Franklin as a Man of Business
When some one said to Erskine that punning was the lowest kind of wit, he
replied that the statement was true, because punning was the foundation of
all wit.
The business career of Franklin did not move upon such an exalted plane as
his scientific or political career, but it was the basis on which the
entire superstructure of his renown as a philosopher and a statesman was
built up; inasmuch as it was his early release from pecuniary cares which
enabled him to apply himself with single-minded devotion to electrical
experiments, and to accept at the hands of the people of Pennsylvania the
missions to England which opened up the wider horizon of his postmeridian
life. Quite apart, however, from the scientific and political reputation,
to which his material success smoothed the way, his business career has an
intrinsic interest of its own. In itself alone, when the limited
opportunities afforded by Colonial conditions for the accumulation of a
fortune are considered, it is a remarkable illustration of the extent to
which sleepless energy and wise conduct rise superior to the most
discouraging circumstances. Comparatively few young men aspire to be
philosophers or statesmen, but almost every young man of merit finds
himself under the necessity of striving for a pecuniary independence or at
any rate for a pecuniary livelihood. How this object can be most
effectually accomplished, is the problem, above all others in the world,
the most importunate; and the effort to solve it from generation to
generation is one of the things that invest human existence with perpetual
freshness. To a young man, involved in the hopes and anxieties of his first
struggles for a foothold in the world, the history of Franklin, as a
business man, could not but be full of inspiration, even if it had not
flowered into higher forms of achievement, and were not reflected in
publications of rare literary value. But, putting altogether out of sight
the great fame acquired by Franklin in scientific and political fields, a
peculiar vividness is imparted to his business career by other
circumstances which should not be overlooked. His main calling was that of
a printer, a vocation of unusual importance and influence in a free
community. "I, Benjamin Franklin, of Philadelphia, printer, late Minister
Plenipotentiary from the United States of America to the Court of France,
now President of the State of Pennsylvania," is the way in which he
describes himself in his will executed less than two years before his
death. And from that day to this, upon one memorable occasion or another,
guilds of printers on both sides of the Atlantic have acclaimed him as
little less than the patron saint of their craft.
Two of his commercial enterprises were the _Pennsylvania Gazette_, the most
readable newspaper of Colonial America, and _Poor Richard's Almanac_, the
only almanac that has ever attained the rank of literature. And finally the
story of Franklin's business vicissitudes and the fortune, that he
ultimately won, has been pictured with incomparable distinctness in the
fascinating _Autobiography_. There he has set forth, as no other man with
such lowly beginnings has had the genius to set forth, the slow, painful
progress of a printer and merchant, under harsh and rigid conditions, from
poverty to wealth. That fortune cannot be won under such circumstances
except by the exercise of untiring industry, pinching frugality and
unceasing vigilance, but that, with good health, good character, unquailing
courage and due regard to Father Abraham's harangue, every man can conquer
adversity, is the moral which the _Autobiography_ has for the youth who has
no inheritance but his own hands or brain. It is sad to reflect how much
more impressive and stimulating this moral would be, if the _Autobiography_
did not also disagreeably remind us that pecuniary ideals subject human
character to many peculiar temptations of their own, and that, as the
result of the destructive competition, which extends even to the sapling
struggling in the thick set copse for its share of light and air, the
success of one man in business is too often founded upon the ruins of that
of another.
The business life of Franklin began when he was ten years old. At that age,
he was taken from Mr. Brownell's school in Boston, and set to the task at
the Blue Ball, his father's shop, of "cutting wick for the candles, filling
the dipping mold and the molds for cast candles, attending the shop, going
of errands, etc." At this he continued until he was twelve years of age,
but his duties were so distasteful to him that his father feared that,
unless he could find some more congenial occupation for him, he would run
off to sea. To avert this danger, Josiah sometimes took Benjamin about with
him, and showed him joiners, bricklayers, turners, braziers and other
artisans at their several trades in the hope of awakening an inclination in
him for one of them. The walks were not unprofitable to the son.
It has ever since [he says in the _Autobiography_] 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.
After this circuit of the various handicrafts, Josiah decided to make a
cutler of Benjamin, and he placed him on probation with Samuel Franklin, a
cutler, and a son of Josiah's brother, Benjamin. But Samuel thought that he
should be paid a fee for instructing his cousin, and the suggestion was so
displeasing to Josiah that he took the lad back to his own home. He
doubtless felt that Samuel might have remembered whose roof it was that had
sheltered his father when the latter first came over from England to
Boston.
The real inclination, however, that Benjamin discovered at this period of
his life was for books. His father observed it, and decided to make a
printer of him, and it was when James, an older son of Josiah, returned
from England, with a press and letters, to set up as a printer at Boston,
that Benjamin was finally persuaded to enter into indentures of
apprenticeship with him. He did not yield at once, because, while he
preferred the business of a printer to that of a tallow chandler, the salt
of the sea was still in his blood. Under the provisions of the indentures,
he was to serve as his brother's apprentice, until he was twenty-one years
of age, but he was to be allowed the wages of a journeyman during the last
year of the apprenticeship. It was a fortunate thing for the apprentice
that he should have become bound to a master, who had been trained for his
craft in London, and the extraordinary skill which he early acquired as a
printer was probably due in part to this circumstance. Among the
publications printed by James, while the apprenticeship lasted, were
Stoddard's _Treatise on Conversion_, Stone's _Short Catechism_ and _A
Prefatory Letter about Psalmody_. These publications were all of the kind
that Franklin afterwards came to regard as hopelessly dry pemmican. Other
publications, printed by James Franklin, during the same time, were
various New England sermons, _The Isle of Man, or Legal Proceedings in
Manshire against Sin_, an allegory, _A Letter from One in the Country to
his Friend in Boston_, _News from the Moon_, _A Friendly Check from a kind
Relation to the Chief Cannoneer_ and _A Word of Comfort to a Melancholy
Country_--all political pamphlets,--several papers on inoculation, and a
production bearing the quaint title _Hooped Petticoats Arraigned by the
Light of Nature and the Law of God_. But it was through a publication of a
very different nature from these that James Franklin has come to occupy his
position of prominence in the life of his apprentice. This publication was
the _New England Courant_, already mentioned above. Its first issue
appeared at Boston on August 21, 1721, and so bold were its pungent
comments upon the clergy and magistrates of the Colony that, within a year,
James Franklin was by the Council summoned before it for what it conceived
to be highly injurious reflections upon the civil authorities. The
reflections consisted in this: A letter from Newport in the _Courant_ for
June 11, 1722, stated that a piratical vessel had been seen off Block
Island, and that two vessels were being fitted out to pursue her. "We are
advised from Boston," was the conclusion of the letter, "that the
Government of the Massachusetts are fitting out a ship (The Flying Horse)
to go after the pirates, to be commanded by Captain Peter Papillon, and
'tis thought he will sail some time this month, wind and weather
permitting." The letter, of course, was fictitious, and but a mild piece of
satire in comparison with some of the prior utterances of the _Courant_.
But this time the magistracy of the Colony was too much exasperated by the
past misdemeanors of the _Courant_ to overlook such a gibe at the expense
of its activity. When questioned by the Council, James admitted that he was
the owner of the paper, but refused to disclose the name of the author of
the offensive letter. Benjamin was questioned, too, and united in the
refusal. This was excusable in him as it was a point of honor for an
apprentice not to betray his master's secrets, but James had no such plea
behind which to shelter himself. Indeed, his bearing before the Council
appears to have been too haughty to warrant the idea that he was much
concerned about bringing forward any sort of defence. The examination
resulted in a decision by the Council that the letter was "a high affront
to the Government" and an order to the Sheriff to commit James to the
Boston Jail.
A week in jail was sufficient to bring James a whining suppliant to the
feet of his oppressors. At the end of that time, he addressed an humble
petition to the Council, acknowledging his folly in affronting the civil
government, and his indecent behavior, when arraigned for it, and praying
for forgiveness and less rigorous confinement. The petition was granted,
but, when he was released, he had been a whole month in durance. In the
meantime, however, Benjamin, who had attracted the attention of his brother
and the group of writers, who contributed to the columns of the _Courant_,
by a sprightly series of letters signed Silence Dogood, of which we shall
say something hereafter, had been conducting the publication, and, with the
aid of his literary coadjutors, assailing the proceedings of the Council in
prose and verse. These attacks continued for six months after James was
released, and were borne by the Council with a supineness which was
probably due to the fear of exciting popular sympathy with the _Courant_ as
a champion of free speech. But in the issue of the _Courant_ for January
14, 1723, appeared an article so caustic that the Council could contain
itself no longer. It was headed by the well known lines of _Hudibras_,
which are significant of the spirit in which the youthful Franklin
confronted the whole system of Puritan Asceticism:
In the wicked there's no vice,
Of which the saints have not a spice;
And yet that thing that's pious in
The one, in t'other is a sin.
Is't not ridiculous and nonsense,
A saint should be a slave to conscience?
The performance has so many earmarks of Franklin's peculiar modes of
thought and speech that it is hard not to ascribe its authorship to him
without hesitation. Besides thrusts at the Governor and other public
functionaries, it lashed the pietists of the place and time with unsparing
severity. Many persons, it declared, who seemed to be more than "ordinarily
religious," were often found to be the greatest cheats imaginable. They
would dissemble and lie, snuffle and whiffle, and, if it were possible,
would overreach and defraud all who dealt with them.
For my own part [the writer further declared] when I
find a man full of religious cant and pellavar, I
presently suspect him to be a knave. Religion is,
indeed, the _principal thing_; but too much of it is
worse than none at all. The world abounds with knaves
and villains; but of all knaves, the _religious knave_
is the worst; and villainies acted under the cloak of
religion are the most execrable. Moral honesty, though
it will not of itself, carry a man to heaven, yet I am
sure there is no going thither _without it_. And
however such men, of whom I have been speaking, may
palliate their wickedness, they will find that
_publicans and harlots will enter the kingdom of heaven
before themselves_.
The same day, on which this issue of the _Courant_ appeared, the Council
passed an order, denouncing it in scathing terms, and appointing a
committee of three persons to consider and report what was proper for the
Court to do with regard to it. It did not take the committee long to
report. They condemned the _Courant_ in stern language as an offence to
church and state, and "for precaution of the like offence for the future,"
humbly proposed that "James Franklin, the printer and publisher thereof,
be strictly forbidden by this Court to print or publish the New England
_Courant_, or any other pamphlet or paper of the like nature, except it be
first supervised by the Secretary of this Province." The report was
approved, and followed by an order, carrying its recommendations into
execution. But the proprietor of the _Courant_ and his literary retainers
were equal to the crisis. They assembled at once, and resolved that the
paper should thenceforth be issued in the name of Benjamin, at that time a
boy of seventeen. At the same time, to retain his hold on his apprentice
until the expiration of his term, James resorted to a knavish expedient.
The contrivance [the _Autobiography_ tells us] 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.
As the final step in the fraud, the next issue of the _Courant_ announced
that the late publisher of the paper, finding that so many inconveniences
would arise by his taking the manuscripts and public news to be supervised
by the Secretary as to render his carrying it on unprofitable, had entirely
dropped the undertaking. The _Courant_ itself, however, went merrily along
in its old evil courses, despite the fact that the same issue, speaking
through its new management, as if it were an entire stranger to its guilty
past, deprecated newspaper license in the strongest terms, looked forward
to a future of genial good-humor only, and even gave expression to such a
deceitful sentiment as this: "Pieces of pleasancy and mirth have a secret
charm in them to allay the heats and tumors of our spirits, and to make a
man forget his restless resentments." These debonair pretences were hardly
uttered before they were laid aside, and the attacks on the clergy and
their sanctimonious adherents renewed with as much wit and vivacity as
formerly, if not more; and so eagerly read were the lampoons of the
_Courant_ by the population of Boston, which, perhaps, after all,
stiff-necked as it was, did not differ from most urban populations in
containing more sinners than saints, that, under the management of "Old
Janus," the mask behind which young Franklin concealed his features, the
_Courant_ was in a few months able to raise its price from ten to twelve
shillings a year. It was a lawless sheet, but, in its contest against
arbitrary power and muffled speech, it was swimming with a current that was
to gather up additional elements of irresistible volume and force at every
stage of its journey towards the open main of present American political
ideas.
In the management of the _Courant_, Franklin had scored his first business
success. James might well have made his gifted apprentice his co-partner;
but, whether from jealousy, the sauciness of the apprentice, mere choler,
or the domineering temper that we should naturally expect in a man who
meekly kissed the hand of tyranny after a single week in jail, he was far
from doing anything of the sort. Smarting under the snubs and blows
administered to him by a brother, from whose fraternal relationship to him
he thought that he was entitled to receive somewhat more than the ordinary
indulgence shown an apprentice, Benjamin, to use his own words, took upon
him to assert his freedom; presuming that James would not venture to
produce the new indentures. When James found that his apprentice was about
to leave him, he prevented him from securing employment with any other
Boston printer by warning them all against him. The consequence was that
the boy, between his reputation as "a young genius that had a turn for
libelling and satyr," the horror with which he was pointed at by good
people as an infidel or atheist, the lowering eye of the Provincial
Government, and the rancor with which he was pursued by his brother, found
himself under a cloud of opprobrium from which he could not escape except
by making his home in another place than Boston. Knowing that his father
would detain him, if he learnt that he was about to go elsewhere, he sold
enough of his books to obtain a small sum of money for his journey, and
contrived, through the management of Collins, to be secretly taken on board
of a sloop on the eve of sailing for New York, under the pretence of his
being a young acquaintance of Collins, who had got a naughty girl with
child. The flight which followed has been narrated and pictured until it is
almost as well known as the exodus of the Old Testament. He would be a rash
writer, indeed, who imagined that he could tell that story over again in
any words except those of Franklin himself without dispelling a charm as
subtle as that which forbids a seashell to be removed from the seashore.
How, with a fair wind, he found himself, a boy of seventeen, in New
York,[6] without a claim of friendship, acquaintance or recommendation upon
a human being in that town; how he fruitlessly applied for employment to
the only printer there, William Bradford, and was advised by him to go on
to Philadelphia; how, owing to an ugly squall, he was thirty hours on the
waters of New York Bay before he could make the Kill, without victuals, or
any drink except a bottle of filthy rum, and with no companion except his
boatman and a drunken Dutchman; how after breaking up a fever, brought on
by this experience, with copious draughts of cold water, he trudged on foot
all the way across New Jersey from Amboy to Burlington; stopping the first
day for the night at a poor inn, where travel-stained and drenched to the
skin by rain, he was in danger of being taken up as a runaway servant;
stopping the second day at an inn within eight or ten miles of Burlington,
kept by a Dr. Brown, an infidel vagabond, with a flavor of letters, and
arriving the next morning at Burlington, where a kindly old woman of whom
he had bought gingerbread, to eat on his way down the Delaware, gave him a
dinner of ox cheek with great good will, and accepted only a pot of ale in
return--all these things are told in the _Autobiography_ in words as well
known to the ordinary American boy as the prominent incidents of his own
life. And so also is the descent of the Delaware in the timely boat that
hove in sight as Benjamin was walking in the evening by the water-side at
Burlington on the day of his arrival there, and took him aboard, putting in
about midnight at Cooper's Creek for fear that it had passed in the
darkness the town which has since grown to be a vast city more luminous at
night than the heavens above it, and landing at Market Street,
Philadelphia, the next day, Sunday, at eight or nine o'clock. Here the
dirty, hungry wayfarer found himself in a land marked by many surprising
contrasts with the one from which he had fled. There was no biscuit to be
had in the town, nor could he even obtain a three-penny loaf at the baker
shop on Second Street; but for three pence he purchased to his astonishment
three great puffy rolls, so large that, after sating his hunger with one of
them, as he walked up Market Street as far as Fourth Street, and then back
by other streets for a drink of river-water to the Market Street Wharf, he
still had the other two left to give to a mother and child, who had come
down the Delaware with him, and were on their way to a more distant point.
But, doubtless, of all the things in that unfamiliar place, the one that
seemed to him most unlike his former home was the serene, mild face that
religion wore. It must have been like mollifying oil poured into a wound
for him to find himself in such an edifice as the Great Quaker meeting
house near the market with a placid, clean-dressed concourse of
worshippers, whose brooding silence, so unlike the strident voices of the
Saints, with whom he had been warring in Boston, soon lulled him to sleep;
a sleep not so deep or so long, however, that the youth, exhausted by the
labor of rowing, and the want of rest, could not, when diverted from the
sign of the disreputable Three Mariners, and directed to the sign of the
more reputable Crooked Billet, in Water Street, by a friendly Quaker guide,
consume in profound slumber, with a brief intermission for supper, the
entire time between dinner and the next morning. He was too young yet to
need to be reminded by any Poor Richard that there is sleeping enough in
the grave, and the next morning was to see the beginning of a struggle,
first for subsistence, and then for a fortune, hard as a muscle tense with
the utmost strain that it can bear.
With the return of day, he made himself as tidy as he could without the aid
of his clothes chest, which was coming around by sea, and repaired to the
printing shop of Andrew Bradford, to whom he had been referred by William
Bradford, the father of Andrew, in New York. When he arrived at the shop,
he found the father there. By travelling on horseback, he had reached
Philadelphia before Benjamin. By him Benjamin was introduced to Andrew
Bradford, who received him civilly, and gave him breakfast but told him
that he was not at present in need of a hand, having recently secured one.
There was another printer in town, however, he said, lately set up, one
Keimer, who perhaps might employ him. If not, Benjamin was welcome to lodge
at his house, and he would give him a little work to do now and then until
he could find steadier employment for him.
Benjamin then went off to see Keimer; and William Bradford accompanied him;
for what purpose soon became apparent enough. "Neighbor," said Bradford, "I
have brought to see you a young man of your business; perhaps you may want
such a one." Keimer asked Benjamin a few questions, put a composing stick
in his hands to test his competency, and declared that he would employ him
soon though he had just then nothing for him to do. Then taking old
Bradford, whom he had never seen before, and whose relationship to Andrew
he never suspected, to be a friendly fellow townsman, he opened up his
plans and prospects to his visitors, and announced that he expected to get
the greater part of the printing business in Philadelphia into his hands.
This announcement prompted William Bradford to draw him on "by artful
questions, and starting little doubts, to explain all his views, what
interest he reli'd on, and in what manner he intended to proceed." "I,"
observes Franklin, "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."
There was room enough in Philadelphia for such an expert craftsman as
Benjamin. Andrew Bradford had not been bred to the business of printing,
and was very illiterate, and Keimer, though something of a scholar, was a
mere compositor, and knew nothing of presswork. His printing outfit
consisted of an old shattered press, and one small, worn-out font of
English letters. When Benjamin called on him, he was composing directly out
of his head an elegy on Aquila Rose, a worthy young Philadelphian who had
just died:
What mournful accents thus accost mine ear,
What doleful echoes hourly thus appear!
What sighs from melting hearts proclaim aloud
The solemn mourning of this numerous crowd.
In sable characters the news is read,
Our Rose is withered, and our Eagle's fled,
In that our dear Aquila Rose is dead.
These are a few of the many lines in which Keimer, disdaining ink-bottle
and quill, traced with his composing stick alone from birth to death the
life of his lost Lycidas. As there was no copy, and but one pair of cases,
and the threnody was likely to require all the letters that Keimer had, no
helper could be of any assistance to him. So Benjamin put the old press
into as good a condition as he could, and, promising Keimer to come back
and print off the elegy, as soon as it was transcribed into type from the
tablets of his brain, returned to Bradford's printing-house. Here he was
given a small task, and was lodged and boarded until Keimer sent for him to
strike off his poem. While he had been away, Keimer had procured another
pair of cases, and had been employed to reprint a pamphlet; and upon this
pamphlet Benjamin was put to work.
During the period of his employment by Keimer, an incident arose which gave
a decisive turn to his fortunes for a time. Happening to be at New Castle,
his brother-in-law, Robert Holmes, the master of a sloop that plied between
Boston and the Delaware River, heard that he was at Philadelphia, and wrote
to him, earnestly urging him to return to Boston. To this letter Benjamin
replied, thanking Holmes for his advice, but stating his reasons for
leaving Boston fully and in such a way as to convince him that the flight
from Boston was not so censurable as he supposed. The letter was shown by
Holmes to Sir William Keith, who read it, and was surprised when he was
told the age of the writer. Benjamin, he said, appeared to be a young man
of promising parts, and should, therefore, be encouraged, for the printers
at Philadelphia were wretched ones, and he did not doubt that, if Benjamin
would set up as a printer there, he would succeed. As to himself, he would
procure him the public printing and render him any other service in his
power. Before these circumstances were brought to the knowledge of
Benjamin, the Governor and Col. French of New Castle proceeded to look him
up, and one day, while he and Keimer were working together near the window
of the Keimer printing-office, they saw the pair coming across the street
in their fine clothes towards its door. As soon as they were heard at the
door, Keimer, assuming that they were calling upon him, ran down to greet
them, but the Governor inquired for Benjamin, walked upstairs, and, with a
condescension and politeness to which the youth was quite unaccustomed,
paid him many compliments, expressed a desire to be acquainted with him,
blamed him kindly for not making himself known to him, when Benjamin first
came to Philadelphia, and invited him to accompany him to the tavern where
he was going, he said, with Col. French to taste some excellent Madeira.
"I," says Franklin, "was not a little surprised, and Keimer star'd like a
pig poison'd." But the invitation was accepted, and, at a tavern, at the
corner of Third Street, and over the Madeira, Keith suggested that the
youth should become a printer on his own account, and pointed out to him
the likelihood of his success; and both he and Col. French assured him that
he would have their interest and influence for the purpose of securing the
public printing in Pennsylvania and the three Lower Counties on the
Delaware. When Benjamin stated that he doubted whether his father would
assist him in the venture, Keith replied that he would give him a letter to
Josiah, presenting the advantages of the scheme, and that he did not doubt
that it would be effectual. The result of the conversation was a secret
understanding that Benjamin should return to Boston in the first available
vessel with Keith's letter, and, while he was awaiting this vessel,
Benjamin continued at work with Keimer as usual; Keith sending for him now
and then to dine with him, and conversing with him in the most affable,
familiar and friendly manner imaginable.
Later a little vessel came along bound for Boston. With Keith's letter in
his possession, Benjamin took passage in her, and, after a dangerous voyage
of two weeks, found himself again in the city from which he had fled seven
months before. All the members of his family gave him a hearty welcome
except his brother James, but Josiah, after reading the Governor's letter,
and considering its contents for some days, expressed the opinion that he
must be a man of small discretion to think of setting up a boy in business
who wanted yet three years of being at man's estate. He flatly refused to
give his consent to the project, but wrote a civil letter to the Governor,
thanking him for the patronage that he had proffered Benjamin, and stating
his belief that his son was too young for such an enterprise. Nevertheless,
Josiah was pleased with the evidences of material success and standing that
his son had brought back with him from Philadelphia, and, when Benjamin
left Boston on his return to Philadelphia, it was with the approbation and
blessing of his parents, and some tokens, in the form of little gifts, of
their love, and with the promise, moreover, of help from Josiah, in case he
should not, by the time he reached the age of twenty-one, save enough money
by his industry and frugality to establish himself in business.
When Benjamin arrived at Philadelphia, and communicated Josiah's decision
to Keith, the Governor was not in the least disconcerted. There was a great
difference in persons he was so kind as to declare. Discretion did not
always accompany years, nor was youth always without it. "And since he will
not set you up," he said to Benjamin, "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, the
_Autobiography_ tells us, was uttered with such apparently heartfelt
cordiality that Benjamin did not entertain the slightest doubt of Keith's
sincerity, and, as he had kept, and was still keeping, his plans entirely
secret, there was no one more familiar with Keith's character than himself
to warn him that the actual value of Keith's promises was a very different
thing from their face value. Believing the Governor to be one of the best
men in the world to have thus unsolicited made such a generous offer to
him, Benjamin drew up an inventory calling for a small printing outfit of
the value of about one hundred pounds sterling, and handed it to him. It
met with his approval, but led him to ask whether it might not be of some
advantage for Benjamin to be on the spot in England to choose the type, and
to see that everything was good of its kind. Moreover, he suggested that,
when Benjamin was there, he might make some useful acquaintance, and
establish a profitable correspondence with book-sellers and stationers. To
the advantage of all this Benjamin could not but assent. "Then," said
Keith, "get yourself ready to go with Annis"; meaning the master of the
_London Hope_, the annual ship, which was the only one at that time plying
regularly between London and Philadelphia.
Until Annis sailed, Benjamin continued in the employment of Keimer, whom he
still kept entirely in ignorance of his project, and was frequently at the
home of Keith. During this time, Keith's intention of establishing him in
business was always mentioned as a fixed thing, and it was understood that
he was to take with him letters of recommendation from Keith to a number of
the latter's friends in England besides a letter of credit from Keith to
supply him with the necessary money for buying the printing outfit and the
necessary printer's supplies. Before Annis' ship sailed, Benjamin
repeatedly called upon Keith for these letters at different times appointed
by him, but on each occasion their delivery was postponed to a subsequent
date. Thus things went on until the ship was actually on the point of
sailing. Then, when Benjamin called on Keith, to take his leave of him and
to receive the letters, the Governor's secretary, Dr. Bard, came out from
Keith and told him that the Governor was busily engaged in writing, but
would be at New Castle before the ship, and that there the letters would be
delivered. Upon the arrival of the ship at New Castle, Keith, true to his
word, was awaiting it, but, when Benjamin went to Keith's lodgings to get
the letters, the Governor's secretary again came out from him with a
statement by him that he was then absorbed in business of the utmost
importance, but that he would send the letters aboard. The message was
couched in highly civil terms, and was accompanied by hearty wishes that
Benjamin might have a good voyage, and speedily be back again. "I returned
on board," says Franklin in the _Autobiography_, "a little puzzled, but
still not doubting." At the very beginning of the voyage, Benjamin and his
graceless friend Ralph had an unusual stroke of good luck. Andrew Hamilton,
a famous lawyer of Philadelphia, who was accompanied by his son, afterwards
one of the Colonial Governors of Pennsylvania, Mr. Denham, a Quaker
merchant, and Messrs. Onion and Russell, the masters of the Principio Iron
Works in Cecil County, Maryland, had engaged the great cabin of the ship;
so that it looked as if Benjamin and Ralph, who were unknown to any of the
cabin passengers, were doomed to the obscurity and discomfort of the
steerage. But, while the ship was at New Castle, the elder Hamilton was
recalled to Philadelphia by a great fee in a maritime cause, and, just
before she sailed, Col. French came on board, and treated Benjamin with
such marked respect that he and Ralph were invited by the remaining cabin
passengers to occupy the cabin with them--an invitation which the two
gladly accepted. They had good reason to do so. The cabin passengers formed
a congenial company, the plenteous supply of provisions laid in by Andrew
Hamilton, with the stores to which they were added, enabled them to live
uncommonly well, and Mr. Denham contracted a lasting friendship for
Benjamin. The latter, however, had not lost sight of the letters from Keith
which had been so long on their way to his hands. As soon as he learnt at
New Castle that Col. French had brought the Governor's dispatches aboard,
he asked the captain for the letters that were to be under his care. The
captain said that all were put into the bag together, and that he could not
then come at them, but that, before they landed in England, Benjamin should
have the opportunity of picking them out. When the Channel was reached, the
captain was as good as his word, and Benjamin went through the bag; but no
letters did he find that were addressed in his care. He picked out six or
seven, however, that he thought from the handwriting might be the promised
letters, especially as one was addressed to Basket, the King's printer, and
another to some stationer. On the 24th day of December, 1724, the ship
reached London. The first person that Benjamin waited upon was the
stationer, to whom he delivered the letter addressed to him, with the
statement that it came from Governor Keith. "I don't know such a person,"
the stationer said, but, on opening the letter, he exclaimed, "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." With
that he gave the letter back to Benjamin and turned on his heel to serve a
customer. Then it was that Benjamin, putting two and two together, began to
doubt Keith's sincerity, and looked up Mr. Denham, and told him what had
happened. There was not the least probability, Mr. Denham declared, that
Keith had written any letters for him. No one, he said, who knew the
Governor, trusted him in the slightest degree, and, as for his giving a
letter of credit to Benjamin, he had no credit to give. One advantage,
however, Benjamin reaped from the deception practised upon him. Both Mr.
Denham and himself as well as the stationer knew that Riddlesden was a
knave. Not to go further, Deborah's father by becoming surety for him had
been half ruined. His letter disclosed the fact that there was a scheme on
foot to the prejudice of Andrew Hamilton, and also the fact that Keith was
concerned in it with Riddlesden; so, when Hamilton came over to London
shortly afterwards, partly from ill will to Keith and Riddlesden, and
partly from good will to Hamilton, Benjamin adopted the advice of Mr.
Denham and waited on him, and gave him the letter. He thanked Benjamin
warmly, and from that time became his friend, to his very great advantage
on many future occasions. "I got his son once L500," notes the grateful
Franklin briefly in a foot-note of the _Autobiography_.
By cozenage almost incredible, Benjamin, at the age of eighteen, had been
thus lured off to London; the London of Addison, Pope and Sir Isaac Newton.
Rather than confess the emptiness of his flattering complaisance Keith
preferred to rely upon the chance that, once in London, the youth would be
either unable or disinclined to return to his own native land. It would be
hard to say what might have become of him if he had not had the skill as a
printer which exemplified in a striking way the truth of two of the sayings
of Poor Richard, "He that hath a Trade hath an Estate" and "He that hath a
Calling, hath an Office of Profit and Honour."
The most serious stumbling block to his advancement in London was the one
that he brought over seas with him, namely, Ralph himself, who had deserted
his wife and child in Philadelphia, and now let his companion know for the
first time that he never meant to return to that city. All the money that
Ralph had, when he left home, had been consumed by the expenses of the
voyage, but Benjamin was still the possessor of fifteen pistoles when the
voyage was over, and from this sum Ralph occasionally borrowed while he
was endeavoring to convert some of his high-flown ambitions into practical
realities. First, he applied for employment as an actor, only to be told by
Wilkes that he could never succeed on the stage, then he tried to induce
Roberts, a publisher in Paternoster Row, to establish a weekly periodical
like the _Spectator_, with himself as the Addison, on certain conditions to
which Roberts would not give his assent. Finally, he was driven to the
stress of seeking employment as a copyist for stationers and lawyers about
the Temple, but he could not find an opening for even such ignoble drudgery
as this. Soon all of Benjamin's pistoles were gone. But, in the meantime,
with his training as a printer, he had secured employment without
difficulty at Palmer's, a famous printing-house in Bartholomew Close, where
he remained for nearly a year. Here he labored pretty diligently, but with
Ralph as well as himself to maintain, and with the constant temptations to
expense, afforded by playhouses and other places of amusement, he was
unable to hoard enough money to pay his passage back to Philadelphia.
For a time, after Ralph and himself arrived at London, they were
inseparable companions, occupying the same lodgings in Little Britain, the
home of bookstalls, and sharing the same purse. But when Ralph drifted off
into the country, all intercourse between the friends was brought to an end
by the overtures that Benjamin made to his mistress in his absence. It was
then that Benjamin, relieved of the burden which the pecuniary necessities
of Ralph had imposed on him, began to think of laying aside a little money,
and left Palmer's to work at Watts' near Lincoln's Inn Fields, a still more
important printing-house, where he was employed so long as he remained in
London. His reminiscences of this printing-house are among the most
interesting in the _Autobiography_. One episode during his connection with
it presents him to us with some of the lines of his subsequent maturity
plainly impressed on him. "I drank," he says, "only water; the other
workmen, near fifty in number, were great guzzlers of beer." When they
observed that his physical strength was superior to theirs, they wondered
that the Water-American, as they called him, should be stronger than they
who drank strong beer. A boy was incessantly running between an alehouse
and the printing-house for the purpose of keeping the latter supplied with
drink. Benjamin's pressmate drank every day a pint of beer 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 pint when he had done his day's work. Franklin vainly
endeavored to convince him that the physical strength, produced by beer,
could only be in proportion to the grain or barley-flour dissolved in water
that the beer contained, that there was more flour in a pennyworth of
bread, and that, therefore, if he would eat that with a pint of water, it
would give him more strength than a quart of beer. As it was, he had four
or five shillings to pay out of his wages every Saturday night for muddling
liquor, and in this way he and his fellow-workmen kept themselves always
under.
Benjamin began at Watts' as a pressman, but, after some weeks of service,
he was transferred by the master to the composing-room. There a toll of
five shillings for drink was demanded of him by the other compositors as
the price of his admission to their society. At first he refused to pay it,
as he had already paid a similar _bienvenu_ in the press-room, and the
master followed his refusal up by positively forbidding him to pay it; but
after a few weeks of recusancy he learnt how despotic a thing an inveterate
custom is. He was excommunicated for a while by all his fellow-workmen, and
could not leave the composing-room for even the briefest time without
having his sorts mixed or his pages transposed by the Chapel ghost, who
was said to have a deep grudge against all imperfectly initiated
compositors. Master or no master, he finally found himself forced to comply
with the custom and to pay the exaction, convinced as he became of the
folly of being on ill terms with those with whom one is bound to live
continually. Erelong his offence was forgotten, and his influence firmly
established among his fellow-compositors. It was prevailing enough to
enable him to propose some reasonable changes in the Chapel laws, and to
carry them through in the face of all opposition. At the same time, the
example of temperance, set by him, induced a great part of his companions
to give up their breakfast of beer, bread and cheese, and to supply
themselves from a neighboring public-house with a large porringer of hot
water-gruel, seasoned with butter and pepper, and crumbed with bread, for
the price of a pint of beer, namely, three half-pence. This made a more
comfortable as well as a cheaper breakfast, and one that left their heads
clear besides. Those of Benjamin's fellow-workmen whom he could not reclaim
fell into the habit of using his credit for the purpose of getting beer
when their _light_ at the alehouse, to use their own cant expression, was
out. To protect himself, he stood by the pay-table on Saturday night, and
collected enough from their wages to cover the sums for which he had made
himself responsible, amounting sometimes to as much as thirty shillings a
week. The loan of his credit in this way and his humor gave him an assured
standing in the composing-room. On the other hand, his steadiness--for he
never, he says, made a St. Monday--recommended him to the favor of his
master; and his uncommon quickness in composing enabled him to secure the
higher compensation which was paid for what would now be termed "rush
work." His situation was at this time very agreeable and his mind became
intently fixed upon saving as much of his wages as he could.
Finding that his lodgings in Little Britain were rather remote from his
work, he obtained others in Duke Street, opposite the Romish Chapel, with a
widow, who had been bred a Protestant, but had been converted to
Catholicism by her husband, whose memory she deeply revered. It is a
pleasing face that looks out at us from the portrait painted of her by
Franklin in the _Autobiography_. She
had lived much among people of distinction, and knew a
thousand anecdotes of them as far back as the time 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 six pence as long as I staid in
London.
It was in the garret of this house that the nun mentioned by us in
connection with the religious opinions of Franklin passed her secluded
life.
It was while he resided here that Wygate, a fellow-printer, made a proposal
to him that, if accepted, might have given a different direction to his
career. Drawn to Benjamin, who had taught him how to swim, by common
intellectual tastes, and by the admiration excited in him by Benjamin's
vigor and agility as a swimmer, he suggested to the latter that they should
travel all over Europe together, and support themselves as they went by the
exercise of their handicraft. Benjamin was disposed to adopt the
suggestion, but, when he mentioned it to his friend, Mr. Denham, upon whom
he was in the habit of calling, the latter disapproved of it, and advised
him to dismiss every thought from his mind except that of returning to
Pennsylvania, which he was about to do himself. Nay more, he told Benjamin
that he expected to take over a large amount of merchandise with him, and
to open a store in Philadelphia; and he offered to employ Benjamin as his
clerk to keep his books, when the latter had acquired a sufficient
knowledge of bookkeeping under his instruction, copy his letters, and
attend to the store. In addition, he promised that, as soon as Benjamin
should have the requisite experience, he would promote him by sending him
with a cargo of bread-stuffs to the West Indies, and would, moreover,
procure profitable commissions for him from others, and, if Benjamin made a
success of these opportunities, establish him in life handsomely. The
proposal was accepted by Benjamin. He was tired of London, remembered with
pleasure the happy months spent by him in Pennsylvania, and was desirous of
seeing it again. He agreed, therefore, at once, to become Mr. Denham's
clerk at an annual salary of fifty pounds, Pennsylvania money. This was
less than he was earning at the time as a compositor, but Mr. Denham's
offer held out the prospect of a better future on the whole to him.
After entering into this agreement, Benjamin supposed that he was done with
printing forever. During the interval preceding the departure of Mr. Denham
and himself for America, he went about with his employer, when he was
purchasing goods, saw that the goods were packed properly for shipment, and
performed other helpful offices. After the stock of goods had been all
safely stored on shipboard, he was, to his surprise, sent for by Sir
William Wyndham, who had heard of his swimming exploits, and who offered to
pay him generously, if he would teach his two sons, who were about to
travel, how to swim; but the two youths had not yet come to town, and
Benjamin did not know just when he would sail; so he was compelled to
decline the invitation. The offer of Sir William, however, made him feel
that he might earn a good deal of money, were he to remain in England and
open a swimming school, and the reflection forced itself upon his attention
so strongly that he tells us in the _Autobiography_ that, if Sir William
had approached him earlier, he would probably not have returned to America
so soon.
He left Gravesend for Philadelphia on July 23, 1726, after having been in
London for about eighteen months. During the greater part of this time, he
had worked hard, and spent but little money upon himself except in seeing
plays and for books. It was Ralph who had kept him straitened by borrowing
sums from him amounting in the whole to about twenty-seven pounds. "I had
by no means improv'd my fortune," Franklin tells us in the _Autobiography_,
"but I had picked up some very ingenious acquaintance, whose conversation
was of great advantage to me; and I had read considerably."[7]
After a long voyage, he was again in Philadelphia, and Keith was now a
private citizen. When Benjamin met him on the street, he showed a little
shame at the sight of his dupe, but he passed on without saying anything.
Keimer seemed to have a flourishing business. He had moved into a better
house, and had a shop well supplied with stationery, plenty of type, and a
number of hands, though none of them were efficient.
Mr. Denham opened a store in Water Street, and the merchandise brought over
with him was placed in it. Benjamin gave his diligent attention to the
business, studied accounts, and was in a little while an expert salesman.
But then came one of those sudden strokes of misfortune, which remind us on
what perfidious foundations all human hopes rest. Beginning with his
relations to Mr. Denham, Franklin narrates the circumstances in these
words:
We lodg'd and boarded together; he counsell'd me as a
father, having a sincere regard for me. I respected and
loved him, and we might have gone on together very
happy, but, in the beginning of February, 1726/7, when
I had just pass'd my twenty-first year, we both were
taken ill. My distemper was a pleurisy, which very
nearly carried me off. I suffered a good deal, gave up
the point in my own mind, and was rather disappointed
when I found myself recovering, regretting, in some
degree, that I must now, some time or other, have all
that disagreeable work to do over again. I forget what
his distemper was; it held him a long time, and at
length carried him off. He left me a small legacy in a
nuncupative will, as a token of his kindness for me,
and he left me once more to the wide world; for the
store was taken into the care of his executors, and my
employment under him ended.
Franklin did have all that disagreeable work to do over again, for it was
of a pleuritic abscess that he died in the end. Of Mr. Denham we cannot
take our leave without drawing upon the _Autobiography_ for an incident
which shows that he was one of the many good men whose friendship was given
so generously to Franklin. He was at one time a merchant at Bristol, and
failed in business. After compounding with his numerous creditors, he
migrated to America where he made a fortune in a few years. While he was
in England with Benjamin, he invited his former creditors to an
entertainment, and, when they were all seated, thanked them for the easy
terms on which they had compromised their claims against him. Duly thanked,
they supposed that there was nothing in store for them but the ordinary
hospitality of such an occasion, but, when each turned his plate over, he
found under it an order upon a banker for the full amount, with interest,
of the unpaid balance of the debt that he had released.
At the time of Mr. Denham's death, Franklin had only recently arrived at
the age of twenty-one. Holmes, his brother-in-law, now urged him to return
to his trade, and Keimer offered him a liberal yearly wage to take charge
of his printing-office, so that he himself might have more time for his
stationery business. Franklin had heard a bad character of Keimer in London
from Keimer's wife and her friends, and he was reluctant to have anything
more to do with him; so much so that he endeavored to secure employment as
a merchant's clerk, but, being unable to do so, he closed with Keimer.
I found in his house [says the _Autobiography_] these
hands: Hugh Meredith, a Welsh Pennsilvanian, thirty
years of age, bred to country work; honest, sensible,
had a great deal of solid observation, was something of
a reader, but given to drink. Stephen Potts, a young
countryman of full age, bred to the same, of uncommon
natural parts, and great wit and humour, but a little
idle. These he had agreed with at extream low wages per
week, to be rais'd a shilling every three months, as
they would deserve by improving in their business; and
the expectation of these high wages, to come on
hereafter, was what he had drawn them in with. Meredith
was to work at press, Potts at book-binding, which he,
by agreement, was to teach them, though he knew neither
one nor t'other. John,--a wild Irishman, brought up to
no business, whose service, for four years, Keimer had
purchased from the captain of a ship; he, too, was to
be made a pressman. George Webb, an Oxford scholar,
whose time for four years he had likewise bought,
intending him for a compositor, of whom more presently;
and David Harry, a country boy, whom he had taken
apprentice.
George Webb is later described by Franklin as being lively, witty,
good-natured and a pleasant companion, but idle, thoughtless, and imprudent
to the last degree. While a student at Oxford, he had become possessed with
the desire to see London and be a player. Yielding to this impulse, he
walked outside of Oxford, hid his gown in a furze bush, and strode on to
London where he fell into bad company, spent all his money, pawned his
clothes and lacked bread; having failed to secure an opening as a player.
While in this situation, he was induced by his necessities to bind himself
to go over to America as an indentured servant, and this he did without
ever writing a line to his friends to let them know what had become of him.
John, the Irishman, soon absconded. With the rest of Keimer's awkward
squad, Franklin quickly formed very agreeable relations, all the more so
because they had found Keimer incapable of teaching them, but now found
that Franklin taught them something daily. By Keimer, too, Franklin was for
a time treated with great civility and apparent regard. The selfish reasons
for such treatment were patent enough.
Our printing-house [declares the _Autobiography_] often
wanted sorts, and there was no letter-founder in
America; I had seen types cast at James's in London,
but without much attention to the manner; however, I
now contrived a mould, made use of the letters we had
as puncheons, struck the matrices in lead, and thus
supply'd in a pretty tolerable way all deficiencies. I
also engrav'd several things on occasion; I made the
ink; I was warehousman, and everything, and, in short,
quite a fac-totum.
Keimer was simply using Franklin to lick his rough cubs into shape. The
value of Franklin's services declined every day as his other hands became
more efficient, and, when he paid him his wages for the second quarter, he
let him know that he thought that he should submit to a reduction. By
degrees, he grew less civil, assumed a more imperious air, became
fault-finding and captious, and seemed ready for an outbreak. Nevertheless,
Franklin preserved his patience, thinking that Keimer's demeanor was partly
due to his embarrassed circumstances. But a very small spark was enough to
produce an explosion. Startled one day by a loud noise near the
court-house, Franklin put his head out of the window of the printing-office
to see what was the matter. Just then, Keimer, who was in the street,
looked up and saw him, and called out to him in vociferous and angry tones
to mind his business, adding some reproachful words that nettled Franklin
the more because they were heard by the whole neighborhood. Keimer made
things still worse by coming up into the printing-office and continuing his
rebuke. High words passed between the two, and Keimer gave Franklin the
quarter's notice to quit, to which he was entitled, saying as he did it
that he wished he could give him a shorter one. Franklin replied that the
wish was unnecessary, and, taking up his hat, walked out of doors,
requesting Meredith, as he left, to take care of some of his things that
remained behind him, and to bring them to his lodgings. This Meredith, who
had a great regard for Franklin, and regretted very much the thought of
being in the printing-office without him, did the evening of the same day,
and he availed himself of the opportunity to dissuade Franklin from
returning to New England. Keimer, he said, was in debt for all that he
possessed, his creditors were beginning to be uneasy, and he managed his
shop wretchedly, often selling without profit for ready money, and
frequently giving credit without keeping an account. He must, therefore,
fail, which would make an opening for Franklin. To this reasoning Franklin
objected his want of means. Meredith then informed him that his father had
a high opinion of him, and, from some things, that his father had said to
him, he was sure that, if Franklin would enter into a partnership with him,
the elder Meredith would advance enough money to set them going in
business. His time with Keimer, he further said, would be out in the
spring. Before then, they might procure their press and type from London.
"I am sensible," added Meredith, "I am no workman; if you like it, your
skill in the business shall be set against the stock I furnish, and we will
share the profits equally."
Franklin acceded to the proposal, and Meredith's father ratified it all the
more willingly as he saw that Franklin had a great deal of influence with
his son, had prevailed on him to abstain from dram-drinking for long
periods of time, and might be able to induce him to give up the miserable
habit entirely when they came to form the close relations of partners with
each other. An inventory of what was needed for the business was
accordingly given to the father; an order for it was placed by him in the
hands of a merchant; and the things were sent for. Until they arrived, the
partnership was to be kept secret, and Franklin was to seek employment from
Bradford. Bradford, however, was not in need of a hand, and for some days
Franklin was condemned to idleness. But opportunely enough the chance
presented itself to Keimer just at this time of being employed to print
some paper money for the Province of New Jersey which would require cuts
and type that nobody but Franklin was clever enough to execute or make.
Fearing that Bradford might employ him, and secure the work, Keimer sent
Franklin word that old friends should not be estranged by a few passionate
words, and that he hoped Franklin would return to him. Influenced by the
desire of Meredith to derive still further benefit from his instruction,
Franklin did return to Keimer, and entered upon relations with him that
proved more satisfactory than any that he had had with him for some time
past. Keimer secured the New Jersey contract.
The New Jersey jobb was obtain'd [the _Autobiography_
states], I contriv'd a copperplate press for it, the
first that had been seen in the country; I cut several
ornaments and checks for the bills. We went together to
Burlington, where I executed the whole to satisfaction;
and he received so large a sum for the work as to be
enabled thereby to keep his head much longer above
water.
One of the attractive things about the youth of Franklin is the extent to
which his love of reading and intellectual superiority gave him a standing
with distinguished or prominent men much older than himself. In the case of
Sir William Keith, the standing produced nothing but deception and
disappointment, but, in the case of Cotton Mather, it supplied Franklin
with one of those moral lessons for which his mind had such an eager
appetency.
The last time I saw your father [he wrote late in life
to Samuel Mather, the son of Cotton] was in the
beginning of 1724, when I visited him after my first
trip to Pennsylvania. He received me in his library,
and on my taking leave showed me a shorter way out of
the house through a narrow passage, which was crossed
by a beam overhead. We were still talking as I
withdrew, he accompanying me behind, and I turning
partly toward him, when he said hastily, _Stoop,
stoop!_ I did not understand him, till I felt my head
hit against the beam. He was a man that never missed
any occasion of giving instruction, and upon this he
said to me, "_You are young, and have the world before
you_; STOOP _as you go through it, and you will miss
many hard thumps_." This advice, thus beat into my
head, has frequently been of use to me; and I often
think of it, when I see pride mortified, and misfortune
brought upon people by their carrying their heads too
high.
Gov. William Burnet, of New York, the son of the famous English Bishop of
that name, was another conspicuous personage to whose friendly notice the
youth was brought. Shortly after the apt admonition of Cotton Mather, when
Franklin was on his return to Philadelphia, the Governor heard from the
captain of the vessel, by which Franklin had been conveyed to New York,
that a young man, one of his passengers, had a great many books with him,
and asked the captain to bring this young man to see him. The Governor
loved books and lovers of books.
I waited upon him accordingly [says Franklin] 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 honour to take notice of me; which, to a poor boy
like me, was very pleasing.
The happy consequences to Ralph and himself of the respect, shown him by
Col. French at New Castle, and the lasting sense of gratitude that he soon
afterwards excited in Andrew Hamilton have just been mentioned. This
capacity for arresting the attention of men of years and influence now made
its mark in New Jersey. Some of the principal men of the province were
appointed by the Assembly to oversee the working of Keimer's press, and to
take care that no more bills were printed than were authorized by law. They
discharged this duty by turns, and usually each one, when he came, brought
a friend or so with him for company. In this way, Franklin was introduced
to a considerable group of persons who invited him to their houses,
introduced him to their friends, and showed him much attention. Keimer, on
the other hand, perhaps, Franklin surmises, because his mind had not been
so much improved by reading as his, was a little neglected, though the
master. The explanation given by Franklin for this neglect would seem a
rather inadequate one when we recollect that in the same context he sums up
the character of Keimer in these trenchant words: "In truth, he was an odd
fish; ignorant of common life, fond of rudely opposing receiv'd opinions,
slovenly to extream dirtiness, enthusiastic in some points of religion, and
a little knavish withal." Like St. Sebastian, poor Keimer will never be
drawn without that arrow in his side.
For three months Franklin remained at Burlington, making printer's ink
money. At the end of that time, he could reckon among his friends Judge
Allen, Samuel Bustill, the Secretary of the Province, Isaac Pearson, Joseph
Cooper, and several of the Smiths, members of the Assembly, and Isaac
Decow, the surveyor-general.
The latter [he says] was a shrewd, sagacious old man,
who told me that he began for himself, when young, by
wheeling clay, for the brickmakers, learned to write
after he was of age, carri'd the chain for surveyors,
who taught him surveying and he had now by his
industry, acquir'd a good estate; and says he, "I
foresee that you will soon work this man out of his
business, and make a fortune in it at Philadelphia." He
had not then the least intimation of my intention to
set up there or anywhere. These friends were afterwards
of great use to me, as I occasionally was to some of
them. They all continued their regard for me as long as
they lived.
Shortly after the completion of the New Jersey contract, the new type,
which had been ordered for Franklin and Meredith from London, arrived at
Philadelphia. With Keimer's consent, the two friends left him before he
knew of its arrival. They rented a house near the market, and, to reduce
the rent of twenty-four pounds a year, they sublet a part of it to Thomas
Godfrey, who was to board them. They had scarcely made ready for business
when George House, an acquaintance of Franklin, brought to them a
countryman who had inquired of him on the street where he could find a
printer. By this countryman the firm was paid for the work that he gave
them the sum of five shillings, and this sum, Franklin declares in the
_Autobiography_, being their first fruits, and coming in at a time when
they had expended all their available cash in preparing for business,
awakened more pleasure in him than any crown that he had ever since earned,
and, besides, made him prompter than he, perhaps, would otherwise have been
to help beginners. Whether there were any "boomers," to use the cant term
of to-day, in Philadelphia at that time the _Autobiography_ does not tell
us, but there was, to use another cant term of to-day, at least one
"knocker."
There are croakers in every country [says Franklin in
the _Autobiography_] always boding its ruin. Such a one
then lived in Philadelphia: a person of note, an
elderly man, with a wise look and a very grave manner
of speaking; his name was Samuel Mickle. This
gentleman, a stranger to me, stopt one day at my door,
and asked me if I was the young man who had lately
opened a new printing-house. Being answered in the
affirmative, he said he was sorry for me, because it
was an expensive undertaking, and the expense would be
lost; for Philadelphia was a sinking place, the people
already half bankrupts, or near being so; all
appearances to the contrary, such as new buildings and
the rise of rents, being to his certain knowledge
fallacious, for they were, in fact, among the things
that would soon ruin us. And he gave me such a detail
of misfortunes now existing, or that were soon to
exist, that he left me half melancholy. Had I known him
before I engaged in this business, probably I never
should have done it. This man continued to live in this
decaying place, and to declaim in the same strain,
refusing for many years to buy a house there, because
all was going to destruction; and at last I had the
pleasure of seeing him give five times as much for one
as he might have bought it for when he first began his
croaking.
The outlook of Franklin was a cheerful, optimistic one, and he had no
sympathy with pessimists of any sort. Even his civic interests came back to
him in personal profit, since, aside from its public aims, the Junto was a
most useful aid to the business of Franklin and Meredith. All its members
made a point of soliciting patronage for the new printing firm. Breintnal,
for instance, obtained for it the privilege of printing forty sheets of the
history which the Quakers published of their sect; the rest having gone to
Keimer. The price was low, and the job cost Franklin and Meredith much hard
labor. The work, Franklin tells us, with the fond minuteness with which a
man is disposed to dwell upon the events of his early life, was a folio, of
_pro patria_ size, and in pica, with long primer notes. Franklin composed
it at the rate of a sheet a day, and Meredith ran off what was composed at
the press. It was often eleven at night and later, when Franklin had
completed his distribution for the work of the next day, for now and then
he was set back by other business calls. So resolved, however, was he never
to default on his sheet a day that one night, when one of his forms was
accidentally broken up, and two pages of his work reduced to pi, he
immediately distributed and composed it over again before he went to bed,
though he had supposed, when the accident occurred, that a hard day's task
had ended. This industry brought the firm into favorable notice, and
especially was Franklin gratified by what Dr. Baird had to say about it.
When the new printing-office was mentioned at the Merchants' Every Night
Club, and the opinion was generally expressed that three printing-offices
could not be maintained in Philadelphia, he took issue with this view; "For
the industry of that Franklin," he said, "is superior to anything I ever
saw of the kind; I see him still at work when I go home from club, and he
is at work again before his neighbors are out of bed." This statement led
one of the persons who heard it to offer to furnish the new firm with
stationery; but it was not yet ready to open a stationery shop.