HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY

1706-1757

Twyford, at the Bishop of St. Asaph's, [1] 1771.

Dear Son: I have ever had pleasure in obtaining any little anecdotes of

my ancestors. You may remember the inquiries I made among the remains of

my relations when you were with me in England, and the journey I

undertook for that purpose. Imagining it may be equally agreeable to [2]

you to know the circumstances of my life, many of which you are yet

unacquainted with, and expecting the enjoyment of a week's uninterrupted

leisure in my present country retirement, I sit down to write them for

you. To which I have besides some other inducements. Having emerged from

the poverty and obscurity in which I was born and bred, to a state of

affluence and some degree of reputation in the world, and having gone so

far through life with a considerable share of felicity, the conducing

means I made use of, which with the blessing of God so well succeeded,

my posterity may like to know, as they may find some of them suitable to

their own situations, and therefore fit to be imitated.

[1] The country-seat of Bishop Shipley, the good bishop, as Dr. Franklin

used to style him.--B.

[2] After the words "agreeable to" the words "some of" were interlined

and afterward effaced.--B.

That felicity, when I reflected on it, has induced me sometimes to say,

that were it offered to my choice, I should have no objection to a

repetition of the same life from its beginning, only asking the

advantages authors have in a second edition to correct some faults of

the first. So I might, besides correcting the faults, change some

sinister accidents and events of it for others more favorable. But

though this were denied, I should still accept the offer. Since such a

repetition is not to be expected, the next thing most like living one's

life over again seems to be a recollection of that life, and to make

that recollection as durable as possible by putting it down in writing.

Hereby, too, I shall indulge the inclination so natural in old men, to

be talking of themselves and their own past actions; and I shall indulge

it without being tiresome to others, who, through respect to age, might

conceive themselves obliged to give me a hearing, since this may be read

or not as any one pleases. And, lastly (I may as well confess it, since

my denial of it will be believed by nobody), perhaps I shall a good deal

gratify my own vanity. Indeed, I scarce ever heard or saw the

introductory words, "Without vanity I may say," &c., but some vain thing

immediately followed. Most people dislike vanity in others, whatever

share they have of it themselves; but I give it fair quarter wherever I

meet with it, being persuaded that it is often productive of good to the

possessor, and to others that are within his sphere of action; and

therefore, in many cases, it would not be altogether absurd if a man

were to thank God for his vanity among the other comforts of life.

And now I speak of thanking God, I desire with all humility to

acknowledge that I owe the mentioned happiness of my past life to His

kind providence, which lead me to the means I used and gave them

success. My belief of this induces me to hope, though I must not

presume, that the same goodness will still be exercised toward me, in

continuing that happiness, or enabling me to bear a fatal reverse, which

I may experience as others have done: the complexion of my future

fortune being known to Him only in whose power it is to bless to us even

our afflictions.

The notes one of my uncles (who had the same kind of curiosity in

collecting family anecdotes) once put into my hands, furnished me with

several particulars relating to our ancestors. From these notes I

learned that the family had lived in the same village, Ecton, in

Northamptonshire, for three hundred years, and how much longer he knew

not (perhaps from the time when the name of Franklin, that before was

the name of an order of people, was assumed by them as a surname when

others took surnames all over the kingdom), on a freehold of about

thirty acres, aided by the smith's business, which had continued in the

family till his time, the eldest son being always bred to that business;

a custom which he and my father followed as to their eldest sons. When I

searched the registers at Ecton, I found an account of their births,

marriages and burials from the year 1555 only, there being no registers

kept in that parish at any time preceding. By that register I perceived

that I was the youngest son of the youngest son for five generations

back. My grandfather Thomas, who was born in 1598, lived at Ecton till

he grew too old to follow business longer, when he went to live with his

son John, a dyer at Banbury, in Oxfordshire, with whom my father served

an apprenticeship. There my grandfather died and lies buried. We saw his

gravestone in 1758. His eldest son Thomas lived in the house at Ecton,

and left it with the land to his only child, a daughter, who, with her

husband, one Fisher, of Wellingborough, sold it to Mr. Isted, now lord

of the manor there. My grandfather had four sons that grew up, viz.:

Thomas, John, Benjamin and Josiah. I will give you what account I can of

them, at this distance from my papers, and if these are not lost in my

absence, you will among them find many more particulars.

Thomas was bred a smith under his father; but, being ingenious, and

encouraged in learning (as all my brothers were) by an Esquire Palmer,

then the principal gentleman in that parish, he qualified himself for

the business of scrivener; became a considerable man in the county; was

a chief mover of all public-spirited undertakings for the county or town

of Northampton, and his own village, of which many instances were

related of him; and much taken notice of and patronized by the then Lord

Halifax. He died in 1702, January 6, old style, just four years to a day

before I was born. The account we received of his life and character

from some old people at Ecton, I remember, struck you as something

extraordinary, from its similarity to what you knew of mine. "Had he

died on the same day," you said, "one might have supposed a

transmigration."

John was bred a dyer, I believe of woolens. Benjamin was bred a silk

dyer, serving an apprenticeship at London. He was an ingenious man. I

remember him well, for when I was a boy he came over to my father in

Boston, and lived in the house with us some years. He lived to a great

age. His grandson, Samuel Franklin, now lives in Boston. He left behind

him two quarto volumes, MS., of his own poetry, consisting of little

occasional pieces addressed to his friends and relations, of which the

following, sent to me, is a specimen. ¹ He had formed a short-hand of

his own, which he taught me, but, never practising it, I have now forgot

it. I was named after this uncle, there being a particular affection

between him and my father. He was very pious, a great attender of

sermons of the best preachers, which he took down in his short-hand, and

had with him many volumes of them. He was also much of a politician; too

much, perhaps, for his station. There fell lately into my hands, in

London, a collection he had made of all the principal pamphlets,

relating to public affairs, from 1641 to 1717; many of the volumes are

wanting as appears by the numbering, but there still remain eight

volumes in folio, and twenty-four in quarto and in octavo. A dealer in

old books met with them, and knowing me by my sometimes buying of him,

he brought them to me. It seems my uncle must have left them here, when

he went to America, which was about fifty years since. There are many of

his notes in the margins.

¹ Here follow in the margin the words, in brackets, "here insert it,"

but the poetry is not given. Mr. Sparks informs us (Life of Franklin,

p. 6) that these volumes had been preserved, and were in possession of

Mrs. Emmons, of Boston, great-grandmother of their author.

This obscure family of ours was early in the Reformation, and continued

Protestants through the reign of Queen Mary, when they were sometimes in

danger of trouble on account of their zeal against popery. They had got

an English Bible, and to conceal and secure it, it was fastened open

with tapes under and within the cover of a joint-stool. When my

great-great-grandfather read it to his family, he turned up the

joint-stool upon his knees, turning over the leaves then under the

tapes. One of the children stood at the door to give notice if he saw

the apparitor coming, who was an officer of the spiritual court. In that

case the stool was turned down again upon its feet, when the Bible

remained concealed under it as before. This anecdote I had from my uncle

Benjamin. The family continued all of the Church of England till about

the end of Charles the Second's reign, when some of the ministers that

had been outed for nonconformity holding conventicles in

Northamptonshire, Benjamin and Josiah adhered to them, and so continued

all their lives: the rest of the family remained with the Episcopal

Church.

Josiah, my father, married young, and carried his wife with three

children into New England, about 1682. The conventicles having been

forbidden by law, and frequently disturbed, induced some considerable

men of his acquaintance to remove to that country, and he was prevailed

with to accompany them thither, where they expected to enjoy their mode

of religion with freedom. By the same wife he had four children more

born there, and by a second wife ten more, in all seventeen; of which I

remember thirteen sitting at one time at his table, who all grew up to

be men and women, and married; I was the youngest son, and the youngest

child but two, and was born in Boston, New England. My mother, the

second wife, was Abiah Folger, daughter of Peter Folger, one of the

first settlers of New England, of whom honorable mention is made by

Cotton Mather, in his church history of that country, entitled Magnalia

Christi Americana, as "a godly, learned Englishman," if I remember the

words rightly. I have heard that he wrote sundry small occasional

pieces, but only one of them was printed, which I saw now many years

since. It was written in 1675, in the home-spun verse of that time and

people, and addressed to those then concerned in the government there.

It was in favor of liberty of conscience, and in behalf of the Baptists,

Quakers, and other sectaries that had been under persecution, ascribing

the Indian wars, and other distresses that had befallen the country, to

that persecution, as so many judgments of God to punish so heinous an

offense, and exhorting a repeal of those uncharitable laws. The whole

appeared to me as written with a good deal of decent plainness and manly

freedom. The six concluding lines I remember, though I have forgotten

the two first of the stanza; but the purport of them was, that his

censures proceeded from good-will, and, therefore, he would be known to

be the author.

"Because to be a libeller (says he)

I hate it with my heart;

From Sherburne town, where now I dwell

My name I do put here;

Without offense your real friend,

It is Peter Folgier."

My elder brothers were all put apprentices to different trades. I was

put to the grammar-school at eight years of age, my father intending to

devote me, as the tithe of his sons, to the service of the Church. My

early readiness in learning to read (which must have been very early, as

I do not remember when I could not read), and the opinion of all his

friends, that I should certainly make a good scholar, encouraged him in

this purpose of his. My uncle Benjamin, too, approved of it, and

proposed to give me all his short-hand volumes of sermons, I suppose as

a stock to set up with, if I would learn his character. I continued,

however, at the grammar-school not quite one year, though in that time I

had risen gradually from the middle of the class of that year to be the

head of it, and farther was removed into the next class above it, in

order to go with that into the third at the end of the year. But my

father, in the meantime, from a view of the expense of a college

education, which having so large a family he could not well afford, and

the mean living many so educated were afterwards able to obtain--reasons

that he gave to his friends in my hearing--altered his first intention,

took me from the grammar-school, and sent me to a school for writing and

arithmetic, kept by a then famous man, Mr. George Brownell, very

successful in his profession generally, and that by mild, encouraging

methods. Under him I acquired fair writing pretty soon, but I failed in

the arithmetic, and made no progress in it. At ten years old I was taken

home to assist my father in his business, which was that of a

tallow-chandler and sope-boiler; a business he was not bred to, but had

assumed on his arrival in New England, and on finding his dying trade

would not maintain his family, being in little request. Accordingly, I

was employed in cutting wick for the candles, filling the dipping mold

and the molds for cast candles, attending the shop, going of errands,

etc.

I disliked the trade, and had a strong inclination for the sea, but my

father declared against it; however, living near the water, I was much

in and about it, learnt early to swim well, and to manage boats; and

when in a boat or canoe with other boys, I was commonly allowed to

govern, especially in any case of difficulty; and upon other occasions I

was generally a leader among the boys, and sometimes led them into

scrapes, of which I will mention one instance, as it shows an early

projecting public spirit, tho' not then justly conducted.

There was a salt-marsh that bounded part of the mill-pond, on the edge

of which, at high water, we used to stand to fish for minnows. By much

trampling, we had made it a mere quagmire. My proposal was to build a

wharff there fit for us to stand upon, and I showed my comrades a large

heap of stones, which were intended for a new house near the marsh, and

which would very well suit our purpose. Accordingly, in the evening,

when the workmen were gone, I assembled a number of my play-fellows, and

working with them diligently like so many emmets, sometimes two or three

to a stone, we brought them all away and built our little wharff. The

next morning the workmen were surprised at missing the stones, which

were found in our wharff. Inquiry was made after the removers; we were

discovered and complained of; several of us were corrected by our

fathers; and though I pleaded the usefulness of the work, mine convinced

me that nothing was useful which was not honest.

I think you may like to know something of his person and character. He

had an excellent constitution of body, was of middle stature, but well

set, and very strong; he was ingenious, could draw prettily, was skilled

a little in music, and had a clear pleasing voice, so that when he

played psalm tunes on his violin and sung withal, as he sometimes did in

an evening after the business of the day was over, it was extremely

agreeable to hear. He had a mechanical genius too, and, on occasion, was

very handy in the use of other tradesmen's tools; but his great

excellence lay in a sound understanding and solid judgment in prudential

matters, both in private and publick affairs. In the latter, indeed, he

was never employed, the numerous family he had to educate and the

straitness of his circumstances keeping him close to his trade; but I

remember well his being frequently visited by leading people, who

consulted him for his opinion in affairs of the town or of the church he

belonged to, and showed a good deal of respect for his judgment and

advice: he was also much consulted by private persons about their

affairs when any difficulty occurred, and frequently chosen an

arbitrator between contending parties.

At his table he liked to have, as often as he could, some sensible

friend or neighbor to converse with, and always took care to start some

ingenious or useful topic for discourse, which might tend to improve the

minds of his children. By this means he turned our attention to what was

good, just, and prudent in the conduct of life; and little or no notice

was ever taken of what related to the victuals on the table, whether it

was well or ill dressed, in or out of season, of good or bad flavor,

preferable or inferior to this or that other thing of the kind, so that

I was bro't up in such a perfect inattention to those matters as to be

quite indifferent what kind of food was set before me, and so

unobservant of it, that to this day if I am asked I can scarce tell a

few hours after dinner what I dined upon. This has been a convenience to

me in travelling, where my companions have been sometimes very unhappy

for want of a suitable gratification of their more delicate, because

better instructed, tastes and appetites.

My mother had likewise an excellent constitution: she suckled all her

ten children. I never knew either my father or mother to have any

sickness but that of which they dy'd, he at 89, and she at 85 years of

age. They lie buried together at Boston, where I some years since placed

a marble over their grave, with this inscription:

Josiah Franklin,

and

Abiah his wife,

lie here interred.

They lived lovingly together in wedlock

fifty-five years.

Without an estate, or any gainful employment,

By constant labor and industry,

with God's blessing,

They maintained a large family

comfortably,

and brought up thirteen children

and seven grandchildren

reputably.

From this instance, reader,

Be encouraged to diligence in thy calling,

And distrust not Providence.

He was a pious and prudent man;

She, a discreet and virtuous woman.

Their youngest son,

In filial regard to their memory,

Places this stone.

J.F. born 1655, died 1744, Ætat 89.

A.F. born 1667, died 1752, ------85.

By my rambling digressions I perceive myself to be grown old. I us'd to

write more methodically. But one does not dress for private company as

for a publick ball. 'Tis perhaps only negligence.

To return: I continued thus employed in my father's business for two

years, that is, till I was twelve years old; and my brother John, who

was bred to that business, having left my father, married, and set up

for himself at Rhode Island, there was all appearance that I was

destined to supply his place, and become a tallow-chandler. But my

dislike to the trade continuing, my father was under apprehensions that

if he did not find one for me more agreeable, I should break away and

get to sea, as his son Josiah had done, to his great vexation. He

therefore sometimes took me to walk with him, and see joiners,

bricklayers, turners, braziers, etc., at their work, that he might

observe my inclination, and endeavor to fix it on some trade or other on

land. It has ever since been a pleasure to me to see good workmen handle

their tools; and it has been useful to me, having learnt so much by it

as to be able to do little jobs myself in my house when a workman could

not readily be got, and to construct little machines for my experiments,

while the intention of making the experiment was fresh and warm in my

mind. My father at last fixed upon the cutler's trade, and my uncle

Benjamin's son Samuel, who was bred to that business in London, being

about that time established in Boston, I was sent to be with him some

time on liking. But his expectations of a fee with me displeasing my

father, I was taken home again.

From a child I was fond of reading, and all the little money that came

into my hands was ever laid out in books. Pleased with the Pilgrim's

Progress, my first collection was of John Bunyan's works in separate

little volumes. I afterward sold them to enable me to buy R. Burton's

Historical Collections; they were small chapmen's books, and cheap, 40

or 50 in all. My father's little library consisted chiefly of books in

polemic divinity, most of which I read, and have since often regretted

that, at a time when I had such a thirst for knowledge, more proper

books had not fallen in my way since it was now resolved I should not be

a clergyman. Plutarch's Lives there was in which I read abundantly, and

I still think that time spent to great advantage. There was also a book

of De Foe's, called an Essay on Projects, and another of Dr. Mather's,

called Essays to do Good, which perhaps gave me a turn of thinking that

had an influence on some of the principal future events of my life.

This bookish inclination at length determined my father to make me a

printer, though he had already one son (James) of that profession. In

1717 my brother James returned from England with a press and letters to

set up his business in Boston. I liked it much better than that of my

father, but still had a hankering for the sea. To prevent the

apprehended effect of such an inclination, my father was impatient to

have me bound to my brother. I stood out some time, but at last was

persuaded, and signed the indentures when I was yet but twelve years

old. I was to serve as an apprentice till I was twenty-one years of age,

only I was to be allowed journeyman's wages during the last year. In a

little time I made great proficiency in the business, and became a

useful hand to my brother. I now had access to better books. An

acquaintance with the apprentices of booksellers enabled me sometimes to

borrow a small one, which I was careful to return soon and clean. Often

I sat up in my room reading the greatest part of the night, when the

book was borrowed in the evening and to be returned early in the

morning, lest it should be missed or wanted.

And after some time an ingenious tradesman, Mr. Matthew Adams, who had a

pretty collection of books, and who frequented our printing-house, took

notice of me, invited me to his library, and very kindly lent me such

books as I chose to read. I now took a fancy to poetry, and made some

little pieces; my brother, thinking it might turn to account, encouraged

me, and put me on composing occasional ballads. One was called The

Lighthouse Tragedy, and contained an account of the drowning of Captain

Worthilake, with his two daughters: the other was a sailor's song, on

the taking of Teach (or Blackbeard) the pirate. They were wretched

stuff, in the Grub-street-ballad style; and when they were printed he

sent me about the town to sell them. The first sold wonderfully, the

event being recent, having made a great noise. This flattered my vanity;

but my father discouraged me by ridiculing my performances, and telling

me verse-makers were generally beggars. So I escaped being a poet, most

probably a very bad one; but as prose writing had been of great use to

me in the course of my life, and was a principal means of my

advancement, I shall tell you how, in such a situation, I acquired what

little ability I have in that way.

There was another bookish lad in the town, John Collins by name, with

whom I was intimately acquainted. We sometimes disputed, and very fond

we were of argument, and very desirous of confuting one another, which

disputatious turn, by the way, is apt to become a very bad habit, making

people often extremely disagreeable in company by the contradiction that

is necessary to bring it into practice; and thence, besides souring and

spoiling the conversation, is productive of disgusts and, perhaps

enmities where you may have occasion for friendship. I had caught it by

reading my father's books of dispute about religion. Persons of good

sense, I have since observed, seldom fall into it, except lawyers,

university men, and men of all sorts that have been bred at Edinborough.

A question was once, somehow or other, started between Collins and me,

of the propriety of educating the female sex in learning, and their

abilities for study. He was of opinion that it was improper, and that

they were naturally unequal to it. I took the contrary side, perhaps a

little for dispute's sake. He was naturally more eloquent, had a ready

plenty of words; and sometimes, as I thought, bore me down more by his

fluency than by the strength of his reasons. As we parted without

settling the point, and were not to see one another again for some time,

I sat down to put my arguments in writing, which I copied fair and sent

to him. He answered, and I replied. Three or four letters of a side had

passed, when my father happened to find my papers and read them. Without

entering into the discussion, he took occasion to talk to me about the

manner of my writing; observed that, though I had the advantage of my

antagonist in correct spelling and pointing (which I ow'd to the

printing-house), I fell far short in elegance of expression, in method

and in perspicuity, of which he convinced me by several instances. I saw

the justice of his remark, and thence grew more attentive to the manner

in writing, and determined to endeavor at improvement.

About this time I met with an odd volume of the Spectator. It was the

third. I had never before seen any of them. I bought it, read it over

and over, and was much delighted with it. I thought the writing

excellent, and wished, if possible, to imitate it. With this view I took

some of the papers, and, making short hints of the sentiment in each

sentence, laid them by a few days, and then, without looking at the

book, try'd to compleat the papers again, by expressing each hinted

sentiment at length, and as fully as it had been expressed before, in

any suitable words that should come to hand. Then I compared my

Spectator with the original, discovered some of my faults, and corrected

them. But I found I wanted a stock of words, or a readiness in

recollecting and using them, which I thought I should have acquired

before that time if I had gone on making verses; since the continual

occasion for words of the same import, but of different length, to suit

the measure, or of different sound for the rhyme, would have laid me

under a constant necessity of searching for variety, and also have

tended to fix that variety in my mind, and make me master of it.

Therefore I took some of the tales and turned them into verse; and,

after a time, when I had pretty well forgotten the prose, turned them

back again. I also sometimes jumbled my collections of hints into

confusion, and after some weeks endeavored to reduce them into the best

order, before I began to form the full sentences and compleat the paper.

This was to teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts. By comparing

my work afterwards with the original, I discovered many faults and

amended them; but I sometimes had the pleasure of fancying that, in

certain particulars of small import, I had been lucky enough to improve

the method or the language, and this encouraged me to think I might

possibly in time come to be a tolerable English writer, of which I was

extremely ambitious. My time for these exercises and for reading was at

night, after work or before it began in the morning, or on Sundays, when

I contrived to be in the printing-house alone, evading as much as I

could the common attendance on public worship which my father used to

exact on me when I was under his care, and which indeed I still thought

a duty, though I could not, as it seemed to me, afford time to practise

it.

When about 16 years of age I happened to meet with a book, written by

one Tryon, recommending a vegetable diet. I determined to go into it. My

brother, being yet unmarried, did not keep house, but boarded himself

and his apprentices in another family. My refusing to eat flesh

occasioned an inconveniency, and I was frequently chid for my

singularity. I made myself acquainted with Tryon's manner of preparing

some of his dishes, such as boiling potatoes or rice, making hasty

pudding, and a few others, and then proposed to my brother, that if he

would give me, weekly, half the money he paid for my board, I would

board myself. He instantly agreed to it, and I presently found that I

could save half what he paid me. This was an additional fund for buying

books. But I had another advantage in it. My brother and the rest going

from the printing-house to their meals, I remained there alone, and,

despatching presently my light repast, which often was no more than a

bisket or a slice of bread, a handful of raisins or a tart from the

pastry-cook's, and a glass of water, had the rest of the time till their

return for study, in which I made the greater progress, from that

greater clearness of head and quicker apprehension which usually attend

temperance in eating and drinking.

And now it was that, being on some occasion made asham'd of my ignorance

in figures, which I had twice failed in learning when at school, I took

Cocker's book of Arithmetick, and went through the whole by myself with

great ease. I also read Seller's and Shermy's books of Navigation, and

became acquainted with the little geometry they contain; but never

proceeded far in that science. And I read about this time Locke On Human

Understanding, and the Art of Thinking, by Messrs. du Port Royal.

While I was intent on improving my language, I met with an English

grammar (I think it was Greenwood's), at the end of which there were two

little sketches of the arts of rhetoric and logic, the latter finishing

with a specimen of a dispute in the Socratic method; and soon after I

procur'd Xenophon's Memorable Things of Socrates, wherein there are many

instances of the same method. I was charm'd with it, adopted it, dropt

my abrupt contradiction and positive argumentation, and put on the

humble inquirer and doubter. And being then, from reading Shaftesbury

and Collins, become a real doubter in many points of our religious

doctrine, I found this method safest for myself and very embarrassing to

those against whom I used it; therefore I took a delight in it,

practis'd it continually, and grew very artful and expert in drawing

people, even of superior knowledge, into concessions, the consequences

of which they did not foresee, entangling them in difficulties out of

which they could not extricate themselves, and so obtaining victories

that neither myself nor my cause always deserved. I continu'd this

method some few years, but gradually left it, retaining only the habit

of expressing myself in terms of modest diffidence; never using, when I

advanced any thing that may possibly be disputed, the words certainly,

undoubtedly, or any others that give the air of positiveness to an

opinion; but rather say, I conceive or apprehend a thing to be so and

so; it appears to me, or I should think it so or so, for such and such

reasons; or I imagine it to be so; or it is so, if I am not mistaken.

This habit, I believe, has been of great advantage to me when I have had

occasion to inculcate my opinions, and persuade men into measures that I

have been from time to time engag'd in promoting; and, as the chief ends

of conversation are to inform or to be informed, to please or to

persuade, I wish well-meaning, sensible men would not lessen their power

of doing good by a positive, assuming manner, that seldom fails to

disgust, tends to create opposition, and to defeat every one of those

purposes for which speech was given to us, to wit, giving or receiving

information or pleasure. For, if you would inform, a positive and

dogmatical manner in advancing your sentiments may provoke contradiction

and prevent a candid attention. If you wish information and improvement

from the knowledge of others, and yet at the same time express yourself

as firmly fix'd in your present opinions, modest, sensible men, who do

not love disputation, will probably leave you undisturbed in the

possession of your error. And by such a manner, you can seldom hope to

recommend yourself in pleasing your hearers, or to persuade those whose

concurrence you desire. Pope says, judiciously:

"Men should be taught as if you taught them not,

And things unknown propos'd as things forgot;"

farther recommending to us

"To speak, tho' sure, with seeming diffidence."

And he might have coupled with this line that which he has coupled with

another, I think, less properly,

"For want of modesty is want of sense."

If you ask, Why less properly? I must repeat the lines,

"Immodest words admit of no defense,

For want of modesty is want of sense."

Now, is not want of sense (where a man is so unfortunate as to want it)

some apology for his want of modesty? and would not the lines stand more

justly thus?

"Immodest words admit but this defense,

That want of modesty is want of sense."

This, however, I should submit to better judgments.

My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print a newspaper. It was the

second that appeared in America, and was called the New England Courant.

The only one before it was the Boston News-Letter. I remember his being

dissuaded by some of his friends from the undertaking, as not likely to

succeed, one newspaper being, in their judgment, enough for America. At

this time (1771) there are not less than five-and-twenty. He went on,

however, with the undertaking, and after having worked in composing the

types and printing off the sheets, I was employed to carry the papers

thro' the streets to the customers.

He had some ingenious men among his friends, who amus'd themselves by

writing little pieces for this paper, which gain'd it credit and made it

more in demand, and these gentlemen often visited us. Hearing their

conversations, and their accounts of the approbation their papers were

received with, I was excited to try my hand among them; but, being still

a boy, and suspecting that my brother would object to printing anything

of mine in his paper if he knew it to be mine, I contrived to disguise

my hand, and, writing an anonymous paper, I put it in at night under the

door of the printing-house. It was found in the morning, and

communicated to his writing friends when they call'd in as usual. They

read it, commented on it in my hearing, and I had the exquisite pleasure

of finding it met with their approbation, and that, in their different

guesses at the author, none were named but men of some character among

us for learning and ingenuity. I suppose now that I was rather lucky in

my judges, and that perhaps they were not really so very good ones as I

then esteem'd them.

Encourag'd, however, by this, I wrote and convey'd in the same way to

the press several more papers which were equally approv'd; and I kept my

secret till my small fund of sense for such performances was pretty well

exhausted and then I discovered it, when I began to be considered a

little more by my brother's acquaintance, and in a manner that did not

quite please him, as he thought, probably with reason, that it tended to

make me too vain. And, perhaps, this might be one occasion of the

differences that we began to have about this time. Though a brother, he

considered himself as my master, and me as his apprentice, and

accordingly, expected the same services from me as he would from

another, while I thought he demean'd me too much in some he requir'd of

me, who from a brother expected more indulgence. Our disputes were often

brought before our father, and I fancy I was either generally in the

right, or else a better pleader, because the judgment was generally in

my favor. But my brother was passionate, and had often beaten me, which

I took extreamly amiss; and, thinking my apprenticeship very tedious, I

was continually wishing for some opportunity of shortening it, which at

length offered in a manner unexpected. [3]

[3] I fancy his harsh and tyrannical treatment of me might be a means of

impressing me with that aversion to arbitrary power that has stuck to me

through my whole life.

One of the pieces in our newspaper on some political point, which I have

now forgotten, gave offense to the Assembly. He was taken up, censur'd,

and imprison'd for a month, by the speaker's warrant, I suppose, because

he would not discover his author. I too was taken up and examin'd before

the council; but, tho' I did not give them any satisfaction, they

content'd themselves with admonishing me, and dismissed me, considering

me, perhaps, as an apprentice, who was bound to keep his master's

secrets.

During my brother's confinement, which I resented a good deal,

notwithstanding our private differences, I had the management of the

paper; and I made bold to give our rulers some rubs in it, which my

brother took very kindly, while others began to consider me in an

unfavorable light, as a young genius that had a turn for libelling and

satyr. My brother's discharge was accompany'd with an order of the House

(a very odd one), that "James Franklin should no longer print the paper

called the New England Courant."

There was a consultation held in our printing-house among his friends,

what he should do in this case. Some proposed to evade the order by

changing the name of the paper; but my brother, seeing inconveniences in

that, it was finally concluded on as a better way, to let it be printed

for the future under the name of Benjamin Franklin; and to avoid the

censure of the Assembly, that might fall on him as still printing it by

his apprentice, the contrivance was that my old indenture should be

return'd to me, with a full discharge on the back of it, to be shown on

occasion, but to secure to him the benefit of my service, I was to sign

new indentures for the remainder of the term, which were to be kept

private. A very flimsy scheme it was; however, it was immediately

executed, and the paper went on accordingly, under my name for several

months.

At length, a fresh difference arising between my brother and me, I took

upon me to assert my freedom, presuming that he would not venture to

produce the new indentures. It was not fair in me to take this

advantage, and this I therefore reckon one of the first errata of my

life; but the unfairness of it weighed little with me, when under the

impressions of resentment for the blows his passion too often urged him

to bestow upon me, though he was otherwise not an ill-natur'd man:

perhaps I was too saucy and provoking.

When he found I would leave him, he took care to prevent my getting

employment in any other printing-house of the town, by going round and

speaking to every master, who accordingly refus'd to give me work. I

then thought of going to New York, as the nearest place where there was

a printer; and I was rather inclin'd to leave Boston when I reflected

that I had already made myself a little obnoxious to the governing

party, and, from the arbitrary proceedings of the Assembly in my

brother's case, it was likely I might, if I stay'd, soon bring myself

into scrapes; and farther, that my indiscrete disputations about

religion began to make me pointed at with horror by good people as an

infidel or atheist. I determin'd on the point, but my father now siding

with my brother, I was sensible that, if I attempted to go openly, means

would be used to prevent me. My friend Collins, therefore, undertook to

manage a little for me. He agreed with the captain of a New York sloop

for my passage, under the notion of my being a young acquaintance of

his, that had got a naughty girl with child, whose friends would compel

me to marry her, and therefore I could not appear or come away publicly.

So I sold some of my books to raise a little money, was taken on board

privately, and as we had a fair wind, in three days I found myself in

New York, near 300 miles from home, a boy of but 17, without the least

recommendation to, or knowledge of any person in the place, and with

very little money in my pocket.

My inclinations for the sea were by this time worne out, or I might now

have gratify'd them. But, having a trade, and supposing myself a pretty

good workman, I offer'd my service to the printer in the place, old Mr.

William Bradford, who had been the first printer in Pennsylvania, but

removed from thence upon the quarrel of George Keith. He could give me

no employment, having little to do, and help enough already; but says

he, "My son at Philadelphia has lately lost his principal hand, Aquila

Rose, by death; if you go thither, I believe he may employ you."

Philadelphia was a hundred miles further; I set out, however, in a boat

for Amboy, leaving my chest and things to follow me round by sea.

In crossing the bay, we met with a squall that tore our rotten sails to

pieces, prevented our getting into the Kill, and drove us upon Long

Island. In our way, a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, fell

overboard; when he was sinking, I reached through the water to his shock

pate, and drew him up, so that we got him in again. His ducking sobered

him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first out of his pocket a

book, which he desir'd I would dry for him. It proved to be my old

favorite author, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, in Dutch, finely printed

on good paper, with copper cuts, a dress better than I had ever seen it

wear in its own language. I have since found that it has been translated

into most of the languages of Europe, and suppose it has been more

generally read than any other book, except perhaps the Bible. Honest

John was the first that I know of who mix'd narration and dialogue; a

method of writing very engaging to the reader, who in the most

interesting parts finds himself, as it were, brought into the company

and present at the discourse. De Foe in his Cruso, his Moll Flanders,

Religious Courtship, Family Instructor, and other pieces, has imitated

it with success; and Richardson has done the same in his Pamela, etc.

When we drew near the island, we found it was at a place where there

could be no landing, there being a great surff on the stony beach. So we

dropt anchor, and swung round towards the shore. Some people came down

to the water edge and hallow'd to us, as we did to them; but the wind

was so high, and the surff so loud, that we could not hear so as to

understand each other. There were canoes on the shore, and we made

signs, and hallow'd that they should fetch us; but they either did not

understand us, or thought it impracticable, so they went away, and night

coming on, we had no remedy but to wait till the wind should abate; and,

in the meantime, the boatman and I concluded to sleep, if we could; and

so crowded into the scuttle, with the Dutchman, who was still wet, and

the spray beating over the head of our boat, leak'd thro' to us, so that

we were soon almost as wet as he. In this manner we lay all night, with

very little rest; but, the wind abating the next day, we made a shift to

reach Amboy before night, having been thirty hours on the water, without

victuals, or any drink but a bottle of filthy rum, and the water we

sail'd on being salt.

In the evening I found myself very feverish, and went in to bed; but,

having read somewhere that cold water drank plentifully was good for a

fever, I follow'd the prescription, sweat plentiful most of the night,

my fever left me, and in the morning, crossing the ferry, I proceeded on

my journey on foot, having fifty miles to Burlington, where I was told I

should find boats that would carry me the rest of the way to

Philadelphia.

It rained very hard all the day; I was thoroughly soak'd, and by noon a

good deal tired; so I stopt at a poor inn, where I staid all night,

beginning now to wish that I had never left home. I cut so miserable a

figure, too, that I found, by the questions ask'd me, I was suspected to

be some runaway servant, and in danger of being taken up on that

suspicion. However, I proceeded the next day, and got in the evening to

an inn, within eight or ten miles of Burlington, kept by one Dr. Brown.

He entered into conversation with me while I took some refreshment, and,

finding I had read a little, became very sociable and friendly. Our

acquaintance continu'd as long as he liv'd. He had been, I imagine, an

itinerant doctor, for there was no town in England, or country in

Europe, of which he could not give a very particular account. He had

some letters, and was ingenious, but much of an unbeliever, and wickedly

undertook, some years after, to travestie the Bible in doggrel verse, as

Cotton had done Virgil. By this means he set many of the facts in a very

ridiculous light, and might have hurt weak minds if his work had been

published; but it never was.

At his house I lay that night, and the next morning reach'd Burlington,

but had the mortification to find that the regular boats were gone a

little before my coming, and no other expected to go before Tuesday,

this being Saturday; wherefore I returned to an old woman in the town,

of whom I had bought gingerbread to eat on the water, and ask'd her

advice. She invited me to lodge at her house till a passage by water

should offer; and being tired with my foot travelling, I accepted the

invitation. She understanding I was a printer, would have had me stay at

that town and follow my business, being ignorant of the stock necessary

to begin with. She was very hospitable, gave me a dinner of ox-cheek

with great good will, accepting only a pot of ale in return; and I

thought myself fixed till Tuesday should come. However, walking in the

evening by the side of the river, a boat came by, which I found was

going towards Philadelphia, with several people in her. They took me in,

and, as there was no wind, we row'd all the way; and about midnight, not

having yet seen the city, some of the company were confident we must

have passed it, and would row no farther; the others knew not where we

were; so we put toward the shore, got into a creek, landed near an old

fence, with the rails of which we made a fire, the night being cold, in

October, and there we remained till daylight. Then one of the company

knew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little above Philadelphia, which

we saw as soon as we got out of the creek, and arriv'd there about eight

or nine o'clock on the Sunday morning, and landed at the Market-street

wharf.

I have been the more particular in this description of my journey, and

shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in your mind

compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since made

there. I was in my working dress, my best cloaths being to come round by

sea. I was dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuff'd out with

shirts and stockings, and I knew no soul nor where to look for lodging.

I was fatigued with travelling, rowing, and want of rest, I was very

hungry; and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch dollar, and

about a shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people of the boat for

my passage, who at first refus'd it, on account of my rowing; but I

insisted on their taking it. A man being sometimes more generous when he

has but a little money than when he has plenty, perhaps thro' fear of

being thought to have but little.

Then I walked up the street, gazing about till near the market-house I

met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and, inquiring

where he got it, I went immediately to the baker's he directed me to, in

Second-street, and ask'd for bisket, intending such as we had in Boston;

but they, it seems, were not made in Philadelphia. Then I asked for a

three-penny loaf, and was told they had none such. So not considering or

knowing the difference of money, and the greater cheapness nor the names

of his bread, I made him give me three-penny worth of any sort. He gave

me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. I was surpriz'd at the

quantity, but took it, and, having no room in my pockets, walk'd off

with a roll under each arm, and eating the other. Thus I went up

Market-street as far as Fourth-street, passing by the door of Mr. Read,

my future wife's father; when she, standing at the door, saw me, and

thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward, ridiculous

appearance. Then I turned and went down Chestnut-street and part of

Walnut-street, eating my roll all the way, and, coming round, found

myself again at Market-street wharf, near the boat I came in, to which I

went for a draught of the river water; and, being filled with one of my

rolls, gave the other two to a woman and her child that came down the

river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go farther.

Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had

many clean-dressed people in it, who were all walking the same way. I

joined them, and thereby was led into the great meeting-house of the

Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking round

awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy thro' labor and want

of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and continued so till

the meeting broke up, when one was kind enough to rouse me. This was,

therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in, in Philadelphia.

Walking down again toward the river, and, looking in the faces of

people, I met a young Quaker man, whose countenance I lik'd, and,

accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could get

lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. "Here," says

he, "is one place that entertains strangers, but it is not a reputable

house; if thee wilt walk with me, I'll show thee a better." He brought

me to the Crooked Billet in Water-street. Here I got a dinner; and,

while I was eating it, several sly questions were asked me, as it seemed

to be suspected from my youth and appearance, that I might be some

runaway.

After dinner, my sleepiness return'd, and being shown to a bed, I lay

down without undressing, and slept till six in the evening, was call'd

to supper, went to bed again very early, and slept soundly till next

morning. Then I made myself as tidy as I could, and went to Andrew

Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop the old man his father, whom

I had seen at New York, and who, travelling on horseback, had got to

Philadelphia before me. He introduc'd me to his son, who receiv'd me

civilly, gave me a breakfast, but told me he did not at present want a

hand, being lately suppli'd with one; but there was another printer in

town, lately set up, one Keimer, who, perhaps, might employ me; if not,

I should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would give me a little

work to do now and then till fuller business should offer.

The old gentleman said he would go with me to the new printer; and when

we found him, "Neighbor," says Bradford, "I have brought to see you a

young man of your business; perhaps you may want such a one." He ask'd

me a few questions, put a composing stick in my hand to see how I

work'd, and then said he would employ me soon, though he had just then

nothing for me to do; and, taking old Bradford, whom he had never seen

before, to be one of the town's people that had a good will for him,

enter'd into a conversation on his present undertaking and prospects;

while Bradford, not discovering that he was the other printer's father,

on Keimer's saying he expected soon to get the greatest part of the

business into his own hands, drew him on by artful questions, and

starting little doubts, to explain all his views, what interests he

reli'd on, and in what manner he intended to proceed. I, who stood by

and heard all, saw immediately that one of them was a crafty old

sophister, and the other a mere novice. Bradford left me with Keimer,

who was greatly surpris'd when I told him who the old man was.

Keimer's printing-house, I found, consisted of an old shatter'd press,

and one small, worn-out font of English which he was then using himself,

composing an Elegy on Aquila Rose, before mentioned, an ingenious young

man, of excellent character, much respected in the town, clerk of the

Assembly, and a pretty poet. Keimer made verses too, but very

indifferently. He could not be said to write them, for his manner was to

compose them in the types directly out of his head. So there being no

copy, but one pair of cases, and the Elegy likely to require all the

letter, no one could help him. I endeavor'd to put his press (which he

had not yet us'd, and of which he understood nothing) into order fit to

be work'd with; and, promising to come and print off his Elegy as soon

as he should have got it ready, I return'd to Bradford's, who gave me a

little job to do for the present, and there I lodged and dieted. A few

days after, Keimer sent for me to print off the Elegy. And now he had

got another pair of cases, and a pamphlet to reprint, on which he set me

to work.

These two printers I found poorly qualified for their business. Bradford

had not been bred to it, and was very illiterate; and Keimer, tho'

something of a scholar, was a mere compositor, knowing nothing of

presswork. He had been one of the French prophets, and could act their

enthusiastic agitations. At this time he did not profess any particular

religion, but something of all on occasion; was very ignorant of the

world, and had, as I afterward found, a good deal of the knave in his

composition. He did not like my lodging at Bradford's while I work'd

with him. He had a house, indeed, but without furniture, so he could not

lodge me; but he got me a lodging at Mr. Read's, before mentioned, who

was the owner of his house; and, my chest and clothes being come by this

time, I made rather a more respectable appearance in the eyes of Miss

Read than I had done when she first happen'd to see me eating my roll in

the street.

I began now to have some acquaintance among the young people of the

town, that were lovers of reading, with whom I spent my evenings very

pleasantly; and gaining money by my industry and frugality, I lived very

agreeably, forgetting Boston as much as I could, and not desiring that

any there should know where I resided, except my friend Collins, who was

in my secret, and kept it when I wrote to him. At length, an incident

happened that sent me back again much sooner than I had intended. I had

a brother-in-law, Robert Holmes, master of a sloop that traded between

Boston and Delaware. He being at Newcastle, forty miles below

Philadelphia, heard there of me, and wrote me a letter mentioning the

concern of my friends in Boston at my abrupt departure, assuring me of

their good will to me, and that every thing would be accommodated to my

mind if I would return, to which he exhorted me very earnestly. I wrote

an answer to his letter, thank'd him for his advice, but stated my

reasons for quitting Boston fully and in such a light as to convince him

I was not so wrong as he had apprehended.

Sir William Keith, governor of the province, was then at Newcastle, and

Captain Holmes, happening to be in company with him when my letter came

to hand, spoke to him of me, and show'd him the letter. The governor

read it, and seem'd surpris'd when he was told my age. He said I

appear'd a young man of promising parts, and therefore should be

encouraged; the printers at Philadelphia were wretched ones; and, if I

would set up there, he made no doubt I should succeed; for his part, he

would procure me the public business, and do me every other service in

his power. This my brother-in-law afterwards told me in Boston, but I

knew as yet nothing of it; when, one day, Keimer and I being at work

together near the window, we saw the governor and another gentleman

(which proved to be Colonel French, of Newcastle), finely dress'd, come

directly across the street to our house, and heard them at the door.

Keimer ran down immediately, thinking it a visit to him; but the

governor inquir'd for me, came up, and with a condescension of

politeness I had been quite unus'd to, made me many compliments, desired

to be acquainted with me, blam'd me kindly for not having made myself

known to him when I first came to the place, and would have me away with

him to the tavern, where he was going with Colonel French to taste, as

he said, some excellent Madeira. I was not a little surprised, and

Keimer star'd like a pig poison'd. I went, however, with the governor

and Colonel French to a tavern, at the corner of Third-street, and over

the Madeira he propos'd my setting up my business, laid before me the

probabilities of success, and both he and Colonel French assur'd me I

should have their interest and influence in procuring the public

business of both governments. On my doubting whether my father would

assist me in it, Sir William said he would give me a letter to him, in

which he would state the advantages, and he did not doubt of prevailing

with him. So it was concluded I should return to Boston in the first

vessel, with the governor's letter recommending me to my father. In the

mean time the intention was to be kept a secret, and I went on working

with Keimer as usual, the governor sending for me now and then to dine

with him, a very great honor I thought it, and conversing with me in the

most affable, familiar, and friendly manner imaginable.

About the end of April, 1724, a little vessel offer'd for Boston. I took

leave of Keimer as going to see my friends. The governor gave me an

ample letter, saying many flattering things of me to my father, and

strongly recommending the project of my setting up at Philadelphia as a

thing that must make my fortune. We struck on a shoal in going down the

bay, and sprung a leak; we had a blustering time at sea, and were

oblig'd to pump almost continually, at which I took my turn. We arriv'd

safe, however, at Boston in about a fortnight. I had been absent seven

months, and my friends had heard nothing of me; for my br. Holmes was

not yet return'd, and had not written about me. My unexpected appearance

surpriz'd the family; all were, however, very glad to see me, and made

me welcome, except my brother. I went to see him at his printing-house.

I was better dress'd than ever while in his service, having a genteel

new suit from head to foot, a watch, and my pockets lin'd with near five

pounds sterling in silver. He receiv'd me not very frankly, look'd me

all over, and turn'd to his work again.

The journeymen were inquisitive where I had been, what sort of a country

it was, and how I lik'd it. I prais'd it much, the happy life I led in

it, expressing strongly my intention of returning to it; and, one of

them asking what kind of money we had there, I produc'd a handful of

silver, and spread it before them, which was a kind of raree-show they

had not been us'd to, paper being the money of Boston. Then I took an

opportunity of letting them see my watch; and, lastly (my brother still

grum and sullen), I gave them a piece of eight to drink, and took my

leave. This visit of mine offended him extreamly; for, when my mother

some time after spoke to him of a reconciliation, and of her wishes to

see us on good terms together, and that we might live for the future as

brothers, he said I had insulted him in such a manner before his people

that he could never forget or forgive it. In this, however, he was

mistaken.

My father received the governor's letter with some apparent surprise,

but said little of it to me for some days, when Capt. Holmes returning

he showed it to him, ask'd him if he knew Keith, and what kind of man he

was; adding his opinion that he must be of small discretion to think of

setting a boy up in business who wanted yet three years of being at

man's estate. Holmes said what he could in favor of the project, but my

father was clear in the impropriety of it, and at last gave a flat

denial to it. Then he wrote a civil letter to Sir William, thanking him

for the patronage he had so kindly offered me, but declining to assist

me as yet in setting up, I being, in his opinion, too young to be

trusted with the management of a business so important, and for which

the preparation must be so expensive.

My friend and companion Collins, who was a clerk in the post-office,

pleas'd with the account I gave him of my new country, determined to go

thither also; and, while I waited for my father's determination, he set

out before me by land to Rhode Island, leaving his books, which were a

pretty collection of mathematicks and natural philosophy, to come with

mine and me to New York, where he propos'd to wait for me.

My father, tho' he did not approve Sir William's proposition, was yet

pleas'd that I had been able to obtain so advantageous a character from

a person of such note where I had resided, and that I had been so

industrious and careful as to equip myself so handsomely in so short a

time; therefore, seeing no prospect of an accommodation between my

brother and me, he gave his consent to my returning again to

Philadelphia, advis'd me to behave respectfully to the people there,

endeavor to obtain the general esteem, and avoid lampooning and

libeling, to which he thought I had too much inclination; telling me,

that by steady industry and a prudent parsimony I might save enough by

the time I was one-and-twenty to set me up; and that, if I came near the

matter, he would help me out with the rest. This was all I could obtain,

except some small gifts as tokens of his and my mother's love, when I

embark'd again for New York, now with their approbation and their

blessing.

The sloop putting in at Newport, Rhode Island, I visited my brother

John, who had been married and settled there some years. He received me

very affectionately, for he always lov'd me. A friend of his, one

Vernon, having some money due to him in Pensilvania, about thirty-five

pounds currency, desired I would receive it for him, and keep it till I

had his directions what to remit it in. Accordingly, he gave me an

order. This afterwards occasion'd me a good deal of uneasiness.

At Newport we took in a number of passengers for New York, among which

were two young women, companions, and a grave, sensible, matron-like

Quaker woman, with her attendants. I had shown an obliging readiness to

do her some little services, which impress'd her I suppose with a degree

of good will toward me; therefore, when she saw a daily growing

familiarity between me and the two young women, which they appear'd to

encourage, she took me aside, and said: "Young man, I am concern'd for

thee, as thou has no friend with thee, and seems not to know much of the

world, or of the snares youth is expos'd to; depend upon it, those are

very bad women; I can see it in all their actions; and if thee art not

upon thy guard, they will draw thee into some danger; they are strangers

to thee, and I advise thee, in a friendly concern for thy welfare, to

have no acquaintance with them." As I seem'd at first not to think so

ill of them as she did, she mentioned some things she had observ'd and

heard that had escap'd my notice, but now convinc'd me she was right. I

thank'd her for her kind advice, and promis'd to follow it. When we

arriv'd at New York, they told me where they liv'd, and invited me to

come and see them; but I avoided it, and it was well I did; for the next

day the captain miss'd a silver spoon and some other things, that had

been taken out of his cabbin, and, knowing that these were a couple of

strumpets, he got a warrant to search their lodgings, found the stolen

goods, and had the thieves punish'd. So, tho' we had escap'd a sunken

rock, which we scrap'd upon in the passage, I thought this escape of

rather more importance to me.

At New York I found my friend Collins, who had arriv'd there some time

before me. We had been intimate from children, and had read the same

books together; but he had the advantage of more time for reading and

studying, and a wonderful genius for mathematical learning, in which he

far outstript me. While I liv'd in Boston most of my hours of leisure

for conversation were spent with him, and he continu'd a sober as well

as an industrious lad; was much respected for his learning by several of

the clergy and other gentlemen, and seemed to promise making a good

figure in life. But, during my absence, he had acquir'd a habit of

sotting with brandy; and I found by his own account, and what I heard

from others, that he had been drunk every day since his arrival at New

York, and behav'd very oddly. He had gam'd, too, and lost his money, so

that I was oblig'd to discharge his lodgings, and defray his expenses to

and at Philadelphia, which prov'd extremely inconvenient to me.

The then governor of New York, Burnet (son of Bishop Burnet), hearing

from the captain that a young man, one of his passengers, had a great

many books, desir'd he would bring me to see him. I waited upon him

accordingly, and should have taken Collins with me but that he was not

sober. The gov'r. treated me with great civility, show'd me his library,

which was a very large one, and we had a good deal of conversation about

books and authors. This was the second governor who had done me the

honor to take notice of me; which, to a poor boy like me, was very

pleasing.

We proceeded to Philadelphia. I received on the way Vernon's money,

without which we could hardly have finish'd our journey. Collins wished

to be employ'd in some counting-house, but, whether they discover'd his

dramming by his breath, or by his behaviour, tho' he had some

recommendations, he met with no success in any application, and

continu'd lodging and boarding at the same house with me, and at my

expense. Knowing I had that money of Vernon's, he was continually

borrowing of me, still promising repayment as soon as he should be in

business. At length he had got so much of it that I was distress'd to

think what I should do in case of being call'd on to remit it.

His drinking continu'd, about which we sometimes quarrell'd; for, when a

little intoxicated, he was very fractious. Once, in a boat on the

Delaware with some other young men, he refused to row in his turn. "I

will be row'd home," says he. "We will not row you," says I. "You must,

or stay all night on the water," says he, "just as you please." The

others said, "Let us row; what signifies it?" But, my mind being soured

with his other conduct, I continu'd to refuse. So he swore he would make

me row, or throw me overboard; and coming along, stepping on the

thwarts, toward me, when he came up and struck at me, I clapped my hand

under his crutch, and, rising, pitched him head-foremost into the river.

I knew he was a good swimmer, and so was under little concern about him;

but before he could get round to lay hold of the boat, we had with a few

strokes pull'd her out of his reach; and ever when he drew near the

boat, we ask'd if he would row, striking a few strokes to slide her away

from him. He was ready to die with vexation, and obstinately would not

promise to row. However, seeing him at last beginning to tire, we lifted

him in and brought him home dripping wet in the evening. We hardly

exchang'd a civil word afterwards, and a West India captain, who had a

commission to procure a tutor for the sons of a gentleman at Barbadoes,

happening to meet with him, agreed to carry him thither. He left me

then, promising to remit me the first money he should receive in order

to discharge the debt; but I never heard of him after.

The breaking into this money of Vernon's was one of the first great

errata of my life; and this affair show'd that my father was not much

out in his judgment when he suppos'd me too young to manage business of

importance. But Sir William, on reading his letter, said he was too

prudent. There was great difference in persons; and discretion did not

always accompany years, nor was youth always without it. "And since he

will not set you up," says he, "I will do it myself. Give me an

inventory of the things necessary to be had from England, and I will

send for them. You shall repay me when you are able; I am resolv'd to

have a good printer here, and I am sure you must succeed." This was

spoken with such an appearance of cordiality, that I had not the least

doubt of his meaning what he said. I had hitherto kept the proposition

of my setting up, a secret in Philadelphia, and I still kept it. Had it

been known that I depended on the governor, probably some friend, that

knew him better, would have advis'd me not to rely on him, as I

afterwards heard it as his known character to be liberal of promises

which he never meant to keep. Yet, unsolicited as he was by me, how

could I think his generous offers insincere? I believ'd him one of the

best men in the world.

I presented him an inventory of a little print'g-house, amounting by my

computation to about one hundred pounds sterling. He lik'd it, but ask'd

me if my being on the spot in England to chuse the types, and see that

every thing was good of the kind, might not be of some advantage.

"Then," says he, "when there, you may make acquaintances, and establish

correspondences in the bookselling and stationery way." I agreed that

this might be advantageous. "Then," says he, "get yourself ready to go

with Annis;" which was the annual ship, and the only one at that time

usually passing between London and Philadelphia. But it would be some

months before Annis sail'd, so I continu'd working with Keimer, fretting

about the money Collins had got from me, and in daily apprehensions of

being call'd upon by Vernon, which, however, did not happen for some

years after.

I believe I have omitted mentioning that, in my first voyage from

Boston, being becalm'd off Block Island, our people set about catching

cod, and hauled up a great many. Hitherto I had stuck to my resolution

of not eating animal food, and on this occasion consider'd, with my

master Tryon, the taking every fish as a kind of unprovoked murder,

since none of them had, or ever could do us any injury that might

justify the slaughter. All this seemed very reasonable. But I had

formerly been a great lover of fish, and, when this came hot out of the

frying-pan, it smelt admirably well. I balanc'd some time between

principle and inclination, till I recollected that, when the fish were

opened, I saw smaller fish taken out of their stomachs; then thought I,

"If you eat one another, I don't see why we mayn't eat you." So I din'd

upon cod very heartily, and continued to eat with other people,

returning only now and then occasionally to a vegetable diet. So

convenient a thing it is to be a reasonable creature, since it enables

one to find or make a reason for everything one has a mind to do.

Keimer and I liv'd on a pretty good familiar footing, and agreed

tolerably well, for he suspected nothing of my setting up. He retained a

great deal of his old enthusiasms and lov'd argumentation. We therefore

had many disputations. I used to work him so with my Socratic method,

and had trepann'd him so often by questions apparently so distant from

any point we had in hand, and yet by degrees lead to the point, and

brought him into difficulties and contradictions, that at last he grew

ridiculously cautious, and would hardly answer me the most common

question, without asking first, "What do you intend to infer from that?"

However, it gave him so high an opinion of my abilities in the confuting

way, that he seriously proposed my being his colleague in a project he

had of setting up a new sect. He was to preach the doctrines, and I was

to confound all opponents. When he came to explain with me upon the

doctrines, I found several conundrums which I objected to, unless I

might have my way a little too, and introduce some of mine.

Keimer wore his beard at full length, because somewhere in the Mosaic

law it is said, "Thou shalt not mar the corners of thy beard." He

likewise kept the Seventh day, Sabbath; and these two points were

essentials with him. I dislik'd both; but agreed to admit them upon

condition of his adopting the doctrine of using no animal food. "I

doubt," said he, "my constitution will not bear that." I assur'd him it

would, and that he would be the better for it. He was usually a great

glutton, and I promised myself some diversion in half starving him. He

agreed to try the practice, if I would keep him company. I did so, and

we held it for three months. We had our victuals dress'd, and brought to

us regularly by a woman in the neighborhood, who had from me a list of

forty dishes to be prepar'd for us at different times, in all which

there was neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, and the whim suited me the

better at this time from the cheapness of it, not costing us above

eighteenpence sterling each per week. I have since kept several Lents

most strictly, leaving the common diet for that, and that for the

common, abruptly, without the least inconvenience, so that I think there

is little in the advice of making those changes by easy gradations. I

went on pleasantly, but poor Keimer suffered grievously, tired of the

project, long'd for the flesh-pots of Egypt, and order'd a roast pig. He

invited me and two women friends to dine with him; but, it being brought

too soon upon table, he could not resist the temptation, and ate the

whole before we came.

I had made some courtship during this time to Miss Read. I had a great

respect and affection for her, and had some reason to believe she had

the same for me; but, as I was about to take a long voyage, and we were

both very young, only a little above eighteen, it was thought most

prudent by her mother to prevent our going too far at present, as a

marriage, if it was to take place, would be more convenient after my

return, when I should be, as I expected, set up in my business. Perhaps,

too, she thought my expectations not so well founded as I imagined them

to be.

My chief acquaintances at this time were Charles Osborne, Joseph Watson,

and James Ralph, all lovers of reading. The two first were clerks to an

eminent scrivener or conveyancer in the town, Charles Brogden; the other

was clerk to a merchant. Watson was a pious, sensible young man, of

great integrity; the others rather more lax in their principles of

religion, particularly Ralph, who, as well as Collins, had been

unsettled by me, for which they both made me suffer. Osborne was

sensible, candid, frank; sincere and affectionate to his friends; but,

in literary matters, too fond of criticising. Ralph was ingenious,

genteel in his manners, and extremely eloquent; I think I never knew a

prettier talker. Both of them great admirers of poetry, and began to try

their hands in little pieces. Many pleasant walks we four had together

on Sundays into the woods, near Schuylkill, where we read to one

another, and conferr'd on what we read.

Ralph was inclin'd to pursue the study of poetry, not doubting but he

might become eminent in it, and make his fortune by it, alleging that

the best poets must, when they first began to write, make as many faults

as he did. Osborne dissuaded him, assur'd him he had no genius for

poetry, and advis'd him to think of nothing beyond the business he was

bred to; that, in the mercantile way, tho' he had no stock, he might, by

his diligence and punctuality, recommend himself to employment as a

factor, and in time acquire wherewith to trade on his own account. I

approv'd the amusing one's self with poetry now and then, so far as to

improve one's language, but no farther.

On this it was propos'd that we should each of us, at our next meeting,

produce a piece of our own composing, in order to improve by our mutual

observations, criticisms, and corrections. As language and expression

were what we had in view, we excluded all considerations of invention by

agreeing that the task should be a version of the eighteenth Psalm,

which describes the descent of a Deity. When the time of our meeting

drew nigh, Ralph called on me first, and let me know his piece was

ready. I told him I had been busy, and, having little inclination, had

done nothing. He then show'd me his piece for my opinion, and I much

approv'd it, as it appear'd to me to have great merit. "Now," says he,

"Osborne never will allow the least merit in any thing of mine, but

makes 1000 criticisms out of mere envy. He is not so jealous of you; I

wish, therefore, you would take this piece, and produce it as yours; I

will pretend not to have had time, and so produce nothing. We shall then

see what he will say to it." It was agreed, and I immediately

transcrib'd it, that it might appear in my own hand.

We met; Watson's performance was read; there were some beauties in it,

but many defects. Osborne's was read; it was much better; Ralph did it

justice; remarked some faults, but applauded the beauties. He himself

had nothing to produce. I was backward; seemed desirous of being

excused; had not had sufficient time to correct, etc.; but no excuse

could be admitted; produce I must. It was read and repeated; Watson and

Osborne gave up the contest, and join'd in applauding it. Ralph only

made some criticisms, and propos'd some amendments; but I defended my

text. Osborne was against Ralph, and told him he was no better a critic

than poet, so he dropt the argument. As they two went home together,

Osborne expressed himself still more strongly in favor of what he

thought my production; having restrain'd himself before, as he said,

lest I should think it flattery. "But who would have imagin'd," said he,

"that Franklin had been capable of such a performance; such painting,

such force, such fire! He has even improv'd the original. In his common

conversation he seems to have no choice of words; he hesitates and

blunders; and yet, good God! how he writes!" When we next met, Ralph

discovered the trick we had plaid him, and Osborne was a little laught

at.

This transaction fixed Ralph in his resolution of becoming a poet. I did

all I could to dissuade him from it, but he continued scribbling verses

till Pope cured him. He became, however, a pretty good prose writer.

More of him hereafter. But, as I may not have occasion again to mention

the other two, I shall just remark here, that Watson died in my arms a

few years after, much lamented, being the best of our set. Osborne went

to the West Indies, where he became an eminent lawyer and made money,

but died young. He and I had made a serious agreement, that the one who

happen'd first to die should, if possible, make a friendly visit to the

other, and acquaint him how he found things in that separate state. But

he never fulfill'd his promise.

The governor, seeming to like my company, had me frequently to his

house, and his setting me up was always mention'd as a fixed thing. I

was to take with me letters recommendatory to a number of his friends,

besides the letter of credit to furnish me with the necessary money for

purchasing the press and types, paper, etc. For these letters I was

appointed to call at different times, when they were to be ready, but a

future time was still named. Thus he went on till the ship, whose

departure too had been several times postponed, was on the point of

sailing. Then, when I call'd to take my leave and receive the letters,

his secretary, Dr. Bard, came out to me and said the governor was

extremely busy in writing, but would be down at Newcastle before the

ship, and there the letters would be delivered to me.

Ralph, though married, and having one child, had determined to accompany

me in this voyage. It was thought he intended to establish a

correspondence, and obtain goods to sell on commission; but I found

afterwards, that, thro' some discontent with his wife's relations, he

purposed to leave her on their hands, and never return again. Having

taken leave of my friends, and interchang'd some promises with Miss

Read, I left Philadelphia in the ship, which anchor'd at Newcastle. The

governor was there; but when I went to his lodging, the secretary came

to me from him with the civillest message in the world, that he could

not then see me, being engaged in business of the utmost importance, but

should send the letters to me on board, wish'd me heartily a good voyage

and a speedy return, etc. I returned on board a little puzzled, but

still not doubting.

Mr. Andrew Hamilton, a famous lawyer of Philadelphia, had taken passage

in the same ship for himself and son, and with Mr. Denham, a Quaker

merchant, and Messrs. Onion and Russel, masters of an iron work in

Maryland, had engag'd the great cabin; so that Ralph and I were forced

to take up with a berth in the steerage, and none on board knowing us,

were considered as ordinary persons. But Mr. Hamilton and his son (it

was James, since governor) return'd from Newcastle to Philadelphia, the

father being recall'd by a great fee to plead for a seized ship; and,

just before we sail'd, Colonel French coming on board, and showing me

great respect, I was more taken notice of, and, with my friend Ralph,

invited by the other gentlemen to come into the cabin, there being now

room. Accordingly, we remov'd thither.

Understanding that Colonel French had brought on board the governor's

despatches, I ask'd the captain for those letters that were to be under

my care. He said all were put into the bag together and he could not

then come at them; but, before we landed in England, I should have an

opportunity of picking them out; so I was satisfied for the present, and

we proceeded on our voyage. We had a sociable company in the cabin, and

lived uncommonly well, having the addition of all Mr. Hamilton's stores,

who had laid in plentifully. In this passage Mr. Denham contracted a

friendship for me that continued during his life. The voyage was

otherwise not a pleasant one, as we had a great deal of bad weather.

When we came into the Channel, the captain kept his word with me, and

gave me an opportunity of examining the bag for the governor's letters.

I found none upon which my name was put as under my care. I picked out

six or seven, that, by the handwriting, I thought might be the promised

letters, especially as one of them was directed to Basket, the king's

printer, and another to some stationer. We arriv'd in London the 24th of

December, 1724. I waited upon the stationer, who came first in my way,

delivering the letter as from Governor Keith. "I don't know such a

person," says he; but, opening the letter, "O! this is from Riddlesden.

I have lately found him to be a compleat rascal, and I will have nothing

to do with him, nor receive any letters from him." So, putting the

letter into my hand, he turn'd on his heel and left me to serve some

customer. I was surprized to find these were not the governor's letters;

and, after recollecting and comparing circumstances, I began to doubt

his sincerity. I found my friend Denham, and opened the whole affair to

him. He let me into Keith's character; told me there was not the least

probability that he had written any letters for me; that no one, who

knew him, had the smallest dependence on him; and he laught at the

notion of the governor's giving me a letter of credit, having, as he

said, no credit to give. On my expressing some concern about what I

should do, he advised me to endeavor getting some employment in the way

of my business. "Among the printers here," said he, "you will improve

yourself, and when you return to America, you will set up to greater

advantage."

We both of us happen'd to know, as well as the stationer, that

Riddlesden, the attorney, was a very knave. He had half ruin'd Miss

Read's father by persuading him to be bound for him. By this letter it

appear'd there was a secret scheme on foot to the prejudice of Hamilton

(suppos'd to be then coming over with us); and that Keith was concerned

in it with Riddlesden. Denham, who was a friend of Hamilton's thought he

ought to be acquainted with it; so, when he arriv'd in England, which

was soon after, partly from resentment and ill-will to Keith and

Riddlesden, and partly from good-will to him, I waited on him, and gave

him the letter. He thank'd me cordially, the information being of

importance to him; and from that time he became my friend, greatly to my

advantage afterwards on many occasions.

But what shall we think of a governor's playing such pitiful tricks, and

imposing so grossly on a poor ignorant boy! It was a habit he had

acquired. He wish'd to please everybody; and, having little to give, he

gave expectations. He was otherwise an ingenious, sensible man, a pretty

good writer, and a good governor for the people, tho' not for his

constituents, the proprietaries, whose instructions he sometimes

disregarded. Several of our best laws were of his planning and passed

during his administration.

Ralph and I were inseparable companions. We took lodgings together in

Little Britain at three shillings and sixpence a week--as much as we

could then afford. He found some relations, but they were poor, and

unable to assist him. He now let me know his intentions of remaining in

London, and that he never meant to return to Philadelphia. He had

brought no money with him, the whole he could muster having been

expended in paying his passage. I had fifteen pistoles; so he borrowed

occasionally of me to subsist, while he was looking out for business. He

first endeavored to get into the playhouse, believing himself qualify'd

for an actor; but Wilkes, to whom he apply'd, advis'd him candidly not

to think of that employment, as it was impossible he should succeed in

it. Then he propos'd to Roberts, a publisher in Paternoster Row, to

write for him a weekly paper like the Spectator, on certain conditions,

which Roberts did not approve. Then he endeavored to get employment as a

hackney writer, to copy for the stationers and lawyers about the Temple,

but could find no vacancy.

I immediately got into work at Palmer's, then a famous printing-house in

Bartholomew Close, and here I continu'd near a year. I was pretty

diligent, but spent with Ralph a good deal of my earnings in going to

plays and other places of amusement. We had together consumed all my

pistoles, and now just rubbed on from hand to mouth. He seem'd quite to

forget his wife and child, and I, by degrees, my engagements with Miss

Read, to whom I never wrote more than one letter, and that was to let

her know I was not likely soon to return. This was another of the great

errata of my life, which I should wish to correct if I were to live it

over again. In fact, by our expenses, I was constantly kept unable to

pay my passage.

At Palmer's I was employed in composing for the second edition of

Wollaston's "Religion of Nature." Some of his reasonings not appearing

to me well founded, I wrote a little metaphysical piece in which I made

remarks on them. It was entitled "A Dissertation on Liberty and

Necessity, Pleasure and Pain." I inscribed it to my friend Ralph; I

printed a small number. It occasion'd my being more consider'd by Mr.

Palmer as a young man of some ingenuity, tho' he seriously expostulated

with me upon the principles of my pamphlet, which to him appear'd

abominable. My printing this pamphlet was another erratum. While I

lodg'd in Little Britain, I made an acquaintance with one Wilcox, a

bookseller, whose shop was at the next door. He had an immense

collection of second-hand books. Circulating libraries were not then in

use; but we agreed that, on certain reasonable terms, which I have now

forgotten, I might take, read, and return any of his books. This I

esteem'd a great advantage, and I made as much use of it as I could.

My pamphlet by some means falling into the hands of one Lyons, a

surgeon, author of a book entitled "The Infallibility of Human

Judgment," it occasioned an acquaintance between us. He took great

notice of me, called on me often to converse on those subjects, carried

me to the Horns, a pale alehouse in ------ Lane, Cheapside, and

introduced me to Dr. Mandeville, author of the "Fable of the Bees," who

had a club there, of which he was the soul, being a most facetious,

entertaining companion. Lyons, too, introduced me to Dr. Pemberton, at

Batson's Coffee-house, who promis'd to give me an opportunity, some time

or other, of seeing Sir Isaac Newton, of which I was extreamely

desirous; but this never happened.

I had brought over a few curiosities, among which the principal was a

purse made of the asbestos, which purifies by fire. Sir Hans Sloane

heard of it, came to see me, and invited me to his house in Bloomsbury

Square, where he show'd me all his curiosities, and persuaded me to let

him add that to the number, for which he paid me handsomely.

In our house there lodg'd a young woman, a milliner, who, I think, had a

shop in the Cloisters. She had been genteelly bred, was sensible and

lively, and of most pleasing conversation. Ralph read plays to her in

the evenings, they grew intimate, she took another lodging, and he

followed her. They liv'd together some time; but, he being still out of

business, and her income not sufficient to maintain them with her child,

he took a resolution of going from London, to try for a country school,

which he thought himself well qualified to undertake, as he wrote an

excellent hand, and was a master of arithmetic and accounts. This,

however, he deemed a business below him, and confident of future better

fortune, when he should be unwilling to have it known that he once was

so meanly employed, he changed his name, and did me the honor to assume

mine; for I soon after had a letter from him, acquainting me that he was

settled in a small village (in Berkshire, I think it was, where he

taught reading and writing to ten or a dozen boys, at sixpence each per

week), recommending Mrs. T------ to my care, and desiring me to write to

him, directing for Mr. Franklin, schoolmaster, at such a place.

He continued to write frequently, sending me large specimens of an epic

poem which he was then composing, and desiring my remarks and

corrections. These I gave him from time to time, but endeavor'd rather

to discourage his proceeding. One of Young's Satires was then just

published. I copy'd and sent him a great part of it, which set in a

strong light the folly of pursuing the Muses with any hope of

advancement by them. All was in vain; sheets of the poem continued to

come by every post. In the mean time, Mrs. T------, having on his

account lost her friends and business, was often in distresses, and us'd

to send for me, and borrow what I could spare to help her out of them. I

grew fond of her company, and, being at that time under no religious

restraint, and presuming upon my importance to her, I attempted

familiarities (another erratum) which she repuls'd with a proper

resentment, and acquainted him with my behaviour. This made a breach

between us; and, when he returned again to London, he let me know he

thought I had cancell'd all the obligations he had been under to me. So

I found I was never to expect his repaying me what I lent to him, or

advanc'd for him. This, however, was not then of much consequence, as he

was totally unable; and in the loss of his friendship I found myself

relieved from a burthen. I now began to think of getting a little money

beforehand, and, expecting better work, I left Palmer's to work at

Watts's, near Lincoln's Inn Fields, a still greater printing-house. Here

I continued all the rest of my stay in London.

At my first admission into this printing-house I took to working at

press, imagining I felt a want of the bodily exercise I had been us'd to

in America, where presswork is mix'd with composing. I drank only water;

the other workmen, near fifty in number, were great guzzlers of beer. On

occasion, I carried up and down stairs a large form of types in each

hand, when others carried but one in both hands. They wondered to see,

from this and several instances, that the Water-American, as they called

me, was stronger than themselves, who drank strong beer! We had an

alehouse boy who attended always in the house to supply the workmen. My

companion at the press drank every day a pint before breakfast, a pint

at breakfast with his bread and cheese, a pint between breakfast and

dinner, a pint at dinner, a pint in the afternoon about six o'clock, and

another when he had done his day's work. I thought it a detestable

custom; but it was necessary, he suppos'd, to drink strong beer, that he

might be strong to labor. I endeavored to convince him that the bodily

strength afforded by beer could only be in proportion to the grain or

flour of the barley dissolved in the water of which it was made; that

there was more flour in a pennyworth of bread; and therefore, if he

would eat that with a pint of water, it would give him more strength

than a quart of beer. He drank on, however, and had four or five

shillings to pay out of his wages every Saturday night for that muddling

liquor; an expense I was free from. And thus these poor devils keep

themselves always under.

Watts, after some weeks, desiring to have me in the composing-room, I

left the pressmen; a new bien venu or sum for drink, being five

shillings, was demanded of me by the compositors. I thought it an

imposition, as I had paid below; the master thought so too, and forbad

my paying it. I stood out two or three weeks, was accordingly considered

as an excommunicate, and had so many little pieces of private mischief

done me, by mixing my sorts, transposing my pages, breaking my matter,

etc., etc., if I were ever so little out of the room, and all ascribed

to the chappel ghost, which they said ever haunted those not regularly

admitted, that, notwithstanding the master's protection, I found myself

oblig'd to comply and pay the money, convinc'd of the folly of being on

ill terms with those one is to live with continually.

I was now on a fair footing with them, and soon acquir'd considerable

influence. I propos'd some reasonable alterations in their chappel [4]

laws, and carried them against all opposition. From my example, a great

part of them left their muddling breakfast of beer, and bread, and

cheese, finding they could with me be suppli'd from a neighboring house

with a large porringer of hot water-gruel, sprinkled with pepper,

crumbl'd with bread, and a bit of butter in it, for the price of a pint

of beer, viz., three half-pence. This was a more comfortable as well as

cheaper breakfast, and kept their heads clearer. Those who continued

sotting with beer all day, were often, by not paying, out of credit at

the alehouse, and us'd to make interest with me to get beer; their

light, as they phrased it, being out. I watch'd the pay-table on

Saturday night, and collected what I stood engag'd for them, having to

pay sometimes near thirty shillings a week on their account. This, and

my being esteem'd a pretty good riggite, that is, a jocular verbal

satirist, supported my consequence in the society. My constant

attendance (I never making a St. Monday) recommended me to the master;

and my uncommon quickness at composing occasioned my being put upon all

work of dispatch, which was generally better paid. So I went on now very

agreeably.

[4] "A printing-house is always called a chapel by the workmen, the

origin of which appears to have been that printing was first carried on

in England in an ancient chapel converted into a printing-house, and the

title has been preserved by tradition. The bien venu among the printers

answers to the terms entrance and footing among mechanics; thus a

journeyman, on entering a printing-house, was accustomed to pay one or

more gallons of beer for the good of the chapel; this custom was falling

into disuse thirty years ago; it is very properly rejected entirely in

the United States."--W. T. F.

My lodging in Little Britain being too remote, I found another in

Duke-street, opposite to the Romish Chapel. It was two pair of stairs

backwards, at an Italian warehouse. A widow lady kept the house; she had

a daughter, and a maid servant, and a journeyman who attended the

warehouse, but lodg'd abroad. After sending to inquire my character at

the house where I last lodg'd she agreed to take me in at the same rate,

3s. 6d. per week; cheaper, as she said, from the protection she expected

in having a man lodge in the house. She was a widow, an elderly woman;

had been bred a Protestant, being a clergyman's daughter, but was

converted to the Catholic religion by her husband, whose memory she much

revered; had lived much among people of distinction, and knew a thousand

anecdotes of them as far back as the times of Charles the Second. She

was lame in her knees with the gout, and, therefore, seldom stirred out

of her room, so sometimes wanted company; and hers was so highly amusing

to me, that I was sure to spend an evening with her whenever she desired

it. Our supper was only half an anchovy each, on a very little strip of

bread and butter, and half a pint of ale between us; but the

entertainment was in her conversation. My always keeping good hours, and

giving little trouble in the family, made her unwilling to part with me;

so that, when I talk'd of a lodging I had heard of, nearer my business,

for two shillings a week, which, intent as I now was on saving money,

made some difference, she bid me not think of it, for she would abate me

two shillings a week for the future; so I remained with her at one

shilling and sixpence as long as I staid in London.