"A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod,Anhonestman's the noblest work of God."
"A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod,Anhonestman's the noblest work of God."
"A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod,
Anhonestman's the noblest work of God."
Ben used, with singular pleasure, to relate the following story of his Quaker friend Denham. This excellent man had formerly been in business as a Bristol merchant; but failing, he compounded with his creditors and departed for America, where, by his extraordinary diligence and frugality, he acquired in a few years a considerable fortune. Returning to England, in the same ship with Ben, he invited all 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, principal 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 hisyoung 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 I 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 something at his heart that reddened his cheeks with joy. But the saddening thought of his total unacquaintedness with commerce, soon turned them pale again. "I should be happy indeed to accompany you," replied he, with a deep sigh, "if I were but qualified to do you justice."
"O! as to that, friend Benjamin, don't be uneasy," replied Denham: "If thou art not qualifiednow, 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 fifty pounds a year was not so much as he could earn at printing, yet the prospects in other respects were so much 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 himself, "'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 ever, he gave himself up entirely 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 XXX.
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 suppress 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, perhaps for ever. And as he looked back, the secret sigh would arise, for the many toils and heart aches he had suffered 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 beenmisspent. He could look back upon them without shame or remorse. He had broken no midnight lamps—had knocked down no poor watchman—had contributed nothing to the idleness and misery 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 of them from folly to wise and manly living. And though, when he looked at those eighteen months, he could not behold them, like eastern maidens, dowered with gold and diamonds, yet, better still, he could behold them like the "Wise Virgins," whose lamps he had diligently fed with the oil of wisdom, for some great marriage supper—perhaps that betweenlibertyand hiscountry.
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 confusion, 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 furnished 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 February, 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 encounter, 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.
CHAPTER XXXI.
Some people there are who tell us that every man is born for a particular walk in life, and that whether he 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. But yet there seems to have been always some invisible hand to meet him at the threshold of his wanderings, and to push him back. Dr. Franklin also appears, on several occasions, to have been at the very point of breaking off from the printing 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 sprucely powdered merchant, yet, come back to theworld-enlightening typeshe 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 placebehind 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 instruct his numerous apprentices, and then pick a quarrel and pack him off. But 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 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 utterly 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 letters in lead, which served at least, to keep the press from stopping. He also, on occasion, engraved a variety of ornaments for printing—made ink—gave an eye to the shop, and, in short, was in all respects the factotum of the establishment. But useful as he made himself, he had the mortification to find that his services became every day of less importance to Keimer, in proportion as his apprentices improved; and when Keimer paid Ben his second quarter's wages, he did it very grumblingly, and gave him to understand, that they were too heavy. By degrees he became less civil; was constantly finding fault, and seemed always on 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 provoking to a man of honest pride,i.e.in the presence of 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 Keimer's apprentices. He had taken a great liking to Ben, because 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 printing office while he continued in it. "My dear sir," said he to Ben, "I beg you will take no notice of what this Keimer does. The poor man is always, as you see,half shaved; and no wonder, for he is over head and ears in debt—often selling his goods at prime cost, for the sake ofcash—constantly giving credit without taking any account; and therefore cannot help shortly coming out of the little end of the horn, which will leave a glorious opening for you to make your fortune."
Ben replied that he had nothing to begin with. "O, 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, provided 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, we can fall to work at once, and make ourjacks."
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 wonderfully 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 acompleteprinting-office, which he immediately took to his merchant, with orders to import it without loss of time. Keimer was to know nothing of all this; and Ben, in the interim, was to get work with Bradford.
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 employed to print some New-Jersey paper money, that would require engravings and types which he knew nobody in Philadelphia but Ben could make; and fearful that Bradford, 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 words dropt in a passion," and concluding 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 withered face; and he then felt, though not for the first time, that though learning is a pleasant thing, yet one touch of "kindred sentiment warm at the heart," outweighs, in pure delight, all the learning in the world.
CHAPTER XXXII.
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 ornaments 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 be 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 grievously tried and held back in the world, yet he had much cause of gratitude. Presently another affair arose, furnishing 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 offmore money billsthan they had been desired, the New-Jersey Assembly thought proper to send two or three commissioners 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 furniture 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 commissioners 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 theplummet, and his feet perfectly on thesquare, with his gilt snuff-box nicely poised in his left hand, and his right, bespangled with rings, tastily 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 oldyesandnoof 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 agriculture and commerce, and the laws that should regulate its quantity, he answered all in his own peculiar way of sagacious brevity, that made them declare he must have studied nothing else all his life. The reports which these gentlemen made in his favour, produced their natural effect. 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, "I 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.
"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 underling to a surveyor, and dragged his chain many a day through the woods; and all the time did not know 'B from a bull's foot.' But the surveyor was a good man, sir, and taught me to read and write. Ah!them were dark times, sir,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. Alittle, 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 XXXIII.
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 poundsa year! 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 advertisements 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 theirfive 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, theprinting-office, which had been so long labouring in his brain, being now happily brought to birth, Ben determined immediately to 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 desirous of improving themselves in knowledge and elocution, and who met one night every week, to discuss some interesting question in morals, politics, or philosophy.
The members at first were but few; but Ben, now a complete master of his pen, made such a dash with their speeches in hisnewspaper, that the Junto soon got to be the talk of the town; and members were added to it daily. Ben was unanimously appointed moderator of the club; and in reward for the great pleasure and profit derived from this 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 itwill 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 generally 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 impression in his favour, that the merchants, many of them, made him liberal offers of their stationary oncredit. But, not wishing to have "too many irons in the fire," he declined their offers, which added to his reputation of anindustriousyoung man, that of anuprightandcautiousone. This is mentioned, not so much for praise of thedead, as for ahintto 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 nearly thrown all his troubles over the "left shoulder." But in this he was miserably mistaken; for presently, as if there was to be no end to troubles, there leaped out another, more alarming than all before. Old Meredith, finding that Ben had not cured his son of his drunken fits,took a miff, and all at oncebacked outof his promise to pay for their press and printing materials! and the merchant who imported these costly articles, and who had for some time been expecting 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, andlasthope—"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 hisown virtuesto leap forth like an armed Minerva, with shield and buckler for his defence. Hisindustryandprudencehaving, 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. As 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 attavernsandgambling tables.
A relief so unexpected, and in a manner too so flattering, produced on the mind of Ben, a satisfaction beyond expression. 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 printing-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 produced on his feelings a glow of gratitude which kings might envy; and it led to anactwhich Angels would glory in. The reader shall hear all in good time.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Having now got the printing-office in his own hands, Ben began to find the unspeakable advantage of his past labours to acquire ideas, and to convey them handsomely by his pen. The town and country getting at this time prodigiously excited about apaper currency, Ben came out with a most luminous pamphlet, on "The advantagesanddisadvantagesof apaper currency." The pamphlet gave such satisfaction to the legislature, that they rewarded him with theprintingof all their money bills. His pamphlet producing the same effect on the legislature of Delaware, they rewarded him in the same way—as also did both these legislatures 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 ofVernon's, which had given him so much uneasiness, but which now receipted infull,principalandinterest, 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,Yet little boats should keep near shore."
"Vessels large may venture more,Yet little boats should keep near shore."
"Vessels large may venture more,
Yet 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—religionand agood wife.
As to religion—the grum looks and bitter sectarian animosities of the christians in those wretched days, had early made a deist of him; and he, in turn, had made deists of 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 Collins, with all his deism, was but a drunkard—Ralph, an ungrateful swindler—governor Keith, a great rascal—and even himself, 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 thatbad actions are bad, merely because revelation forbids them; nor good actions good, because revelation enjoins them: yet he doubted not but the former were forbidden, because they arehurtful, and the latter enjoined because they arebeneficialto us—all things considered. On this grand principle then, the inseparable connexion betweenviceandmisery, andvirtueandhappiness, 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 teach me more than HELL to shun,"That more than HEAVEN pursue."
"What CONSCIENCE dictates to be done,"Or warns me not to do;"This teach me more than HELL to shun,"That more than HEAVEN pursue."
"What CONSCIENCE dictates to be done,"
Or warns me not to do;"
This teach me more than HELL to shun,"
That more than HEAVEN pursue."
So much for his religion. As to his wife, his behaviour in this respect seems to have shown that there was some substance 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 better circumstances, to make her all the amends in his power. 'Tis true, her mother, who had prevented the marriage before he set off for England, and during his absence had prevailed 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 noabsolutionwhile he could makereparation. He renewed his visits to the family, who were rejoiced to see him. He saw his old sweetheart, Miss Read; but O how altered from her who, formerly bright with love and joy, used to fly to the door to welcome 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 to 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 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 bepunished. But how could he think of revenge on a poor girl, whom his own neglect had driven to that desperate 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 rendered 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 prosperity, and affecting thefine 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 planted by the rivers of water. Lured by her pleasant looks, the book-store, over which she presided, was constantly 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 lightened 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, unreproved, 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 connubial bliss, without remorse or dread of danger. Such were the benefits which Ben derived from his generous dealings with the afflicted Miss Read; and as a farther reward, it was in this self same year, that Ben was enabled toincorporatehis grand library-company.
This first of social blessings, aPublic Library, was set on foot by Franklin, about the year 1731. Fifty persons subscribed forty shillings each, and agreed to pay ten shillings 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.[2]
The beneficial influence of this institution was soon evident. 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 Pennsylvania. It is to be hoped, that they will bestill more widely extended, and that information will be every where increased. This will be the best security for our liberties.A 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 Almanac" 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 with the finest maxims on Industry, Temperance, and Frugality, thrown together with astonishing conciseness, and written with that happy mixtureof gravityand 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 middle and southern states in all therepublican virtues, ofIndustryandEconomy, which point theWaytoWealth.
Even the finest girls there, worth their thousands, don't think it beneath them, to "lay hold on the distaff," like Solomon's accomplished daughter, to swell the riches of the familywardrobeand to improve thesavoury dishesof their parents.
A foppish young fortune-hunter from the south, ventured sometime ago to pay his respects to the beautiful Miss Dickenson, one of the first fortunes in the state. Instead of finding her, as he had expected, idly lolling in a room of state, and bedizened in ribbands and laces, like a fairy queen, he found her attired in that simple dress of exquisite neatness which best sets off the rosy freshness of youthful beauty; and he found her, too, busied in some piece of domestic industry. He blushed to find her "at work!" After a world of compliments, all tending to make her out far toodivine a creaturefor such disparaging employments, he gave her to understand that she should not thus demean herself if she were in Carolina.
"What!" replied she, with sarcastic pleasantry, "don't the young ladies with you, readPoor Richard's Almanac?"
Thus was this little annual visitor of Doctor Franklin's, a general blessing to the Pennsylvanians, making them all fond of industry. And Jacob did not more naturally beget Joseph and his twelve brethren than does industry begetinnocence, andhealth, andwealth, andcheerfulness, and all that lovely train of virtues, which tend to make men happy by driving away their vices. For who, for example, will ever get drunk who has nodebtsnordunsnor vices of any sort to make himuneasy? And who will eversell his birthrightof anhonest votefor an electioneering dinner and a drink of grog, when he has fatted calves and wine of his own at home? This is Pennsylvania all over.
In the Almanac for the last year that doctor Franklin ever published, he compressed the choicest sentiments of all the preceding editions, and entitled it "the way to wealth." It is not easy to do justice to this little work. American writers need not eulogize it. The British, and even the French into whose language it was quickly translated, have paid it the most flattering attention. Doctor Knox gave it a place in his "elegant extracts;" and Lewis XV. on hearing it read, was so charmed with the admirable sense and humour of Poor Richard, that he gave orders for a new frigate, just launching, to be named, in honour of this famous nosegay of Franklin's,Le Bon Homme Richard, or "Poor Richard." I have heard nothing of this frigate or of any exploits of her's, while she was a new ship, and in the French service. But this I know, that in her latter days she was covered over with glory. This was the ship on which that gallant Scot, Paul Jones, hoisted the American flag in the great war of the revolution. Though the Poor Richard mounted but 36 guns, and was old and crazy besides, yet her commander had the audacity to carry her alongside of theSerapis, a British 44, and a new ship. It is true, the Alliance, an American frigate of the smallest class, was in company with thePoor Richard; but as Jones and his officers all declare, rendered him no assistance whatever. But though thus basely deserted by her consort in the hour of conflict with a mightier foe, yet did not thePoor Richarddespair, but bravely grappled with her enemy at once, and after one of the bloodiest contests recorded in history, gloriously succeeded in hauling down her colours. The Poor Richard, however, but barely survived this dreadful four hours' conflict with such a heavy adversary. For as if only waiting to see the modest stars of liberty waving where the proud jack of tyranny had waved before, she bowed her head beneath a mountainous billow and went down—the glorious tomb of many of her gallant crew, embalmed, for dear liberty's sake, in their own heart's blood.
As the reader might think it hard, after so much said about it to whet his curiosity, if we did not give him a squint at this famous "Poor Richard's Almanac," we hasten now to do ourselves the pleasure to lay it before him, in the last and best form wherein doctor Franklin gave it to the public, and under the same title, viz. "THE WAY TO WEALTH," or "POOR RICHARD,"improved—which runs thus:—
Courteous Reader,
I have heard that nothing gives an author so great pleasure as to find his works respectfully quoted by others. Judge, then, how much I must have been gratified by an incident I am going to relate to you. I stopped my horse lately, where a great number of people were collected at an auction of merchant's goods. The hour of the sale not being 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 theseheavy 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 ouridleness, three times as much by ourpride, and four times as much by ourfolly; 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 sleeping 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 purpose; so by diligence shall we do more with less perplexity. "Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all easy; and he that riseth late, 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 poor Richard says.
So what signifies wishing and hoping for better times? we may make these times better, if we bestir ourselves. "Industry 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 increaseth 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 master? 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: remember that "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 "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 industry gives comfort, and plenty, and respect. Fly pleasures, and they will follow you. The diligent spinner has a 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,