the motives 
 of religion to restrain them from vice, to support their vir- 
 tue, and retain them in the practice of it till it becomes ha- 
 bitual, which is the great points of its security. And, 
 perhaps, you are indebted to her original, that is, to your 
 religious education, for the habits of virtue upon which you 
 now justly value yourself. You might easily display your 
 excellent talents of reasoning upon less hazardous objects, 
 and thereby obtain a rank with our most distinguisned 
 authors. For among us it is not necessary, as among the 
 Hottentots, that a youth, to be raised into the company of 
 men, should prove his manhood by beating his motner. I 
 would advise you, therefore, not to attempt unchaining the 
 tiger, but to burn this piece before it is seen by any other 
 person — whereby you will save yourself a great deal of mor- 
 tification from the enemies it may raise against you, and, 
 perhaps, a good deal of regret and repentance. If men are 
 so wicked with religion, what would they be ivithout it? 1* 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 229 
 
 founded than that of our courage, if we may judge by this 
 circumstance, that in whatever court of Europe a Yankee 
 negotiator appeared, the wise British minister was routed, 
 — put in a passion, — picked a quarrel with your friends, — 
 and was sent home with a Ilea in his ear. But after all, 
 my dear friend, do not imagine that I am vain enough to 
 ascribe our success to any superiority in any of those points. 
 I am too well acquainted with all the springs and levers of 
 our machine, not to see that our human means were une- 
 qual to our undertaking, and that, if it had not been for the 
 justice of our cause, and the consequent interposition of 
 Providence, in which we had faith, we must have been 
 ruined. If I had ever before been an Atheist, I should now 
 have been convinced of the being and government of a 
 Deity! It is HE who "abases the proud, and exalts the 
 humble." May we never forget his goodness to us, and may 
 our future conduct manifest our gratitude! 
 
 B. FRANKLIN. 
 
 Now, can any honest man, after this, entertain a doubt 
 that Or. Franklin was indeed, 44 in practice very much a 
 christian." 
 
 I am aware that some good men have been offended, and 
 I may add, grieved too, that Dr. Franklin should ever have 
 spoken slightingly of faith, &c. But these gentlemen may 
 rest assured, that Dr. Franklin did this only to keep people 
 from laying such stress on faith, &c. as to neglect what is 
 infinitely more important, even Love and Good Works. 
 And in this grand view, do not the holy apostles, and even 
 Christ himself treat these things in the same way ? Every 
 where speaking of "faith and baptism and long prayers," 
 when attempted to be put in place of love and good works, 
 as mere " beggarly elements" and even 44 damning hypocri- 
 sies" However, let honest men read the following letter 
 on the subject, by Dr. Franklin himself. While it serves 
 to remove their doubts and prejudices, it may go to prove 
 that if he had errors in religion, the} were not the errors of 
 the heart, nor likely to do any harm in the world; but con- 
 trariwise, to make us all much better christians, and happier 
 men, than we are. 
 
 The letter is in answer to one from an illustrious foreigner; 
 who, on a trip to Philadelphia, made Dr. Franklin a visit. 
 The doctor, for some malady, advised him to try electricity; 
 and actually gave him several shocks. MIe had not long 
 20 
 
230 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 been gone, before he wrote Dr. Franklin a most flattering 
 account of the effects of his electricity— begged him to be 
 assured he should never forget such kindness — and con- 
 cluded with praying that they might both have grace to live 
 a life of Faith, that if they were never to meet again in 
 this world, they might at last meet in heaven. 
 
 DR. FRANKLIN'S ANSWER. 
 
 Philadelphia, June 6, 1753. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I received your kind letter of the 2d instant, and am glad 
 that you increase in strength; I hope you will continue 
 mending till you recover your former health. 
 
 As to the kindness you mention, the only thanks I desire 
 is, that you would always be equally ready to serve any 
 other person that may need your assistance, and so let good 
 oflices go round, for mankind are all of a family. 
 
 For my own part, when I am employed in serving others, 
 I do not look upon myself as conferring favours, but as pay- 
 ing debts. In my travels, and since my settlement, I have 
 received much kindness from men, to whom I shall never 
 have any opportunity of making the least direct return — and 
 numberless mercies from God, who is infinitely above being 
 benefitted by our services. The kindness from men, I can, 
 therefore, only return on their fellow men, and I can only 
 show my gratitude for those mercies from God, by a readi- 
 ness to help his other children, and my brethren. For I 
 do not think that thanks and compliments, though repeated 
 weekly, can discharge our real obligations to each other, and 
 much less those to our Creator. You will see in this, my 
 notion of good works; that I am far from expecting, as you 
 suppose, to merit heaven by them. By heaven, we under- 
 stand a state of happiness; infinite in degree, and eternal in 
 duration. I can do nothing to deserve such rewards. He 
 that, for giving a draught of water to a thirsty person, should 
 expect to be paid with a good plantation, would be modest 
 in his demands, compared with those who think they desavi 
 heaven for the little good they do on earth. Even the mixed 
 imperfect pleasures we enjoj in this world, are rather from 
 God's goodness, than our merit; how much more such hap- 
 piness as heaven. For my part, I have not the vanity to 
 think I deserve it, the folly to expect it, nor the ambition to 
 desire it; but content myself in submitting to the will and 
 disposal of that God who made me — who has hitherto pre- ' 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 served and blessed me — and in whose fatherly goodness 
 I may well confide, that he will never make me miserable — 
 and that even the afflictions I may at any time suffer shall 
 tend to my benefit. 
 
 The faith you mention has, doubtless, its use in the world 
 I do not desire to see it diminished. Hut I wish it were 
 more productive of good works than 1 have generally seen it, I 
 mean real good works; works of kindness, charity, mercy, and 
 public spirit; not holiday keeping, sermon reading or hear* 
 ing, performing church ceremonies, or making long prayers, 
 filled with flatteries and compliments, despised even by wise 
 men, and much less capable of pleasing the Deity. The worship 
 of God is a duly ; the hearing and reading of sermons may be 
 useful; but if men rest in hearing and praying, as too many 
 do, it is as if a tree should value itself on being watered and 
 putting forth leaves, though it never produced any fruit. 
 Your great master thought much less of these outward ap- 
 pearances and professions than many of his modern disciples. 
 He preferred the doers of the word to the mere hearers • 
 the son that seemingly refused to obey his father, and yet 
 performed his commands, to him that professed his readiness, 
 but neglected the work; the heretical but charitable Samari- 
 tan, to the uncharitable though orthodox priest and sanctified 
 Levite: and those who gave food to the hungry, drink to the 
 thirsty, raiment to the naked, entertainment to the stranger, 
 and relief to the sick, though they never heard of his name, 
 he declares they shall in the last day be accepted, when those 
 who cry Lord, Lord, who value themselves on their faith, 
 though great enough to perform miracles, but have neglected 
 good works, shall be rejected. He professed he came "not 
 to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance" which implied 
 his modest opinion, that there were some in his time so good, 
 that they needed not to hear even him for improvement; 
 but now-a-days, we have scarce a little parson that does 
 not think it the duty of every man within his reach, to think 
 exactly as he does, and that all dissenters offend God. I 
 wish to such more humility, and to you health and happt 
 ness, being 
 
 Your friend and servant, 
 
 H. FRANKLIN. 
 
 What but the spirit of immortal love, which, not content 
 with doing much good in life, fondly looks beyond, and 
 feasts on the happiness that others are to derive from us hng 
 
232 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 after we have ceasea to live on earth; what, I ask, but that 
 love, could have dictated 
 
 DR. FRANKLIN'S WILL. 
 
 fcfc filien thou makest a feast, call not thy rich neighbours : 
 lest they at so hid thee again, and a recompense be made thee 
 hut when thou makest a feast, call the poor ; and thou 
 ihalt be blessed. For they cannot recompense thee, for thou 
 shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just. " 
 
 Luke, xiv. 
 
 Sentiments divinely sublime! — Who, without emotions in- 
 describable, can read them! And jet if they were lost from 
 the Bible, they might be found again in the Will of Benja- 
 min Franklin. 
 
 While many others " rise early, and late take rest, and 
 eat the bread of labour and care," that they may " die rich" 
 — leaving their massy treasures, some scanty legacies ex- 
 cepted, to corrupt a few proud relatives, doctor Franklin 
 acted as though the above text, the true sublime of wisdom 
 and benevolence, was before him. 
 
 After having bequeathed his books, a most voluminous and 
 valuable collection, partly to his family, and partly to the 
 Boston and Philadelphia philosophical societies; and, after 
 having divided a handsome competence among h*s children, 
 and grand children, he goes on as follows: 
 
 '* I. Having owed my first instructions in literature to the 
 free grammar schools in Boston, I give one hundred pounds 
 sterling to the free schools in that town, to be laid out in 
 silver medals as honorary rewards for the encouragement of 
 scholarship in those schools. 
 
 44 II. All the debts to my post-office establishment, which 1 
 held many years, I leave to the Philadelphia hospital. 
 
 4 * III. Having always been of opinion, that in democrati- 
 cal governments, there ought to be no offices of great profit, 
 I have long determined to give a part of my public salary 
 to public uses; and being chiefly indebted to Massachusetts, 
 my native state, and Pennsylvania, my adopted state, for 
 lucrative employments, I feel it my duty to remember them; 
 and having from long observation, and my own early expe- 
 rience, discovered that the best objects for assistance are indi- 
 gent young persons, and the best modes of assistance, a plain 
 education, a good trade, and a little money to set them up: 
 and having been set up in business, while a poor boy, in 
 Philadelphia, by kind loans of money from two friends there, 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 233 
 
 which was the foundation of my fortune and all die useful- 
 ness that the world ascribed to me, I feel a wish to be use- 
 ful, after my death, to others, in the loans of money ; I 
 therefore devote, from the savings of my salaries, the follow- 
 ing sums, to the following persons and uses: 
 
 •« 1. To the inhabitants of Boston and Philadelphia, one 
 thousand pounds sterling to each city, to be let out by the 
 oldest divines of different churches, on a Jive per cent. interest 
 and good security, to indigent young tradesmen, not bache- 
 lors, (as they have not deserved much from their country 
 and the feebler sex,) but married men. 
 
 " 2. No borrower to have more than sixty pounds sterling, 
 nor less than fifteen. 
 
 44 3. And in order to serve as many as possible in their 
 turn, as well as to make the payment of the principal bor- 
 rowed more easy, each borrower shall be obliged to pay, with 
 the yearly interest, one tenth part of the principal ; which 
 sums of principal and interest, so paid, shall be again lent 
 out to fresh borrowers. 
 
 B. FRANKLIN." 
 
 In a late Boston paper, the friends of humanity have read 
 with much pleasure that doctor Franklin's legacy to the in- 
 digent 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 XLIV. 
 
 Tlie 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 ilistrest ; 
 When he's with troubles eompass'd round. 
 
 The Lord shell give him rest. 
 
 " If, he in languishing estate, 
 
 Oppress'd with sickness, he, 
 The Lord shall easy make his bed, 
 
 And inward strength supply.** 
 
 20* 
 
234 
 
 THE LIKE OF 
 
 The latter end of doctor Franklu affords glorious proof 
 that nothing so softens the bed of sickness, and brightens 
 the gloom ot the grave, as a life spent in works of love to 
 mankind. 
 
 See George Washington, who by an active and disinter- 
 ested benevolence, was called "The Father of his Coun- 
 try." 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 lif \" 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 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." 
 
 Blest with an excellent constitution, well nursed by na- 
 ture's three great physicians, temperance, exercise, anil 
 cheerfulness, he was hardly ever sick until after his seventy- 
 sixth year. The gout and gravel then attacked him with 
 great severity. He bore their excruciating tortures as be- 
 came one who habitually felt that he was as he said, in the 
 hands of an infinitely wise and benevolent being, who did 
 all thing-s right. 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 2*5 
 
 His physician, the celebrated Dr. Jones, published the 
 following account of his last illness. 
 
 "'The stone, had for the last twelve months confined him 
 chiefly to his bed; and during the extreme painful paroxysms, 
 ne was obliged to take large doses of laudanum to mitigate 
 nis tortures— still in the intervals of pain, he not only amused 
 nimself with reading and conversing with his family, and his 
 friends who visited him, but was often employed in doing 
 business of a public as well as private nature, with various 
 persons who waited on him for that purpose, and in every 
 instance displayed, not only that readiness of doing good, 
 which was the distinguishing characteristic of his life, but the 
 fullest possession of his uncommon mental abilities; and not 
 unfrequently indulged himself in those Hashes of wit and enter- 
 taining anecdotes, which were the delight of all who heard him. 
 
 " About sixteen days before his death, he was seized with a 
 pain in his left breast, which increased till it became ex- 
 tremely acute, attended with a cough and laborious breath- 
 ing. During this state, when the severity of his pains some- 
 times drew forth a groan, he would observe, that, " he was 
 afraid he did not bear them as he ought — acknowledged his 
 grateful sense of the many blessings he had received from the 
 Supreme Being, who had raised him from small and low 
 beginnings to such high rank and consideration among men 
 — and made no doubt but his present afflictions were kindly 
 intended to wean him from a world, in which he was no longer 
 fit to act the part assigned him. In this frame of body and 
 mind he continued till five days before his death, when an 
 imposthumation in his lungs, suddenly burst, and discharged 
 a great quantity of matter, which he continued to throw up 
 while he had strength, but, as that tailed, the organs of 
 respiration became gradually oppressed — a calm lethargic 
 state succeeded — and, on the 7th of April, 1790, about ele- 
 ven o'clock at night he quietly expired, closing a long and 
 useful life of eighty-four years and three months." 
 
 Come holy calm of the soul! Expressive silence come! 
 and meditating the mighty talents of the dead, and their con- 
 stant application to' the glory of the giver, let us ascend with 
 him on the wings of that blessed promise, " Blessed are the 
 dead who die in the Lord J even so saith the Spirit, for they 
 i est from their labours and their works do follow them." 
 
 That Franklin is now enjoying that rest which " remaiyi- 
 zth for the people of God" — and that while many a blood- 
 stained monster, who made great noise in the world, is fof 
 
236 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 lowed by the cries of thousands of widows and orphans. 
 Franklin dying in the Lord, and followed by the blessings 
 of thousands, fed, clothed, educated, and enriched by his 
 charities, is in glory, may be fairly inferred from the fol- 
 lowing most valuable anecdote of him. 
 
 Naturalists tell us, that so great is the paternal care of God, 
 that every climate affords the food and physic best suited to 
 the necessaries of its population. What gratitude is due to 
 that goodness, which Foreseeing the dangers impending over 
 tins country from British injustice, sent us two such protec- 
 tors as Franklin and Washington? The first, (the forerun- 
 ner of the second,) like the lightning of Heaven, to expose 
 the approaching tempest; and the second, like the rock of the 
 ocean, to meet that tempest in all its fury, and dash it back 
 on its proud assailants? And how astonishing too, and al- 
 most unexampled that goodness, which with talents of wis- 
 dom and fortitude to establish our republic, combined the 
 cardinal virtues of 'jits tice, industry, and economy that alone 
 can render our republic immortal? 
 
 Hoping that our youth may be persuaded to love and imi- 
 p tate the virtues of the men whose great names they hav e been 
 accustomed, from the cradle, to lisp with veneration, I have 
 long coveted to set these virtues before them. The grey 
 haired men of other days, have given me their aid. The 
 following I obtained from the Rev. Dr. Helmuth, of the 
 German church, Philadelphia. Hearing that this learned 
 and pious divine possessed a valuable anecdote of doctor 
 Franklin, I immediately waited on him. " Yes, sir," said he, 
 " I have indeed a valuable anecdote of doctor Franklin, which 
 I would tell you with great pleasure; but as I do not speak 
 English very well, 1 wish you would call on David Ritter, at 
 the sign of the Golden Lamb^ in Front street; he will tell it 
 to you better T hastened to Mr Ritter, and told him my 
 errand. He seemed mightily pleased at it, and said, " Yes, 
 1 will tell you all I know of it. You must understand then, 
 sir, first of all, that 1 always had a prodigious opinion of 
 doctor Franklin, as the usefuhst man we ever had among us. 
 by a long way; and so hearing that he was sick, I thought I 
 would go and see him. As I rapped at the door, who should 
 come and open it but old Sarah Humphries. I was right glad 
 to see her, for I had known her a long time. She was 
 of the people called Friends; and a mighty good sort of 
 body she was too. The great people set a hean of store by 
 her, for she was famous throughout the town for nursing and 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 237 
 
 tending on the sick. Indeed, many of them, I believe, hardly 
 thought they could sicken, and die right if they had not old 
 Sarah Humphries with them. Soon as she saw me, she said, 
 4 Well David, how dost?' 
 
 M k O, much after the old sort, Sarah,' said I; 'but that's 
 neither here nor there; I am come to see doctor Franklin.' 
 
 44 4 Well then,' said she, 4 thou art too late, for he is just 
 dead" 
 
 44 4 Alack a day,' said I, 4 then a great man is gone.' 
 
 "'Yes, indeed,' said she, 4 and a good one too; for it 
 seemed as though he never thought the day went away as it 
 ought, if he had not done somebody a service. However, 
 David,' said she, 4 he is not the worse off for all that now, 
 where he is gone to: but come, as thee came to see Ben- 
 jamin Franklin, thee shall see him yet.' And so she took me 
 into his room. As we entered, she pointed to him, where 
 he lay on his bed, and said, 4 there, did thee ever see any 
 thing look so natural?' 
 
 44 And he did look natural indeed. His eyes were close — 
 but that you saw he did not breathe, you would have thought 
 he was in a sweet sleep, he looked so calm and happy. Ob- 
 serving that his face was fixed right towards the chimney, 
 I cast my eyes that way, and behold! just above the mantle- 
 piece was a noble picture! 0 it was a noble picture, sure 
 enough! It was the picture of our Saviour on the cross. 
 
 44 1 could not help calling out, 6 Bless us all, Sarah!' said 
 I, 4 what's all this?' 
 
 44 4 What dost mean, David,' said she, quite crusty. 
 
 44 4 Why, how came this picture here, Sarah ?' said I, 4 you 
 know that many people think he was not after this sort.' 
 
 44 4 Yes,' said she, 4 1 know that too. But thee knows 
 that many who makes a great fuss about religion have very 
 little, while some who say but little about it have a good 
 deal.' 
 
 44 4 That's sometimes the case, I fear, Sarah;' said I. 
 
 44 4 Well, and that was the case,' said she, 4 with Benja- 
 min Franklin. But be that as it may, David, since thee asks 
 me about this great picture, I'll tell thee how it came here. 
 Many weeks ago, as ne lay, he beckoned me to him, and told 
 me of this picture up stairs, and begged I would bring it to 
 him. I brought it to him. His face brightened up as he 
 looked at it; and he said, 4 Aye, Sarah,' said he, 4 there's a 
 picture worth looking at ! that's the picture of him who came 
 into the world to teach men to love one another ." Then af- 
 
238 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ter looking wistfully at it for some time, he said, 'Sarah,' 
 said he, 4 set this picture %vp over the mantlepiece, right before 
 me as 1 lie ; for I like to look at it,' and when I had fixed it 
 up, he looked at it, and looked at it very much; and indeed, 
 as thee sees, he died with his eyes fixed on it.' " 
 
 Happy Franklin! Thus doubly blest! Blest in life, by a 
 diligent co-working with "the great Shepherd," in his 
 precepts of perfect love. — Blest in death, with his closing 
 eyes piously fixed upon him, and meekly bowing to the last 
 summons in joyful hope that through the force of his divine 
 precepts, the 44 wintry storms" of hate will one day pass 
 awav, and one 66 eternal spring of love and peace encircle 
 all." 
 
 Now Franklin in his lifetime had written for himself an 
 epitaph, to be put upon his grave, that honest posterity might 
 see that he was no unbeliever, as certain enemies had slan- 
 dered him, but that he firmly believed 4 4 that his Redeemei 
 liveth; and that in the latter day he shall stand upon the earth; 
 and that though worms destroyed his body, yet in his flesh 
 he should see God." 
 
 franklin's epitaph. 
 
 "THE BODY 
 
 OF 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, PRINTER, 
 
 LIKE THE COVER OF AN OLD BOOK, 
 
 its contents torn out, 
 and stripped of its lettering and gilding, 
 lies here food for worms* 
 Yet the work itself shall not be lost; 
 tbi it will, as he believed, appear once more 
 
 IN A NEW 
 
 and more beautiful edition, 
 corrected and amended 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR" 
 
 This epitaph was never put upon his tomb. But the friend 
 t\\ man needs no stone of the valley to perpetuate his memo- 
 
DR. FRANKLIN. 239 
 
 ry. It lives among the clouds of heaven. The lightnings, 
 in their dreadful courses, bow to the genius of Franklin. 
 His magic rods, pointed to the skies, still watch the irrup 
 tions of the fiery meteors. They seize them by theii 
 hissing heads as they dart forth from the dark chambers of 
 the thunders; and cradled infants, half waked by the sud- 
 den glare, are seen to curl the cherub smile har^l by the spot 
 whtre the dismal bolts had fallen. 
 
 TIP* END* 
 
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