You know [he declares], M. Brillon's gardens, and what

fine walks they contain; you know the handsome flight

of an hundred steps, which lead from the terrace above

to the lawn below. You have been in the practice of

visiting this amiable family twice a week, after

dinner, and it is a maxim of your own, that "a man may

take as much exercise in walking a mile, up and down

stairs, as in ten on level ground." What an opportunity

was here for you to have had exercise in both these

ways. Did you embrace it, and how often?

Franklin is bound to admit that he cannot immediately answer the question,

and the Gout answers it for him. "Not once," he says, and then goes on to

chide Franklin with the fact that, during the summer, he is in the habit of

going to M. Brillon's at six o'clock and contenting himself with the view

from his terrace, tea and the chess-board, though the charming lady, with

her lovely children and friends, are eager to walk with him, and entertain

him with their agreeable conversation.

A little more interchange of conversation and poor Franklin in despair

asks, "What then would you have me do with my carriage?" and the Gout

replies, "Burn it if you choose; you would at least get heat out of it once

in this way." In the end, Franklin promises that, if his persecutor will

only leave him, he will never more play at chess, but will take exercise

daily, and live temperately--a promise the Gout tells him that, with a few

months of good health, "will be forgotten like the forms of last year's

clouds."

"The Handsome and Deformed Leg" divides the world into two classes, the

happy, who fix their eyes on the bright side of things and enjoy

everything, and the unhappy, who fix their eyes on the dark side of things,

and criticise everything; and thereby render themselves completely odious.

An old philosophical friend of his, Franklin said, carefully avoided any

intimacy with the latter class of people. He had, like other philosophers,

a thermometer to show him the heat of the weather, and a barometer to mark

when it was likely to prove good or bad; but, there being no instrument

invented to discern at first sight whether a person had their unpleasant

disposition, he, for that purpose, made use of his legs, one of which was

remarkably handsome, and the other, by some accident, crooked and deformed.

If a stranger, at the first interview, regarded his ugly leg more than his

handsome one, he doubted him. If he spoke of it and took no notice of the

handsome leg, that was sufficient to determine this philosopher to have no

further acquaintance with him.

Everybody [concludes Franklin] has not this two-legged

Instrument, but every one with a little Attention, may

observe Signs of that carping, fault-finding

Disposition, & take the same Resolution of avoiding the

Acquaintance of those infected with it. I therefore

advise those critical, querulous, discontented, unhappy

People, that if they wish to be respected and belov'd

by others, & happy in themselves they should _leave off

looking at the ugly leg_.

"The Economical Project" is a happy combination of humor and prudential

instruction, and was written about the time when the Quinquet lamp was an

object of general public curiosity. An inquiry having been started on one

occasion in his presence, Franklin says, as to whether its brightness was

not offset by its lavish consumption of oil, he went home, and to bed,

three or four hours after midnight, with his head full of the subject. At

about six in the morning, he was awakened by a noise, and was surprised to

find his room full of light. At first, he imagined that he was surrounded

by a number of Quinquet lamps, but, on rubbing his eyes, he perceived that

the light came in at the windows, and, when he got up and looked out to see

what caused it, he saw the sun just rising above the horizon. His servant

had forgotten the preceding evening to close the shutters. Looking at his

watch, and finding that it was but six o'clock, and still thinking it

something extraordinary that the sun should rise so early, he consulted an

almanac, and ascertained that it was just the hour for sunrise on that day,

and, moreover, he learned from the almanac that the sun would rise still

earlier every day till towards the end of June. His readers, he was sure,

would be as much astonished as he was when they heard that the sun rises so

early, and especially when he assured them that it gives light as soon as

it rises. He was convinced of this. He was certain of his fact. One could

not be more certain of any fact. On repeating his observation the three

following mornings, he found always precisely the same result.

Yet when he spoke of the matter it was to incredulous countenances. One

auditor, a learned natural philosopher, assured him that he must certainly

be mistaken as to the light coming into his room, for, it being well known

that there could be no light abroad at that hour, it followed that none

could enter from without, and that, of consequence, his open windows,

instead of letting in the light, must have only served to let out the

darkness. This philosopher, Franklin confessed, puzzled him a little, but

subsequent observation confirmed him in his first opinion. On the strength

of these facts, Franklin enters upon a series of elaborate calculations to

demonstrate that, between the 20th of March and 20th of September, the

Parisians, because of their habit of preferring candlelight in the evening

to sunlight in the morning, had consumed sixty-four millions and fifty

thousand pounds of candles, which, at an average price of thirty sols per

pound, made ninety-six millions and seventy-five thousand livres tournois.

An immense sum! that the City of Paris might save every year by the economy

of using sunshine instead of candles; to say nothing of the period of the

year during which the days are shorter. This computation is succeeded by a

number of suggestions as to the different means by which such of the

Parisians as did not amend their hours upon learning from this paper that

it is daylight when the sun rises could be induced to reform their habits.

For his discovery, Franklin further said that he demanded neither place,

pension, exclusive privilege nor any other reward whatever. He was looking

only to the honor of it. He would not deny, when he was assailed by little,

envious minds, that the ancients knew that the sun rises at certain hours.

They too possibly had almanacs, but it does not follow that they knew that

it gives light as soon as it rises. That was what he claimed as his

discovery. It was certainly unknown to the moderns, at least to the

Parisians; which to prove he need use but one plain, simple argument. It

was impossible that a people as well-instructed, judicious and prudent as

any in the world, all professing to be lovers of economy, and subject to

onerous taxation, should have lived so long by the smoky, unwholesome and

enormously expensive light of candles, if they had really known that they

might have as much pure light of the sun for nothing.

_A Letter from China_ in which a sailor, who had passed some time in that

country, is made to narrate in a simple, bald way what he saw and

experienced while there, is worth reading, if only because of the evidence

that it furnishes that almost every trifle from Franklin's pen has a

certain literary quality. One sentence in the letter at any rate possesses

the true Franklin flavor; that in which the wanderer states that in China

stealing, robbing and housebreaking are punished severely, but that

cheating is free there in everything, as cheating in horses is among

gentlemen in England.

Other humorous or satirical compositions from the hand of Franklin belong

to the period between his return from the French mission and his death.

His letter to the _Pennsylvania Gazette_ on the _Abuse of the Press_,

deprecates in a familiar and jocular way the scurrilous license which

marked the newspaper controversies of the time. After recalling insulting

epithets heaped upon other public servants, he mentions that he, too, the

unanimous choice as President of the Council and Assembly of Pennsylvania,

had been denounced as "_An old Rogue_," who had given his assent to the

Federal Constitution merely to avoid the refunding of money that he had

purloined from the United States.

There is--indeed [the letter ends], a good deal of

manifest _Inconsistency_ in all this, and yet a

Stranger, seeing it in your own Prints, tho' he does

not believe it all, may probably believe enough of it

to conclude, that Pennsylvania is peopled by a Set of

the most unprincipled, wicked, rascally and quarrelsome

Scoundrels upon the Face of the Globe. I have

sometimes, indeed, suspected that those Papers are the

Manufacture of foreign Enemies among you, who write

with a view of disgracing your Country, and making you

appear contemptible and detestable all the World over;

but then I wonder at the Indiscretion of your Printers

in publishing such Writings! There is, however, one of

your _Inconsistencies_ that consoles me a little, which

is, that tho' _living_, you give one another the

characters of Devils; _dead_, you are all Angels! It is

delightful, when any of you die, to read what good

Husbands, good Fathers, good Friends, good Citizens,

and good Christians you were, concluding with a Scrap

of Poetry that places you, with certainty, every one in

Heaven. So that I think Pennsylvania a good country _to

dye in_, though a very bad one to _live in_.

The _Comparison of the Conduct of the Ancient Jews and of the

Anti-Federalists in the United States of America_ belongs to the same

category as _Plain Truth_ rather than to the class of writings which

Franklin termed "Bagatelles." The parallel, however, between the jealousy,

worked upon by insidious men, pretending public good, but with nothing

really in view except private interest, which led the Israelites to oppose

the establishment of the New Constitution, after the flight from Egypt, and

the hostility of the Anti-Federalists to the work of the Convention of

1787, is pursued with such cleverness as to lift it out of the province of

the ordinary newspaper essay. There is an unwonted strain of solemnity in

its last sentences.

To conclude [Franklin declares], I beg I may not be

understood to infer, that our General Convention was

divinely inspired, when it form'd the new federal

Constitution, merely because that Constitution has been

unreasonably and vehemently opposed; yet I must own I

have so much Faith in the general Government of the

world by _Providence_, that I can hardly conceive a

Transaction of such momentous Importance to the Welfare

of Millions now existing, and to exist in the Posterity

of a great Nation, should be suffered to pass without

being in some degree influenc'd, guided, and governed

by that omnipotent, omnipresent and beneficent Ruler,

in whom all inferior Spirits live, and move, and have

their Being.

Of the _Account of the Supremest Court of Judicature in Pennsylvania, viz.,

the Court of the Press_, in which Franklin suggested that formal cognizance

should be taken of the Cudgel as well as of the Liberty of the Press, we

have already said enough.

The pretended speech of Sidi Mehemet Ibrahim, a member of the Divan of

Algiers against the Petition of the Erika or Purists, asking that Piracy

and Slavery be abolished, was written by him on the eve of his death, and

is one of his best satirical thrusts. It was a parody on a speech that had

been lately delivered in Congress in defence of negro slavery by Mr.

Jackson of Georgia, and its wit consists in the art with which it

appositely urges in justification of the Algerian practice of plundering

and enslaving Christians all the considerations urged by Jackson in his

plea for African slavery. In his letter, conveying Sidi's speech to the

_Federal Gazette_, Franklin states that it might be found in Martin's

Account of the former's consulship, anno 1687, and we are told that this

statement caused many persons to apply to bookstores and libraries for

Martin's supposed work. Then, as now, there could be no better means for

determining how matter-of-fact a person was than to test his sense of humor

with one of Franklin's facetious cheats.

The exact time at which the _Petition of the Left Hand to those who have

the Superintendency of Education_ was written is unknown. Its _motif_ is

not unlike that of the _Petition of the Letter Z_. It complains that from

infancy the petitioner had been led to consider her sister as a being of

more elevated rank. She had been suffered to grow up without the least

instruction while nothing was spared in the education of the latter, who

had had masters to teach her writing, drawing, music and other

accomplishments. If by chance the Petitioner touched a pencil, a pen or a

needle, she was bitterly rebuked, and more than once had been beaten for

being awkward and wanting a graceful manner.

But conceive not Sirs [says the left hand further],

that my complaints are instigated merely by vanity. No;

my uneasiness is occasioned by an object much more

serious. It is the practice in our family, that the

whole business of providing for its subsistence falls

upon my sister and myself. If any indisposition should

attack my sister,--and I mention it in confidence upon

this occasion, that she is subject to the gout, the

rheumatism, and cramp, without making mention of other

accidents,--what would be the fate of our poor family?

Must not the regret of our parents be excessive, at

having placed so great a difference between sisters who

are so perfectly equal? Alas! we must perish from

distress; for it would not be in my power even to

scrawl a suppliant petition for relief, having been

obliged to employ the hand of another in transcribing

the request which I have now the honour to prefer to

you.

One of the essays of Franklin is an essay which he termed a "bagatelle,"

but which is of a different cast from most of his papers bearing that

designation. This is the essay on the _Morals of Chess_. As a mere literary

production, it possesses remarkable merit, but it is more valuable still

for the singular union of wisdom and benevolence found in all of the

writer's precepts relating to the conduct of life. It is only upon the

contracted face of an ordinary chess-board that the sagacious reflections

and salutary counsels of this paper are based, but many of them are quite

extensive enough in their application to be suitable for the morals of the

wider chess-board on which men and women themselves are the pawns, and the

universal currents of human nature and human existence the players. By

playing at chess, Franklin thought, we may learn foresight, circumspection,

caution and hopefulness. When playing it, if the agreement is that the

rules of the game shall be strictly observed, they should be strictly

observed by both parties. If the agreement is that they shall not be

strictly observed, one party should claim no indulgence for himself that he

is not willing to grant to his adversary. No false move should ever be made

by a player to extricate himself from a difficulty or to gain an advantage.

There can be no pleasure in playing with a person once detected in such an

unfair practice. If your adversary is long in playing, you should not hurry

him, or express any uneasiness at his delay, nor sing, nor whistle, nor

look at your watch, nor take up a book to read, nor tap with your feet on

the floor, or with your fingers on the table, nor do anything that may

disturb his attention. For all these things displease, and they do not show

your skill in playing but your craftiness or your rudeness.

* * * * *

You should not endeavor to amuse and deceive your adversary by pretending

to have made bad moves in order to render him confident and careless and

inattentive to your schemes. This is fraud and deceit, not skill. If you

gain the victory, you should not give way to exultation or insult, nor show

too much pleasure. On the contrary, you should endeavor to console your

adversary, and soothe his wounded pride by every sort of civil expression

that may be used with truth, such as, "You understand the game better than

I, but you are a little inattentive," or "You play too fast," or "You had

the best of the game, but something happened to divert your thoughts, and

that turned it in my favour." If you are simply a spectator, you should

observe the most perfect silence; for, if you give advice, you offend both

parties, him, against whom you give it, because it may cause the loss of

his game, him, in whose favour you give it, because though it be good, and

he follows it, he loses the pleasure he might have had, if you had

permitted him to think until it had occurred to himself.

And thus this essay, so full of wholesome, kind advice from a counsellor,

who loved men none the less because he knew all their failings and foibles

as well as virtues, continues a little longer, until the reader, already

won over to its perfect rectitude of sentiment and purpose, entirely

forgets how obvious are all the truisms of its stating that he has so often

offended. The measure of self-abnegation, suggested by the conclusion of

the essay, is, we fear, rather too exacting for the tug of chess-board

selfishness upon the weaker side of human nature. If it is agreed that the

rules of the game are not to be rigorously enforced, then, says Franklin,

moderate your desire of victory over your adversary, and be pleased with

one over yourself. Do not snatch eagerly at every advantage offered by his

unskilfulness or inattention, but point out to him kindly that by such a

move he places or leaves a piece in danger and unsupported; or that by

another he will put his king in a perilous situation &c. "By this generous

civility (so opposite to the unfairness above forbidden) you may, indeed,

happen to lose the game to your opponent," the close of the essay declares,

"but you will win what is better, his esteem, his respect, and his

affection, together with the silent approbation and goodwill of impartial

spectators."

We shall not linger upon the letters of Franklin. The substance of them has

already been worked into this book too freely for that. It is sufficient to

say that they are among the very best in the English language. It would be

idle to compare them with those of Gray, Horace Walpole, Cowper, Byron or

Fitzgerald, the acknowledged masters of that form of composition. Franklin

was not a conscious man of letters at all, and is not to be judged by such

academic standards. If he was, we might say that Cowper aerated with a

little of Walpole most nearly, though, after all, but remotely, suggests a

true conception of what Franklin was as a letter-writer. Few men were ever

saner than Cowper was during his really lucid intervals; but then Cowper

was not a man of business, a statesman or a philosopher, and the elixir of

Walpole's gaiety differs from that of Franklin's as a stimulant of the

wine-shop differs from fresh air and sunshine. The official and

semi-official letters of Franklin contain some of the most solid and

sagacious of his reflections and observations on political topics. His

familiar letters to his kinsfolk and friends often run out into thoughts

upon the management of our individual lives and our relations to the

visible and invisible universe which are likely to be a part of the

currency of human wisdom as long as human society lasts. And almost all of

his known letters have value enough to make us feel, when still another of

the thousands written by him happens to be reclaimed from loss, as Reuben

in his parable might have felt, if he had recovered his precious axe.

Among the cleverest of his letters was his familiar one to his daughter on

the Order of the Cincinnati. If his advice had been asked, he said, he

perhaps would not have objected to their wearing their ribbon and badge

themselves, if they derived pleasure from such trivial things, but he

certainly should have objected to the idea of making the honor hereditary.

And this was the amusing and original way in which he presented his views

on the subject:

For Honour, worthily obtain'd (as for Example that of

our Officers), is in its Nature a _personal_ Thing, and

incommunicable to any but those who had some Share in

obtaining it. Thus among the Chinese, the most ancient,

and from long Experience the wisest of Nations, honour

does not _descend_, but _ascends_. If a man from his

Learning, his Wisdom, or his Valour, is promoted by the

Emperor to the Rank of Mandarin, his Parents are

immediately entitled to all the same Ceremonies of

Respect from the People, that are establish'd as due to

the Mandarin himself; on the supposition that it must

have been owing to the Education, Instruction, and good

Example afforded him by his Parents, that he was

rendered capable of serving the Publick.

This _ascending_ Honour is therefore useful to the

State, as it encourages Parents to give their Children

a good and virtuous Education. But the _descending

Honour_, to Posterity who could have no Share in

obtaining it, is not only groundless and absurd, but

often hurtful to that Posterity, since it is apt to

make them proud, disdaining to be employ'd in useful

Arts, and thence falling into Poverty, and all the

Meannesses, Servility, and Wretchedness attending it;

which is the present case with much of what is called

the _Noblesse_ in Europe. Or if to keep up the Dignity

of the Family, Estates are entailed entire on the

Eldest male heir, another Pest to Industry and

Improvement of the Country is introduc'd, which will be

followed by all the odious mixture of pride and

Beggary, and idleness, that have half depopulated [and

_decultivated_] Spain; occasioning continual Extinction

of Families by the Discouragements of Marriage [and

neglect in the improvement of estates].

I wish, therefore, that the Cincinnati, if they must go

on with their Project, would direct the Badges of their

Order to be worn by their Parents, instead of handing

them down to their Children. It would be a good

Precedent, and might have good Effects. It would also

be a kind of Obedience to the Fourth Commandment, in

which God enjoins us to honour our Father and Mother,

but has nowhere directed us to honour our Children. And

certainly no mode of honouring those immediate Authors

of our Being can be more effectual, than that of doing

praiseworthy Actions, which reflect Honour on those who

gave us our Education; or more becoming, than that of

manifesting, by some public Expression or Token, that

it is to their Instruction and Example we ascribe the

Merit of those Actions.

But the Absurdity of _descending Honours_ is not a mere

Matter of philosophical Opinion; it is capable of

mathematical Demonstration. A Man's Son, for instance,

is but half of his Family, the other half belonging to

the Family of his Wife. His Son, too, marrying into

another Family, his Share in the Grandson is but a

fourth; in the Great Grandson, by the same Process, it

is but an Eighth; in the next Generation a Sixteenth;

the next a Thirty-second; the next a Sixty-fourth; the

next an Hundred and Twenty-eighth; the next a Two

hundred and Fifty-sixth; and the next a Five hundred

and twelfth; thus in nine Generations, which will not

require more than 300 years (no very great Antiquity

for a Family), our present Chevalier of the Order of

Cincinnatus's Share in the then existing Knight, will

be but a 512th part; which, allowing the present

certain Fidelity of American Wives to be insur'd down

through all those Nine Generations, is so small a

Consideration, that methinks no reasonable Man would

hazard for the sake of it the disagreeable

Consequences of the Jealousy, Envy, and Ill will of his

Countrymen.

Let us go back with our Calculation from this young

Noble, the 512th part of the present Knight, thro' his

nine Generations, till we return to the year of the

Institution. He must have had a Father and Mother, they

are two. Each of them had a Father and Mother, they are

four. Those of the next preceding Generation will be

eight, the next Sixteen, the next thirty-two, the next

sixty-four, the next one hundred and Twenty-eight, the

next Two hundred and fifty-six, and the ninth in this

Retrocession Five hundred and twelve, who must be now

existing, and all contribute their Proportion of this

future _Chevalier de Cincinnatus_. These, with the

rest, make together as follows:

2

4

8

16

32

64

128

256

512

----

1022

One Thousand and Twenty-two Men and Women, contributors

to the formation of one Knight. And if we are to have a

Thousand of these future Knights, there must be now and

hereafter existing One Million and Twenty-two Thousand

Fathers and Mothers, who are to contribute to their

Production, unless a Part of the Number are employ'd in

making more Knights than One. Let us strike off then

the 22,000, on the Supposition of this double Employ,

and then consider whether, after a reasonable

Estimation of the Number of Rogues, and Fools, and

Royalists and Scoundrels and Prostitutes, that are

mix'd with, and help to make up necessarily their

Million of Predecessors, Posterity will have much

reason to boast of the noble Blood of the then existing

Set of Chevaliers de Cincinnatus. [The future

genealogists, too, of these Chevaliers, in proving the

lineal descent of their honour through so many

generations (even supposing honour capable in its

nature of descending), will only prove the small share

of this honour, which can be justly claimed by any one

of them; since the above simple process in arithmetic

makes it quite plain and clear that, in proportion as

the antiquity of the family shall augment, the right to

the honour of the ancestor will diminish; and a few

generations more would reduce it to something so small

as to be very near an absolute nullity.] I hope,

therefore, that the Order will drop this part of their

project, and content themselves, as the Knights of the

Garter, Bath, Thistle, St. Louis, and other Orders of

Europe do, with a Life Enjoyment of their little Badge

and Ribband, and let the Distinction die with those who

have merited it. This I imagine will give no offence.

For my own part, I shall think it a Convenience, when I

go into a Company where there may be Faces unknown to

me, if I discover, by this Badge, the Persons who merit

some particular Expression of my Respect; and it will

save modest Virtue the Trouble of calling for our

Regard, by awkward roundabout Intimations of having

been heretofore employ'd in the Continental Service.

The Gentleman, who made the Voyage to France to provide

the Ribands and Medals, has executed his Commission. To

me they seem tolerably done; but all such Things are

criticis'd. Some find Fault with the Latin, as wanting

classic Elegance and Correctness; and, since our Nine

Universities were not able to furnish better Latin, it

was pity, they say, that the Mottos had not been in

English. Others object to the Title, as not properly

assumable by any but Gen. Washington, [and a few

others] who serv'd without Pay. Others object to the

_Bald Eagle_ as looking too much like a _Dindon_, or

Turkey. For my own Part, I wish the Bald Eagle had not

been chosen as the Representative of our Country; he is

a Bird of bad moral Character; he does not get his

living honestly; you may have seen him perch'd on some

dead Tree, near the River where, too lazy to fish for

himself, he watches the Labour of the Fishing-Hawk;

and, when that diligent Bird has at length taken a

Fish, and is bearing it to his Nest for the support of

his Mate and young ones, the Bald Eagle pursues him,

and takes it from him. With all this Injustice he is

never in good Case; but, like those among Men who live

by Sharping and Robbing, he is generally poor, and

often very lousy. Besides, he is a rank Coward; the

little _King Bird_, not bigger than a Sparrow, attacks

him boldly and drives him out of the District. He is

therefore by no means a proper emblem for the brave and

honest Cincinnati of America, who have driven all the

_King-birds_ from our Country; though exactly fit for

that Order of Knights, which the French call

_Chevaliers d'Industrie_.

I am, on this account, not displeas'd that the Figure

is not known as a Bald Eagle, but looks more like a

Turk'y. For in Truth, the Turk'y is in comparison a

much more respectable Bird, and withal a true original

Native of America. Eagles have been found in all

Countries, but the Turk'y was peculiar to ours; the

first of the Species seen in Europe being brought to

France by the Jesuits from Canada, and serv'd up at the

Wedding Table of Charles the Ninth. He is, [though a

little vain and silly, it is true, but not the worse

emblem for that,] a Bird of Courage, and would not

hesitate to attack a Grenadier of the British Guards,

who should presume to invade his Farm Yard with a _red_

Coat on.

Nor need we dwell longer either upon Franklin as a poet. Considered

seriously as such, he was undoubtedly one of the kind, that, as Horace

says, neither Gods nor men can endure. But he should not be seriously

regarded as a poet at all. We should bring no severer judgment, to his

couplets than was brought to them by the plowmen and frontiersmen, who kept

_Poor Richard's Almanac_ suspended over their mantelpieces; and his

anacreontics should be read, as they were sung, after the edge of criticism

has been dulled by a bottle or so. It is only fair to Poor Richard,

however, to say that no one had a poorer opinion of his gifts as a poet

than himself. "I know as thee," he says in one of his prefaces, "that I am

no _Poet born_: and it is a Trade I never learnt, nor indeed could learn.

_If I make Verses, 'tis in Spight of Nature and my Stars, I write._" In

another preface, after honoring his friend Taylor, of Ephemerides fame,

with a considerable number of lines, he exclaims: "Souse down into Prose

again, my Muse; for Poetry's no more thy Element, than Air is that of the

Flying-Fish." And we need go no further than one of Franklin's lively

letters to Polly, at which we have already glanced, to satisfy ourselves

that he placed quite as low an estimate on his verses as Poor Richard did

on his. Speaking of the Muse, which he mentioned in his letter as having

visited him that morning, he observes in his light-hearted way:

This Muse appear'd to be no Housewife. I suppose few of

them are. She was _drest_ (if the Expression is

allowable) in an _Undress_, a kind of slatternly

_Negligee_, neither neat nor clean, nor well made; and

she has given the same sort of Dress to my Piece. On

reviewing it, I would have reform'd the lines and made

them all of a Length, as I am told Lines ought to be;

but I find I can't lengthen the short ones without

stretching them on the Rack, and I think it would be

equally cruel to cut off any Part of the long ones.

Besides the Superfluity of _these_ makes up for the

Deficiency of _those_; and so, from a Principle of

Justice, I leave them at full Length, that I may give

you, at least in one Sense of the Word, _good Measure_.

Of all the productions of Franklin, the _Autobiography_ and _Poor Richard's

Almanac_, are those upon which his literary fame will chiefly rest. Of the

former, we have already said too much to say much more about it. It is the

only thing written by Franklin that can properly be called a book, and even

it is marked by the brevity which he regarded as one of the essentials of

good writing. If he did not write other books, it was not, so far as we can

see, because, as has been charged, he lacked constructive capacity, but

rather because, when he resorted to the pen, he did it not for literary

celebrity, but for practical purposes of the hour, best subserved by brief

essays or papers. It is true that in writing the early chapters of the

_Autobiography_, which brought his life down to the year 1730, he was not

exactly writing for the moment, but, still, the motive by which he was

actuated was a purely practical one. "They were written to my Son," he said

in a letter to Matthew Carey, "and intended only as Information to my

Family." Even in the later chapters, which brought his life down to his

fiftieth year, he still had a similar incentive to literary effort, highly

congenial with the general bent of his character, that is to say, the

opportunity that they afforded him to point to his business success as an

example of what might be accomplished by frugality and industry. "What is

to follow," he wrote to the Duc de la Rochefoucauld, "will be of more

important Transactions: But it seems to me that what is done will be of

more general Use to young Readers; as exemplifying strongly the Effects of

prudent and imprudent Conduct in the Commencement of a Life of Business."

Two days later, he wrote to Benjamin Vaughan from Philadelphia that he was

diligently employed in writing the _Autobiography_, to which his

persuasions had not a little contributed.

To shorten the work [he said], as well as for other

reasons, I omit all facts and transactions, that may

not have a tendency to benefit the young reader, by

showing him from my example, and my success in emerging

from poverty, and acquiring some degree of wealth,

power, and reputation, the advantages of certain modes

of conduct which I observed, and of avoiding the errors

which were prejudicial to me.

To the limited nature of the inducements to the composition of the

_Autobiography_, disclosed by these letters, it was due that the interest

of Franklin in the subsequent continuation of the work was too languid for

the completion of the whole plan of the _Autobiography_, as intimated in

the Hints which he gives of its intended scope, notwithstanding the urgent

appeals which his friends never ceased to make to him to complete it.

If one of the effects of the fearless self-arraignment of the

_Autobiography_ has been to lower the standing of Franklin in some respects

with posterity, we should remember the unselfish motive, which induced him

to turn his youthful errors to the profit of others, and also the fact that

he had his own misgivings about the bearing upon his reputation of such

outspoken self-exposure, and submitted the propriety of publishing the

_Autobiography_ unreservedly to the judgment of friends who were certainly

competent judges in every regard of what the moral sense of their time

would approve.

I am not without my Doubts concerning the Memoirs,

whether it would be proper to publish them, or not, at

least during my Life time [he wrote to the Duc de la

Rochefoucauld], and I am persuaded there are many

Things that would, in Case of Publication, be best

omitted; I therefore request it most earnestly of you,

my dear Friend, that you would examine them carefully &

critically, with M. Le Veillard, and give me your

candid & friendly Advice thereupon, as soon as you can

conveniently.

Later, he wrote to Benjamin Vaughan from Philadelphia that he had, of late,

been so interrupted by extreme pain, which obliged him to have recourse to

opium, that, between the effects of both, he had but little time, in which

he could write anything, but that his grandson was copying what was done,

which would be sent to Vaughan for his opinion by the next vessel; for he

found it a difficult task to speak decently and properly of one's own

conduct, and felt the want of a judicious friend to encourage him in

scratching out. The next time that Franklin wrote to Vaughan it was when

opium alone could render existence tolerable to him, but in the interim, he

had happily discovered that he could dictate even when he could not write.

What is already done [he said] I now send you, with an

earnest request that you and my good friend Dr. Price

[later in the letter he calls him "my dear Dr. Price"]

would be so good as to take the trouble of reading it,

critically examining it, and giving me your candid

opinion whether I had best publish or suppress it; and

if the first, then what parts had better be expunged or

altered. I shall rely upon your opinions, for I am now

grown so old and feeble in mind, as well as body, that

I can not place any confidence in my own judgment.

Of the same tenor was a still later letter to M. Le Veillard, in which

Franklin expressed the hope that Le Veillard would, with the Duc de la

Rochefoucauld, read the Memoirs over carefully, examine them critically and

send him his friendly, candid opinion of the parts that he would advise him

to correct or expunge, in case he should think that the work was generally

proper to be published, but, if he judged otherwise, that he would inform

him of that fact, too, as soon as possible, and prevent him from incurring

further trouble in the endeavor to finish the work. The world has reason to

be thankful that the fate of the _Autobiography_ should thus have been left

to the decision of men who, even if they had not lived in the eighteenth

century, would have been robust enough, in point of intelligence and

morals, to believe that the youthful _errata_ laid bare in that book were

more than atoned for by the manly and generous aims that inspired it.

Of the _Autobiography_ it is enough now to say that it is one of the few

books which have arrested and permanently riveted the attention of the

whole civilized world. Commenting in it on the copy of _Pilgrim's

Progress_, "in Dutch, finely printed on good paper, with copper cuts,"

which the drunken Dutchman, whom he drew up by the shock-pate from the

waters of New York Bay, on his first journey to Philadelphia, handed to him

to dry, Franklin says: "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." The _Autobiography_ is

hardly less popular. It, too, has been translated into most of the

languages of Europe, and has been printed and reprinted until it is one of

the most widely-read books in existence. Such it is likely to remain

always, not simply because it was written by a very famous man, who

possessed, to an extraordinary degree, the power of impressing his thoughts

and fancies on the hearts and imagination of the human race, but because it

tells a story of self-conquest and self-promotion full of warning, guidance

and hope for every human being, who wishes to make the best of his own

opportunities and powers. As a mere composition, dressed though it is like

the poetic Muse described by Franklin in his letter to Polly "in a kind of

slatternly Negligee," it is one of the masterpieces of literature. Its very

careless loquacity is but suggestive of a mind overflowing with its own

profusion of experience and reflection. There is no better test of the

extent, to which a writer has proved himself equal to the highest

possibilities of his art, than to ask how readily his conceptions can be

pictured; for the mind of a great writer is but a gallery hung with such

pictures as the painter reduces to material form and color. Tried by this

test, the universal popularity of the _Autobiography_ can be readily

understood. The Book of Genesis, the plays of Shakespeare, _Pilgrim's

Progress_, the novels of Sir Walter Scott, are not more easily illustrated

than are the incidents depicted to the life in its early chapters. Some of

them wear a hard and coarse aspect as if they had been struck off from

ruder plates than any belonging to the present state of the art of

engraving, but this is only another proof of the fidelity of Franklin to

his eighteenth century background. We might as well quarrel with the

squalor and sluttishess of Hogarth's scenes.

_Poor Richard's Almanac_, including the "Way to Wealth," or Father

Abraham's Speech is Franklin's other master-work. One would hardly look to

almanac-making for a classic contribution to letters, but it is not

extravagant to say that Poor Richard is one of the most lifelike figures in

the literature of the world. Nestor, Falstaff, Don Quixote, Robinson

Crusoe, Sir Roger de Coverley, Captain Dugald Dalgetty and Colonel Newcome

are not more distinctly delineated, or rather we should say are not more

manifest to the eye and palpable to the touch. To the people of

Pennsylvania, its tradesmen, its farmers, even its rude borderers, he was a

personage fully as real as the colonial governor at Philadelphia, and far

more popular. Thousands of its inhabitants never turned over the pages of

any other book except those of the Bible. And finally the wise sayings of

Poor Richard, in the form of the "Way to Wealth," applicable as they were

to the primal and universal conditions of human existence everywhere,

became known from the Thames to the Ganges. The middle of the eighteenth

century was the heyday of almanac-making, and the best proof of the durable

stuff, of which _Poor Richard's Almanac_ was woven, is the utter oblivion

that has overtaken all his competitors except those who are preserved in

his pages like flies in amber. The prefaces of _Poor Richard_, the

proverbial maxims with which his almanacs are bestrewn, the compendious

speech on which these maxims are finally strung like bright beads, have

survived, because they were adapted, with consummate art, to the simple

habits and mental wants of the rude audience, to which they were addressed.

For upwards of thirty years, Poor Richard, with a distinctness and

consistency of character as perfect as those of Santa Claus, made his

annual bow to the People of Pennsylvania, and served up to their delighted

palates his highly seasoned _ollapodrida_ of mock astrology, homely wisdom

and coarse jollity in prose and verse. Sometimes the humor is mere horse

laughter. But always the shrewd, worldly-wise, merry-tempered old philomath

and stargazer hits the fancy of his readers with unerring accuracy between

wind and water. His weather predictions and prognostications of planetary

conjunctions are just serious enough for unlettered rustics whose minds

have been partially but not wholly disabused of the belief that rain comes

with the change of the moon. His proverbs are the proverbs of men whose

lives are too meagre and straitened to permit them to forget his saying

that if you will not hear Reason she'll surely rap your knuckles. His humor

is the humor of men whose grave, weather-beaten features do not relax into

a smile or grin except under the compelling influence of some broad joke or

ridiculous spectacle. Just as the most successful inventor is the one who

invents the device that has the widest application to material uses, so the

most successful writer is the one who conceives the thoughts that have the

widest application to the moral and intellectual needs of mankind. The

thoughts that Poor Richard conceived or adopted are such thoughts; for what

he taught was full of significance to every man who desires to obtain a

correct insight into the moral and economic laws that govern the world for

the purpose of winning its favor; which means all men except those who

either prey on the world or merely drift along with its current.

In the Prefaces to his _Almanac_, Poor Richard manages to keep both his

wife Bridget and himself close to the footlights. In the first preface, he

says that, if he were to declare that he wrote almanacs with no other view

than of the public good, he should not be sincere.

The plain Truth of the Matter is [he confesses], I am

excessive poor, and my Wife, good Woman, is, I tell

her, excessive proud; she cannot bear, she says, to sit

spinning in her Shift of Tow, while I do nothing but

gaze at the Stars; and has threatned more than once to

burn all my Books and Rattling-Traps (as she calls my

Instruments) if I do not make some profitable Use of

them for the Good of my Family.

In the preface of the succeeding year he announces that the patronage of

his readers the year before had made his circumstances much easier. His

wife had been enabled to get a pot of her own, and was no longer obliged to

borrow one from a neighbor; nor had they ever since been without something

of their own to put in it. She had also got a pair of shoes, two new

shifts, and a new, warm petticoat, and for his part he had bought a

second-hand coat, so good that he was no longer ashamed to go to town or be

seen there. These things had rendered Bridget's temper so much more pacific

than it used to be that he might say that he had slept more, and more

quietly within the last year than in the three foregoing years put

together.

In a later preface, he declares that, if the generous purchaser of his

labors could see how often his fi-pence helped to light up the comfortable

fire, line the pot, fill the cup and make glad the heart of a poor man and

an honest good old woman, he would not think his money ill laid out, though

the almanac of his Friend and Servant, R. Saunders, were one half blank

paper.

A year later, Mistress Saunders avails herself of the fact that her good

man had set out the week before for Potowmack to visit an old stargazer of

his acquaintance, and to see about a little place for the couple to settle,

and end their days on, to scratch out the preface to the copy of the

almanac for that year which he had left behind him for the press, because

it had undertaken to let the world know that she, who had already been held

out in former prefaces as proud and loud and the possessor of a new

petticoat, had lately, forsooth, taken a fancy to drink a little tea now

and then. Upon looking over the months, she saw that he had put in

abundance of foul weather this year, and therefore she had scattered here

and there, where she could find room, some fair, pleasant sunshiny days for

the good women to dry their clothes in. If what she promised did not come

to pass, she would at any rate have shown her goodwill.

In the next preface, referring to the impression that the great yearly

demand for his almanac had made him so rich that he should call himself

Poor Dick no longer, and pretending that he and the printer were different

persons, Poor Richard says:

When I first begun to publish, the Printer made a fair

Agreement with me for my copies, by Virtue of which he

runs _away with_ the greatest Part of the

Profit--However much good may't do him; I do not grudge

it him; he is a Man I have a great Regard for, and I

wish his Profit ten times greater than it is. For I am,

dear Reader, his as well as thy

_Affectionate Friend_,

R. SAUNDERS.

But the five pence came in too rapidly for the almanac-maker to persist in

putting up a poor mouth of this kind. In his twelfth year, after frankly

admitting that he had labored not for the benefit of the public but for the

benefit of his own dear self, not forgetting in the meantime his gracious

consort and Duchess, the peaceful, quiet, silent Lady Bridget, he states

that, whether his labors had been of any service to the public or not, he

must acknowledge that they had been of service to him.

It was by such personal touches as these that Poor Richard made Bridget and

himself as familiar to his patrons as the signs of the Zodiac. Astrology

itself was, of course, too good a subject for keen ridicule to be spared.

Formerly, Poor Richard declares in one preface, no prince would make war or

peace, nor any general fight a battle without first consulting an

astrologer, who examined the aspects and configurations of the heavenly

bodies, and marked the lucky hour. But "now," he goes on, "the noble art

(more shame to the age we live in) is dwindled into contempt; the Great

neglect us, Empires make Leagues, and Parliaments Laws without advising

with us; and scarce any other use is made of our learned labours than to

find the best time of cutting corns or gelding Pigs."

In many sly ways, Poor Richard let his readers know that his forecasts are

not to be accepted too seriously. It is no wonder, he says in his fifth

preface, that, among the multitude of astrological predictions, some few

should fail; for, without any defect in the art itself, 'tis well known

that a small error, a single wrong figure overseen in a calculation, may

occasion great mistakes, but, however the almanac-makers might miss it in

other things, he believed it would be generally allowed that they always

hit the day of the month, and that, he supposed, was esteemed one of the

most useful things in an almanac. In another issue of the almanac, he

indulges in a great variety of confident predictions as to the year 1739.

The crabs will go sidelong and the rope-makers backwards, the belly will

wag before, and another part of the body, which we shall not name, but he

does, will sit down first, Mercury will so confound the speech of people

that, when a Pennsylvanian will wish to say panther, he will say _painter_,

and, when a New Yorker will attempt to say _this_, he will say _diss_, and

the people of New England and Cape May will not be able to say _cow_ for

their lives, but will be forced to say _keow_ by a certain involuntary

twist in the root of their tongues. As for Connecticut men and Marylanders,

they will not be able to open their mouths but _sir_ shall be the first or

last syllable they will pronounce, and sometimes both.

Some of his other predictions are that the stone blind will see but very

little, the deaf will hear but poorly and the dumb will not speak very

plain, while whole flocks, herds and droves of sheep, swine and oxen, cocks

and hens, ducks and drakes, geese and ganders will go to pot, but the

mortality will not be altogether so great among cats, dogs and horses. As

for age, it will be incurable because of the years past, and, towards the

fall, some people will be seized with an unaccountable inclination to eat

their own ears. But the worst disease of all will be a certain most horrid,

dreadful, malignant, catching, perverse and odious malady, almost

epidemical, insomuch that many will run mad upon it. "I quake for very

Fear," exclaims Poor Richard, "when I think on't; for I assure you very few

will escape this Disease, which is called by the learned Albumazar

_Lacko'mony_."

That the orange trees in Greenland will go near to fare the worse for the

cold, that oats will be a great help to horses and that there will not be

much more bacon than swine, are still other prophecies hazarded by the

astrologer.

In another preface, he declares that he has gone into retirement, and that

it is time for an old man such as he is to think of preparing for his Great

Remove. Then follow these impatient statements:

The perpetual Teasing of both Neighbours and Strangers,

to calculate Nativities, give Judgments on Schemes,

erect Figures, discover Thieves, detect Horse-Stealers,

describe the Route of Run-a-ways and stray'd Cattle;

the Croud of Visitors with a 1000 trifling Questions;

_will my Ship return Safe?_ _Will my Mare win the

Race?_ _Will her next Colt be a Pacer?_ _When will my

Wife die?_ _Who shall be my Husband, and HOW LONG

first?_ _When is the best time to cut Hair, trim Locks

or sow Sallad?_ These and the like Impertinences I have

now neither Taste nor Leisure for. I have had enough of

'em. All that these angry Folks can say, will never

provoke me to tell them where I live. I would eat my

Nails first.

At times the horse laughter is even slightly flavored with the

stercoraceous smell of the stable.

Ignorant Men [says Poor Richard in his seventh preface]

wonder how we Astrologers foretell the Weather so

exactly, unless we deal with the old black Devil. Alas!

'tis as easy as.... For Instance; the Stargazer peeps

at the heavens thro' a long Glass: He sees perhaps

TAURUS, or the Great Bull, in a mighty Chafe, stamping

on the Floor of his House, swinging his Tail about,

stretching out his Neck, and opening wide his Mouth.

'Tis natural from these Appearances to judge that this

furious Bull is puffing, blowing and roaring. Distance

being consider'd and Time allow'd for all this to come

down, there you have Wind and Thunder. He spies perhaps

VIRGO (or the Virgin;) she turns her Head round as it

were to see if anybody observ'd her; then crouching

down gently, with her Hands on her Knees, she looks

wistfully for a while right forward. He judges rightly

what she's about: And having calculated the Distance

and allow'd Time for its Falling, finds that next

Spring we shall have a fine _April_ shower.

In his preface for 1754, Poor Richard advances the proposition that the

first astrologers were honest husbandmen, and he proceeds to prove it

partly by the names of the Zodiacal signs, which were related for the most

part, he asserts, to rural affairs. The Ram, the Bull, the Twins, the Crab,

the Lion, the Wench, the Balance, the Scorpion, the Archer, the Goat, the

Waterbearer, the Fish, one by one he tells them off in the course of his

demonstration, making his own comments on their several meanings as he goes

along. The Lion and the Wench, he says, were intended by the Ancients to

mark the summer months and dog days when those creatures were most

mischievous. The Balance, one of the autumnal signs, was intended by them

to mark out the time for weighing and selling the summer's produce, or for

holding courts of justice in which they might plague themselves and their

neighbors. The Scorpion, with the sting in his tail, certainly denoted the

paying of costs. The Goat accompanies the short days and long nights of

winter, to show the season of mirth, feasting and jollity; for what could

Capricorn mean but dancing or cutting of capers? Lastly came Pisces, or the

two Shads, to signify the approaching return of those fish up the rivers.

"Make your Wears, hawl your Seins, Catch 'em and pickle 'em, my Friends,"

advised Poor Richard "they are excellent Relishars of Old Cyder."

But Poor Richard's prefaces are not altogether made up of hearty, hilarious

jests and loud guffaws. The raillery, with which he plies his rival

philomath, Titan Leeds, would be as admirable as any humor in his writings,

if it were not borrowed so manifestly from Dean Swift's ridicule of

Partridge, the almanac-maker. In his very first preface in 1733, he says

that he would have published an almanac many years before had he not been

restrained by his regard for his good friend and fellow-student, Mr. Titan

Leeds, whose interest he was extremely unwilling to hurt.

But this Obstacle (I am far from speaking it with

Pleasure) [declares Poor Richard] is soon to be removed,

since inexorable Death, who was never known to respect

Merit, has already prepared the mortal Dart, the fatal

Sister has already extended her destroying Shears, and

that ingenious Man must soon be taken from us. He dies,

by my Calculation made at his Request, on Oct. 17, 1733.

3 h. 29 m. P.M. at the very instant of the conjunction

of Sun and Mercury. By his own Calculation he will

survive till the 26th of the same Month. This small

Difference between us we have disputed whenever we have

met these 9 Years past; but at length he is inclinable

to agree with my Judgment: Which of us is most exact, a

little Time will now determine. As therefore these

Provinces may not longer expect to see any of his

Performances after this Year, I think myself free to

take up the Task, and request a share of the publick

Encouragement.

To these assertions Leeds returned a hot answer in his American Almanac for

the succeeding year. Notwithstanding the false prediction of the writer,

who proposed to succeed him in the writing of almanacs, he had, he said, by

the mercy of God lived to write a diary for the year 1734 and to publish

the folly and ignorance of the presumptuous author, whom he did not

scruple, in the rising tide of his wrath, to term "a Fool and a Lyar" and

"a conceited Scribler." This, of course, was just what Poor Richard was

calculating on. In his next preface, he is at his very best.

In the Preface to my last Almanack [he says], I

foretold the Death of my dear old Friend and

Fellow-Student, the learned and ingenious Mr. _Titan

Leeds_, which was to be on the 17th of _October_, 1733,

3 h. 29 m. P.M. at the very Instant of the conjunction of Sun and

Mercury. By his own Calculation he was to survive

till the 26th of the same Month, and expire in the Time

of the Eclipse, near 11 o'clock A.M. At which of these

Times he died, or whether he be really yet dead, I can

not at this present Writing positively assure my

Readers; forasmuch as a Disorder in my own Family

demanded my Presence, and would not permit me as I had

intended, to be with him in his last Moments, to

receive his last Embrace, to close his Eyes, and do the

Duty of a Friend in performing the last Offices to the

Departed. Therefore it is that I can not positively

affirm whether he be dead or not; for the Stars only

show to the Skilful, what will happen in the natural

and universal Chain of Causes and Effects; but 'tis

well known, that the Events which would otherwise

certainly happen at certain Times in the Course of

Nature are sometimes set aside or postpon'd for wise

and good Reasons by the immediate particular

Dispositions of Providence; which particular

Dispositions the Stars can by no Means discover or

foreshow. There is however (and I can not speak it

without Sorrow) there is the strongest Probability that

my dear Friend is no more; for there appears in his

Name, as I am assured, an Almanack for the year 1734,

in which I am treated in a very gross and unhandsome

Manner; in which I am called _a false Predicter_, _an

Ignorant_, _a conceited Scribler_, _a Fool_, _and a

Lyar_. Mr. Leeds was too well bred to use any Man so

indecently and so scurrilously, and moreover his Esteem

and Affection for me was extraordinary: So that it is

to be feared that Pamphlet may be only a Contrivance of

somebody or other, who hopes perhaps to sell two or

three Years Almanacks still, by the sole Force and

Virtue of Mr. _Leed's_ Name; but certainly, to put

Words into the Mouth of a Gentleman and a Man of

Letters, against his Friend, which the meanest and

most scandalous of the People might be asham'd to utter

even in a drunken Quarrel, is an unpardonable Injury to

his Memory, and an Imposition upon the Publick.

Mr. _Leeds_ was not only profoundly skilful in the

useful Science he profess'd, but he was a Man of

_exemplary_ Sobriety, a most _sincere Friend_, and an

_exact Performer of his Word_. These valuable

Qualifications, with many others so much endear'd him

to me, that although it should be so, that, contrary to

all Probability, contrary to my Prediction and his own,

he might possibly be yet alive, yet my Loss of Honour

as a Prognosticator, can not afford me so much

Mortification, as his Life, Health and Safety would

give me Joy and Satisfaction.

By these observations, the burden was again imposed upon Titan Leeds of

demonstrating that he was still alive, and accordingly in his next preface

his indignant shade did not fail to take notice of them.

But, with the succeeding revolution of the earth about the sun, Poor

Richard was at his sport again.

Whatever may be the Musick of the Spheres [he said],

how great soever the Harmony of the Stars, 'tis certain

there is no Harmony among the Stargazers; but they are

perpetually growling and snarling at one another like

strange Curs, or like some Men at their Wives: I had

resolved to keep the Peace on my own part, and affront

none of them; and I shall persist in that Resolution:

But having receiv'd much Abuse from _Titan Leeds_

deceas'd (_Titan Leeds_ when living would not have us'd

me so!) I say, having receiv'd much Abuse from the

Ghost of _Titan Leeds_, who pretends to be still

living, and to write Almanacks in Spight of me and my

Predictions, I can not help saying, that tho' I take it

patiently, I take it very unkindly. And whatever he may

pretend, 'tis undoubtedly true that he is really

defunct and dead. First because the Stars are seldom

disappointed, never but in the Case of wise Men,

_sapiens dominabitur astris_, and they foreshow'd his

Death at the Time I predicted it. Secondly, 'Twas

requisite and necessary he should die punctually at

that Time, for the Honour of Astrology, the Art

professed both by him and his Father before him.

Thirdly, 'Tis plain to every one that reads his two

last Almanacks (for 1734 and 35) that they are not

written with that _Life_ his Performances use to be

written with; the Wit is low and flat, the little Hints

dull and spiritless, nothing smart in them but

_Hudibras's Verses_ against Astrology at the Heads of

the Months in the last, which no Astrologer but a _dead

one_ would have inserted, and no man _living_ would or

could write such Stuff as the rest.

In a later preface, Poor Richard complains that certain ill-willers of his,

despited at the great reputation that he had gained by exactly predicting

another man's death, had endeavored to deprive him of it all at once in the

most effective manner by reporting that he himself was never alive. It was

not civil treatment, he said, to endeavor to deprive him of his very being,

and to reduce him to a non-entity in the opinion of the public; but, so

long as he knew himself to walk about, eat, drink and sleep, he was

satisfied that there was really such a man as he was, whatever they might

say to the contrary. As his printer seemed as unwilling to father his

offspring as he was to lose the credit of them, to clear him entirely as

well as to vindicate his own honor he made this public and serious

declaration, which he desired might be believed, to wit, that what he had

written theretofore and did now write neither had been nor was written by

any other man or men, person or persons whatsoever. Those who were not

satisfied with this must needs be very unreasonable.

To cap the climax of all this fun, Poor Richard finally published, in one

of his prefaces, a letter, alleged by him to have been written to him by

Titan Leeds from the other world, which stated that the writer was grieved

at the aspersions cast on Poor Richard by avaricious publishers of

almanacs, who envied his success, and pretended that the writer remained

alive many years after the hour predicted for his death by Poor Richard,

and certified that he, Titan Leeds, did die presently at that hour with a

variation only of 5 m. 53 sec.; which must be allowed to be no great matter

in such cases. Nay more, in this letter Titan Leeds was made to predict

that another Pennsylvania philomath and competitor of Poor Richard, one

John Jerman would be openly reconciled to the Church of Rome, and give all

his goods and chattels to the Chapel, being perverted by a certain country

schoolmaster.

In a former year, Poor Richard had already charged Jerman with making such

flexible prophecies as "Snow here or in New England," "Rain here or in

South Carolina," "Cold to the Northward," "Warm to the Southward." If he

were to adopt that method, he said, he would not be so likely to have his

mistakes detected, but he did not consider that it would be of any service

to anybody to know what weather it was 1000 miles off, and therefore he

always set down positively what weather his reader would have, be he where

he might be at the time. All he modestly desired was only the favorable

allowance of a day or two before and a day or two after the precise day

against which the weather was set.

On another previous occasion, Poor Richard had made his readers a promise

about Jerman which he does not seem to have ever redeemed. "When my Brother

J-m-n," he said, "erected a Scheme to know which was best for his sick

Horse, to sup a new-laid Egg, or a little Broth, he found that the Stars

plainly gave their Verdict for Broth, and the Horse having sup'd his

Broth;--Now, what do you think became of that Horse? You shall know in my

next."

When the prediction of Titan Leeds from beyond the grave that Jerman would

apostatize was duly published, the latter resented it; and, in his Almanac

for the year 1742, Poor Richard felt it necessary to say a word about the

matter himself.

My last Adversary [he declared] is J. J--n, Philomat.,

who _declares and protests_ (in his preface, 1741) that

the _false Prophecy put in my Almanack, concerning him,

the Year before, is altogether_ false and untrue: _and

that I am one of Baal's false Prophets_. This _false,

false Prophecy_ he speaks of, related to his

Reconciliation with the Church of Rome; which,

notwithstanding his Declaring and Protesting, is, I

fear, too true. Two Things in his elegiac Verses

confirm me in this Suspicion. He calls the first of

_November_ by the name of _All Hallows Day_. Reader;

does not this smell of Popery? Does it in the least

savour of the pure Language of Friends? But the

plainest Thing is; his Adoration of Saints, which he

confesses to be his Practice, in these Words, page 4.

"When any Trouble did me befal,

To my dear _Mary_ then I would call."

Did he think the whole World were so stupid as not to

take Notice of this? So ignorant as not to know, that

all Catholicks pay the highest Regard to the _Virgin

Mary_? Ah! Friend _John_, we must allow you to be a

_Poet_, but you are certainly no Protestant. I could

heartily wish your Religion were as good as your

Verses.

Mingled with the other contents of _Poor Richard's Almanac_ were pointed

maxims and sayings worthy of Lord John Russell's happy definition of a

proverb "the wit of one and the wisdom of many," and at times first- or

second-hand verses also.

Among the best of the latter are the following:

When Robin now three days had married been,

And all his friends and neighbours gave him joy,

This question of his wife he asked then,

Why till her marriage day she proved so coy?

Indeed said he, 'twas well thou didst not yield,

For doubtless then my purpose was to leave thee:

O, sir, I once before was so beguil'd,

And was resolved the next should not deceive me.

Poetry for December, 1734

By Mrs. Bridget Saunders, my Dutchess in answer to the December verses of

last year.

He that for the sake of drink neglects his trade,

And spends each night in taverns till 'tis late,

And rises when the sun is four hours high,

And ne'er regards his starving family,

God in his mercy may do much to save him

But, woe to the poor wife, whose lot is to have him.

* * * *

Time eateth all things, could old poets say.

But times are chang'd, our times _drink_ all away

* * * *

Old Batchelor would have a wife that's wise,

Fair, rich and young a maiden for his bed;

Not proud, nor churlish, but of faultless size

A country housewife in the city bred.

He's a nice fool and long in vain hath staid;

He should bespeak her, there's none ready made.

And this is Poor Richard's version of how Cupid and Campaspe played for

kisses:

My love and I for kisses play'd,

She would keep stakes, I was content,

But when I won, she would be paid,

This made me ask her what she meant:

Quoth she, since you are in the wrangling vein

Here take your kisses, give me mine again.

The first preface to _Poor Richard's Almanac_ appeared in the issue for

1733. In 1758, the proverbs and sayings, scattered through the preceding

issues of the publication, were assembled in the _Way to Wealth_ or _Father

Abraham's Speech_. Even John Bach McMaster in his brief, though admirable,

work on Franklin as a man of letters found that he could not abridge this

renowned production; so we offer no apology for inserting it here in its

entirety:

COURTEOUS READER

I have heard that nothing gives an Author so great

Pleasure, as to find his Works respectfully quoted by

other learned Authors. This Pleasure I have seldom

enjoyed; for tho' I have been, if I may say it without

Vanity, an _eminent Author_ of Almanacks annually now a

full Quarter of a Century, my Brother Authors in the

same Way, for what Reason I know not, have ever been

very sparing in their Applauses, and no other Author

has taken the least Notice of me, so that did not my

Writings produce me some solid _Pudding_, the great

Deficiency of _Praise_ would have quite discouraged me.

I concluded at length, that the People were the best

Judges of my Merit; for they buy my Works; and besides,

in my Rambles, where I am not personally known, I have

frequently heard one or other of my Adages repeated,

with, _as Poor Richard says_, at the End on 't; this

gave me some Satisfaction, as it showed not only that

my Instructions were regarded, but discovered likewise

some Respect for my Authority; and I own, that to

encourage the Practice of remembering and repeating

those wise Sentences, I have sometimes _quoted myself_

with great Gravity.

Judge, then how much I must have been gratified by an

Incident I am going to relate to you. I stopt my Horse

lately where a great Number of People were collected at

a Vendue of Merchant Goods. The Hour of Sale not being

come, they were conversing on the Badness of the Times

and one of the Company call'd to a plain clean old Man,

with white Locks, "Pray, Father Abraham, what think you

of the Times? Won't these heavy Taxes quite ruin the

Country? How shall we be ever able to pay them? What

would you advise us to?" Father _Abraham_ stood up, and

reply'd, "If you'd have my Advice, I'll give it you in

short, for _A Word to the Wise is enough_, and _many

Words won't fill a Bushel_, as _Poor Richard_ says."

They join'd in desiring him to speak his Mind, and

gathering round him, he proceeded as follows;

"Friends," says he, "and Neighbours, the Taxes are

indeed very heavy, and if those laid on by the

Government were the only Ones we had to pay, we might

more easily discharge them; but we have many others,

and much more grievous to some of us. We are taxed

twice as much by our _Idleness_, three times as much by

our Pride, and four times as much by our _Folly_; and

from these Taxes the Commissioners cannot ease or

deliver us by allowing an Abatement. However let us

hearken to good Advice, and something may be done for

us; _God helps them that help themselves_, as _Poor

Richard_ says, in his Almanack of 1733.

"It would be thought a hard Government that should tax

its People one-tenth Part of their _Time_, to be

employed in its Service. But _Idleness_ taxes many of

us much more, if we reckon all that is spent in

absolute _Sloth_, or doing of nothing, with that which

is spent in idle Employments or Amusements, that amount

to nothing. _Sloth_, by bringing on Diseases,

absolutely shortens Life. _Sloth, like Rust, consumes

faster than Labour wears; while the used Key is always

bright_ as _Poor Richard_ says. _But dost thou love

Life, then do not squander Time, for that's the stuff

Life is made of_, as _Poor Richard_ says. How much more

than is necessary do we spend in sleep, forgetting that

_The sleeping Fox catches no Poultry_, and that _There

will be sleeping enough in the Grave_, as _Poor

Richard_ says.

"_If Time be of all Things the most precious, wasting

Time must be_, as _Poor Richard_ says, _the greatest

Prodigality_; since, as he elsewhere tells us, _Lost

Time is never found again; and what we call Time

enough, always proves little enough_: Let us then be up

and doing, and doing to the Purpose; so by Diligence

shall we do more with less Perplexity. _Sloth makes all

Things difficult, but Industry all easy_, as _Poor

Richard_ says; and _He that riseth late must trot all

Day, and shall scarce overtake his Business at Night_;

while _Laziness travels so slowly, that Poverty soon

overtakes him_, as we read in _Poor Richard_, who adds,

_Drive thy Business, let not that drive thee_; and

_Early to Bed, and early to rise, makes a Man healthy,

wealthy, and wise_.

"So what signifies _wishing_ and _hoping_ for better

Times. We may make these Times better, if we bestir

ourselves. _Industry need not wish_, as _Poor Richard_

says, _and he that lives upon Hope will die fasting_.

_There are no Gains without Pains; then Help Hands, for

I have no Lands_, or if I have, they are smartly taxed.

And, as _Poor Richard_ likewise observes, _He that hath

a Trade hath an Estate; and he that hath a Calling,

hath an Office of Profit_ and Honour; but then the

_Trade_ must be worked at, and the _Calling_ well

followed, or neither the _Estate_ nor the _Office_ will

enable us to pay our Taxes. If we are industrious, we

shall never starve; for, as _Poor Richard_ says, _At

the working Man's House Hunger looks in, but dares not

enter_. Nor will the Bailiff or the Constable enter,

for _Industry pays Debts, while Despair encreaseth

them_, says _Poor Richard_. What though you have found

no Treasure, nor has any rich Relation left you a

Legacy, _Diligence is the Mother of Goodluck_ as _Poor

Richard_ says _and God gives all Things to Industry_.

_Then plough deep, while Sluggards sleep, and you shall

have Corn to sell and to keep_, says _Poor Dick_. Work

while it is called To-day, for you know not how much

you may be hindered To-morrow, which makes _Poor

Richard_ say, _One to-day is worth two To-morrows_, and

farther, _Have you somewhat to do To-morrow, do it

To-day_. If you were a Servant, would you not be

ashamed that a good Master should catch you idle? Are

you then your own Master, _be ashamed to catch yourself

idle_, as _Poor Dick_ says. When there is so much to be

done for yourself, your Family, your Country, and your

gracious King, be up by Peep of Day; _Let not the Sun

look down and say, Inglorious here he lies_. Handle

your Tools without Mittens; remember that _The Cat in

Gloves catches no Mice_, as _Poor Richard_ says. 'Tis

true there is much to be done, and perhaps you are

weak-handed, but stick to it steadily; and you will see

great Effects, for _Constant Dropping wears away

Stones_, and by _Diligence and Patience the Mouse ate

in two the Cable_; and _Little Strokes fell great

Oaks_, as _Poor Richard_ says in his Almanack, the Year

I cannot just now remember.

"Methinks I hear some of you say, _Must a Man afford

himself no Leisure?_ I will tell thee, my friend, what

_Poor Richard_ says, _Employ thy Time well, if thou

meanest to gain Leisure; and, since thou are not sure

of a Minute, throw not away an Hour_. Leisure is Time

for doing something useful; this Leisure the diligent

Man will obtain, but the lazy Man never; so that, as

_Poor Richard_ says _A Life of Leisure and a Life of

Laziness are two Things_. Do you imagine that Sloth

will afford you more Comfort than Labour? No, for as

_Poor Richard_ says, _Trouble springs from Idleness,

and grievous Toil from needless Ease. Many without

Labour, would live by their Wits only, but they break

for want of Stock._ Whereas Industry gives Comfort, and

Plenty, and Respect: _Fly Pleasures, and they'll follow

you_. _The diligent Spinner has a large Shift; and now

I have a Sheep and a Cow, everybody bids me good

Morrow_; all which is well said by _Poor Richard_.

"But with our Industry, we must likewise be _steady_,

_settled_, and _careful_, and oversee our own Affairs

_with our own Eyes_, and not trust too much to others;

for, as _Poor Richard_ says

_I never saw an oft-removed Tree,

Nor yet an oft-removed Family,

That throve so well as those that settled be._

And again, _Three Removes is as bad as a Fire_; and

again, _Keep thy Shop, and thy Shop will keep thee_;

and again, _If you would have your Business done, go;

if not, send_, and again,

_He that by the Plough would thrive,

Himself must either hold or drive._

And again, _The Eye of a Master will do more Work than

both his Hands_; and again, _Want of Care does us more

Damage than Want of Knowledge_; and again, _Not to

oversee Workmen, is to leave them your Purse open_.

Trusting too much to others' Care is the Ruin of many;

for, as the Almanack says, _In the Affairs of this

World, Men are saved, not by Faith, but by the Want of

it_; but a Man's own Care is profitable; for, saith

_Poor Dick_, _Learning is to the Studious_, and _Riches

to the Careful_, as well as _Power to the Bold, and

Heaven to the Virtuous_, And farther, _If you would

have a faithful Servant, and one that you like, serve

yourself_. And again, he adviseth to Circumspection and

Care, even in the smallest Matters, because sometimes

_A little Neglect may breed great Mischief_; adding,

_for want of a Nail the Shoe was lost; for want of a

Shoe the Horse was lost; and for want of a Horse the

Rider was lost, being overtaken and slain by the Enemy;

all for want of Care about a Horse-shoe Nail_.

"So much for Industry, my Friends, and Attention to

one's own Business; but to these we must add

_Frugality_, if we would make our _Industry_ more

certainly successful. A Man may, if he knows not how to

save as he gets, _keep his Nose all his Life to the

Grindstone_, and die not worth a Groat at last. A _fat

Kitchen makes a lean Will_, as _Poor Richard_ says; and

_Many Estates are spent in the Getting,_

_Since Women for Tea forsook Spinning and Knitting,_

_And Men for Punch forsook Hewing and Splitting._

_If you would be wealthy_, says he, in another

Almanack, _think of Saving as well as of Getting: The

Indies have not made Spain rich, because her Outgoes

are greater than her Incomes_.

"Away then with your expensive Follies, and you will

not then have so much Cause to complain of hard Times,

heavy Taxes, and chargeable Families; for, as _Poor

Dick_ says,

Women and Wine, Game and Deceit,

Make the Wealth small and the Wants great.

And farther, _What maintains one Vice, would bring up

two Children_. You may think perhaps, that a _little_

Tea, or a _little_ Punch now and then, Diet a _little_

more costly, Clothes, a _little_ finer, and a _little_

Entertainment now and then, can be no _great_ Matter;

but remember what _Poor Richard_ says, _Many a Little

makes a Mickle_; and farther, _Beware of little

Expences; A small Leak will sink a great Ship_; and

again, _Who Dainties love, shall Beggars prove_; and

moreover, _Fools make Feasts, and wise Men eat them_.

"Here you are all got together at this Vendue of

_Fineries_ and _Knicknacks_. You call them _Goods_; but

if you do not take Care, they will prove _Evils_ to

some of you. You expect they will be sold _Cheap_, and

perhaps they may for less than they cost; but if you

have no Occasion for them, they must be _dear_ to you.

Remember what _Poor Richard_ says; _Buy what thou hast

no Need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thy

Necessaries_. And again, _At a great Pennyworth pause a

while_: He means, that perhaps the Cheapness is

_apparent_ only, and not _Real_; or the bargain by

straitening thee in thy Business, may do thee more Harm

than Good. For in another Place he says, _Many have

been ruined by buying good Pennyworths._ Again, _Poor

Richard_ says, _'tis foolish to lay out Money in a

Purchase of Repentance_; and yet this Folly is

practised every Day at Vendues, for want of minding the

Almanack. _Wise Men_, as _Poor Dick_ says, _learn by

others Harms, Fools scarcely by their own_; but _felix

quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum_. Many a one, for

the Sake of Finery on the Back, have gone with a hungry

Belly, and half-starved their Families. _Silks and

Sattins, Scarlet and Velvets_, as _Poor Richard_ says,

_put out the Kitchen Fire_.

"These are not the _Necessaries of Life_; they can

scarcely be called the _Conveniences_; and yet only

because they look pretty, how many _want_ to _have_

them! The _artificial_ Wants of Mankind thus become

more numerous than the _Natural_; and, as _Poor Dick_

says, _for one poor Person, there are an hundred

indigent_. By these, and other Extravagancies, the

Genteel are reduced to poverty, and forced to borrow of

those whom they formerly despised, but who through

Industry and Frugality have maintained their Standing;

in which Case it appears plainly, that _A Ploughman on

his Legs is higher than a Gentleman on his Knees_, as

_Poor Richard_ says. Perhaps they have had a small

Estate left them, which they knew not the Getting of;

they think, _'tis Day, and will never be Night_; that a

little to be spent out of so much, is not worth

minding; _a Child and a Fool_, as _Poor Richard_ says,

_imagine Twenty shillings and Twenty Years can never be

spent_ but, _always taking out of the Meal-tub, and

never putting in, soon comes to the Bottom_; as _Poor

Dick_ says, _When the Well's dry, they know the Worth

of Water_. But this they might have known before, if

they had taken his Advice; _If you would know the Value

of Money, go and try to borrow some; for, he that goes

a borrowing goes a sorrowing_; and indeed so does he

that lends to such People, when he goes _to get it in

again_. _Poor Dick_ farther advises, and says,

_Fond Pride of Dress is sure a very Curse;_

_E'er Fancy you consult, consult your Purse._

And again, _Pride is as loud a Beggar as Want, and a

great deal more saucy_. When you have bought one fine

Thing, you must buy ten more, that your Appearance may

be all of a Piece; but _Poor Dick_ says, '_Tis easier

to suppress the first Desire, than to satisfy all that

follow it_. And 'tis as truly Folly for the Poor to ape

the Rich, as for the Frog to swell, in order to equal

the ox.

_Great Estates may venture more,_

_But little Boats should keep near Shore._

'Tis, however, a Folly soon punished; for _Pride that

dines on Vanity, sups on Contempt_, as _Poor Richard_

says. And in another Place, _Pride breakfasted with

Plenty, dined with Poverty, and supped with Infamy_.

And after all, of what Use is this _Pride of

Appearance_, for which so much is risked so much is

suffered? It cannot promote Health, or ease Pain; it

makes no Increase of Merit in the Person, it creates

Envy, it hastens Misfortune.

_What is a Butterfly? At best_

_He's but a Caterpillar drest_

_The gaudy Fop's his Picture just,_

as _Poor Richard_ says.

"But what Madness must it be to _run in Debt_ for these

Superfluities! We are offered, by the Terms of this

Vendue, _Six Months' Credit_; and that perhaps has

induced some of us to attend it, because we cannot

spare the ready Money, and hope now to be fine without

it. But, ah, think what you do when you run in Debt;

_you give to another Power over your Liberty_. If you

cannot pay at the Time, you will be ashamed to see your

Creditor; you will be in Fear when you speak to him;

you will make poor pitiful sneaking Excuses, and by

Degrees come to lose your Veracity, and sink into base

downright lying; for, as _Poor Richard_ says _The

second Vice is Lying, the first is running in Debt_.

And again, to the same Purpose, _Lying rides upon

Debt's Back_. Whereas a free-born _Englishman_ ought

not to be ashamed or afraid to see or speak to any Man

living. But Poverty often deprives a Man of all Spirit

and Virtue: _'Tis hard for an empty Bag to stand

upright_, as _Poor Richard_ truly says.

"What would you think of that Prince, or that

Government, who should issue an Edict forbidding you to

dress like a Gentleman or a Gentlewoman, on Pain of

Imprisonment or Servitude? Would you not say, that you

were free, have a Right to dress as you please, and

that such an Edict would be a Breach of your

Privileges, and such a Government tyrannical? And yet

you are about to put yourself under that Tyranny, when

you run in Debt for such Dress! Your Creditor has

Authority, at his Pleasure to deprive you of your

Liberty, by confining you in Goal for Life, or to sell

you for a Servant, if you should not be able to pay

him! When you have got your Bargain, you may, perhaps,

think little of Payment; but _Creditors_, _Poor

Richard_ tells us, _have better Memories than Debtors_;

_and_ in another Place says, _Creditors are a

superstitious Sect, great Observers of set Days and

Times_. The Day comes round before you are aware, and

the Demand is made before you are prepared to satisfy

it, Or if you bear your Debt in Mind, the Term which at

first seemes so long, will, as it lessens, appear

extreamly short. _Time_ will seem to have added Wings

to his Heels as well as Shoulders. _Those have a short

Lent_, saith _Poor Richard_, _who owe Money to be paid

at Easter_. Then since, as he says, _The Borrower is a

Slave to the Lender, and the Debtor to the Creditor_,

disdain the Chain, preserve your Freedom; and maintain

your Independency; Be _industrious_ and _free_; be

_frugal_ and _free_. At present, perhaps, you may think

yourself in thriving Circumstances, and that you can

bear a little Extravagance without Injury; but,

_For Age and Want, save while you may;_

_No Morning Sun lasts a whole Day._

as _Poor Richard_ says. Gain may be temporary and

uncertain, but ever while you live, Expence is constant

and certain; and _'tis easier to build two Chimnies,

than to keep one in Fuel_, as _Poor Richard_ says. So,

_Rather go to Bed supperless than rise in Debt_.

_Get what you can, and what you get hold;_

_'Tis the Stone that will turn all your lead into Gold,_

as _Poor Richard_ says. And when you have got the

Philosopher's Stone, sure you will no longer complain

of bad Times, or the Difficulty of paying Taxes.

"This Doctrine, my Friends, is _Reason_ and _Wisdom_;

but after all, do not depend too much upon your own

_Industry_, and _Frugality_, and _Prudence_, though

excellent Things, for they may all be blasted without

the Blessing of Heaven; and therefore, ask that

Blessing humbly, and be not uncharitable to those that

at present seem to want it, but comfort and help them.

Remember, _Job_ suffered, and was afterwards

prosperous.

"And now to conclude, _Experience keeps a dear School,

but Fools will learn in no other, and scarce in that_;

for it is true, _we may give Advice, but we cannot give

Conduct_, as _Poor Richard_ says: However, remember

this, _They that won't be counselled, can't be helped_,

as _Poor Richard_ says: and farther, That, _if you will

not hear Reason, she'll surely rap your Knuckles_."

Thus the old Gentleman ended his Harangue. The People

heard it and approved the Doctrine, and immediately

practised the contrary, just as if it had been a common

Sermon; for the Vendue opened, and they began to buy

extravagantly, notwithstanding, his Cautions and their

own Fear of Taxes. I found the good Man had thoroughly

studied my Almanacks, and digested all I had dropt on

these Topicks during the Course of Five and twenty

Years. The frequent Mention he made of me must have

tired any one else, but my Vanity was wonderfully

delighted with it, though I was conscious that not a

tenth Part of the Wisdom was my own, which he ascribed

to me, but rather the _Gleanings_ I had made of the

Sense of all Ages and Nations. However, I resolved to

be the better for the Echo of it; and though I had at

first determined to buy Stuff for a new Coat, I went

away resolved to wear my old One a little longer.

_Reader_, if thou wilt do the same, thy Profit will be

as great as mine, _I am, as ever, thine to serve thee_,

RICHARD SAUNDERS.

Imperfect as this chapter is, it is adequate enough, we hope, to make the

reader feel that Sydney Smith was not altogether insensible to natural

obligations when he told his daughter that he would disinherit her, if she

did not admire everything written by Franklin.

SUMMARY

Such was Benjamin Franklin, as mirrored for the most part in his own

written and oral utterances. Whether his fame is measured by what he

actually accomplished, or by the impression that he made upon his

contemporaries, or by the influence that he still exercises over the human

mind, he was a truly great man.[59] Not simply because he was one of the

principal actors in a revolutionary movement destined to establish in the

free air of the Western World on lasting foundations, and on a scale of

moral and material grandeur, of which history furnishes few examples, a

state, without king, noble or pontiff, and deriving its inspiration and

energy solely from the will of the People; nor yet merely because his

brilliant discoveries in the province of electricity conspicuously helped

to convert one of the most elusive and defiant of all the forces of nature

into an humble and useful drudge of modern industry and progress; nor yet

merely because, in addition to many other productions, marked by the

indefinable charm of unerring literary intuition, he wrote several which

are read in every part of the globe where a printed page is read; nor even

because of all these things combined. They are, of course, the main pillars

upon which his splendid fame rests. But what imparts to Franklin his aspect

of greatness, and endows him with his irresistible appeal to the interest

and admiration of the whole human race is the striking extent to which he

was, in point of both precept and example, representative of human

existence in all its more rational, more fruitful and more sympathetic

manifestations. His vision was not that of the enthusiast; his was no

Pentecostal tongue--cloven and aflame. He took little account of the higher

spiritual forces which at times derange all the sober, prudent calculations

of such a materialist as Poor Richard, and his message to mankind was

blemished, as we have seen, by the excessive emphasis placed by it upon

pecuniary thrift and the relations of pecuniary thrift to sound morals as

well as physical comfort. But all the same, limited to the terrestrial

horizon as he is, he must be reckoned one of the great leaders and teachers

of humanity. He loved existence, shared it joyously and generously with his

fellow-creatures, and vindicated its essential worth by bringing to bear

upon everything connected with the conduct of life the maxims of a serene

and almost infallible wisdom, and by responding with a mind as completely

free from the prejudices and errors of his age as if he had lived a hundred

years later, and with a heart as completely unconstrained by local

considerations as if men were all of one blood and one country, to every

suggestion that tended to make human beings happier, more intelligent and

worthier in every respect of the universe which he found so delightful. It

is this harmony with the world about him, this insight into what that world

requires of everyone who seeks, to make his way in it, this enlightenment,

this sympathy with human aspirations and needs everywhere, together with

the rare strain of graphic and kindly instruction by which they were

accompanied that cause the name of Franklin to be so often associated with

those of the other great men whose fame is not the possession of a single

class or land, but of all mankind. The result is that, when the faces of

the few individuals, who are recognized by the entire world as having in

the different ages of human history rendered service to the entire world,

are ranged in plastic repose above the shelves of some public library or

along the walls of some other institution, founded for the promotion of

human knowledge or well-being, the calm, meditative face of Franklin is

rarely missing.

It is to be regretted that a character so admirable and amiable in all

leading respects as his, so strongly fortified by the cardinal virtues of

modesty, veracity, integrity and courage, and so sweetly flavored with all

the finer charities of human benevolence and affection, should in some

particulars have fallen short of proper standards of conduct. But it is

only just to remember that the measure of his lapses from correct conduct

is to be mainly found in humorous license, for which the best men of his

own age, like Dr. Price and Charles Carroll of Carrollton, had only a

laugh,[60] and in offences against sexual morality, which, except so far as

they assumed in his youth the form of casual intercourse with low women,

whose reputations were already too sorely injured to be further wounded,

consisted altogether in the adoption by a singularly versatile nature of a

foreign code of manners which imposed upon the members of the society, by

which it was formed, the necessity of affecting the language of gallantry

even when gallantry itself was not actually practised. There is at any rate

no evidence to show that the long married life of Franklin, so full of

domestic concord and tenderness, was ever sullied by the slightest

violation of conjugal fidelity.

On the whole, therefore, it is not strange that, repelled as we are at

times by some passing episode or revelation in his life or character,

everyone who has lingered upon his career finds it hard to turn away from

it except with something akin to the feelings of those friends who clung to

him so fondly. He was so kind, so considerate, so affectionate, so eager to

do good, both to individuals and whole communities, that we half forget the

human conventions that his bountiful intellect and heart overflowed. Of him

it can at least be said that, if he had some of a man's failings, he had

all of a man's merits; and his biographer, in taking leave of him, may

well, mindful of his eminent virtues as well as of his brilliant

achievements and services, waive all defence of the few vulnerable features

of his life and conduct by summing up the final balance of his deserts in

the single word engraved upon the pedestal of one of his busts in Paris at

the time of his death. That word was "Vir"--a Man, a very Man.

FOOTNOTES:

[56] What Sir Walter Scott said of Jonathan Swift is as true of Franklin:

"Swift executed his various and numerous works as a carpenter forms wedges,

mallets, or other implements of his art, not with the purpose of

distinguishing himself, by the workmanship bestowed on the tools

themselves, but solely in order to render them fit for accomplishing a

certain purpose, beyond which they were of no value in his eyes."

[57] There is the following reference to Nanny in a letter from Franklin to

Deborah, dated June 10, 1770, "Poor Nanny was drawn in to marry a worthless

Fellow, who got all her Money, and then ran away and left her. So she is

return'd to her old Service with Mrs. Stevenson, poorer than ever, but

seems pretty patient, only looks dejected."

[58] These conclusions about physical exercise had been previously

expounded by Franklin to his son in a letter, dated Aug. 19, 1772, in which

he expressed his concern at hearing that William was not well. In that

connection they do not seem quite so pedantic. The writer thought that,

when tested by the amount of corporeal warmth produced, there was, roughly

speaking, more exercise in riding one mile on horseback than five in a

coach, more in walking one mile on foot than five on horseback, and more in

walking one mile up and down stairs than five on a level floor. He also had

a good word to say for the use of the dumb-bell as a "compendious" form of

exercise; stating that by the use of dumb-bells he had in forty swings

quickened his pulse from sixty to one hundred beats in a minute, counted by

a second watch. Warmth, he supposed, generally increased with a rapid

pulse. Upon one occasion in France, when John Adams told him that he

fancied that he did not exercise so much as he was wont, he replied: "Yes,

I walk a league every day in my chamber. I walk quick, and for an hour, so

that I go a league; I make a point of religion of it."

[59] In the judgment of Matthew Arnold, Franklin was "a man who was the

very incarnation of sanity and clear sense, a man the most considerable, it

seems to me, whom America has yet produced."

[60] In his _Jeu d'esprit_, commonly known as _The Choice of a Mistress_,

Franklin gave various reasons why an elderly mistress should be preferred

to a younger one; and, in a letter to him on Aug. 12, 1777, Charles Carroll

of Carrollton, after expressing the hope that he continued to enjoy his

usual health and the flow of spirits, which contributed to make the jaunt

to Canada so agreeable to his fellow-travellers, adds: "Mr. John Carroll,

and Chase are both well; the latter is now at Congress, and has been so

fully and constantly employed that I believe he has not had leisure to

refute your reasons in favor of the old ladies."

INDEX

A

A Letter from China, i., 95; ii., 487

Abuse of the Press, ii., 488

Account of the Negotiation in London for effecting a Reconciliation between

Great Britain and her American Colonies, ii., 446

Account of the New-Invented Pennsylvanian Fireplaces, i., 15, 358;

ii., 8, 401, 424

Account of the Supremest Court of Judicature of Pennsylvania, i., 342;

ii., 489

Adams, Abigail, i., 492;

ii., 232

Adams, John, i., 6, 35, 61, 149, 161, 284, 480, 483, 484, 486;

ii., 6 (note), 8, 7 (note), 96, 220 (note), 237, 241, 242, 244, 245, 246,

252, 252 (note), 256, 257, 257 (note), 258 (note), 259, 261, 263, 274, 278,

287, 288, 290, 291, 294, 312, 316, 319, 320, 322, 342, 414, 443, 483 (note)

Adams, John Quincy, i., 486

Adams, Miss, i., 478, 485, 488, 493;

ii., 9

Address of the Pennsylvania Society for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery,

ii., 454

Advice to a Young Tradesman, ii., 455

Albany Congress, ii., 141

Alexander, Miss (Mariamne Williams), i., 211, 469, 542 (note)

Alexander, William, i., 469, 495

Alison, Francis, Vice-Provost, i., 131

Allen, Chief Justice William, i., 170, 174, 337

Alleyne, John, i., 105, 442

American Philosophical Society, i., 128 (note)

Answers to Strahan's Queries, ii., 446

Apology for Printers, i., 93;

ii., 464, 465

Arabian Tale, i., 73

Argo, The, i., 146

Arnold, Matthew, ii., 527 (note)

Art of Procuring Pleasant Dreams, i., 412, 489

Art of Virtue, i., 29, 34, 98, 521

Articles of Belief and Acts of Religion, i., 72, 113

Austin, Jonathan Loring, ii., 250

Autobiography, i., 16, 19, 22, 343, 349, 432, 531, 537;

ii., 27, 35, 424, 441, 499

B

Babcock, Dr. Joshua, ii., 172

Bache, Benjamin Franklin, i., 45, 238, 239, 241, 255, 256, 258, 259, 260,

261, 262, 266, 388, 390, 406, 486

Bache, Richard, i., 46, 212, 236, 237, 238, 239, 254, 257, 259, 262, 263,

300, 349, 390, 481;

ii., 24, 349 (note)

Bache, Sally, i., 37, 38, 70, 71, 99, 103, 110, 212, 225, 228, 235, 238,

240, 241, 243, 244, 246, 248, 253, 254, 255, 255 (note), 257, 259, 260,

261, 263, 264, 265, 266, 272, 273, 287, 340, 373, 393;

ii., 277, 494

Bache, William, i., 257, 260, 261

Baker, Speech of Polly, ii., 467

Balzac, Honore de, ii., 16 (note)

Bancroft, Dr. Edward, i., 542 (note);

ii., 221, 224, 250

Bancroft, George, i., 542 (note)

Banks, Sir Joseph, i., 107, 154;

ii., 378, 384, 385, 386, 392

Barclay, David, i., 423

Barclay, Thomas, ii., 296, 315 (note)

Bard, Dr. and Mrs. John, i., 4, 332, 333;

ii., 43

Bartram, John, i., 35, 146, 334, 421;

ii., 23

Baskerville, John, ii., 15

Bathurst, Lord and Lady, i., 224

Baynes, John, ii., 7 (note), 348

Beatty, Rev. Mr., i., 93

Beccaria, Giambatista, ii., 22, 378, 400

Benezet, Anthony, i., 347

Benger, Elliot, i., 174

Bentham, Jeremy, ii., 221, 223, 225

Bigelow, John, i., 24, 37, 540

Bingham, Mr. Wm., ii., 283

Blount, Dorothea, i., 380, 386, 391, 454

Bond, Dr. Thomas, i., 140, 145, 180, 246, 331, 420

Boston, City of, i., 8, 151, 312

Boufflers, Madame de, i., 479 (note)

Bouquet, Col. Henry, i., 95, 340;

ii., 21

Bourbon, Don Gabriel de, ii., 236

Bowdoin, James, i., 352, 353, 354;

ii., 203, 218, 230, 383, 403

Braddock, General, i., 177

Bradford, Andrew, ii., 21, 37, 62, 69, 74, 75, 88

Bradford, William, ii., 35, 37

Breintnal, Joseph, i., 180, 326;

ii., 67

Bridgen, Edward, i., 442

Brillon, Madame, i., 19, 47, 92, 229, 265, 478, 487, 494, 500, 529, 540;

ii., 22, 476, 478, 481, 484

Brillon, M., i., 485

Brougham, Lord, ii., 227 (note), 362

Broughton, Sarah, i., 214

Brown, Dr., i., 99

Brownell, George, i., 138;

ii., 28

Brownrigg, William, ii., 392

Buffon, Comte de, i., 530;

ii., 379

Burke, Edmund, i., 20, 116, 442, 443;

ii., 1, 195, 221, 223, 224

Byles, Mather, i., 264, 354

C

Cabanis, Pierre Jean Georges, i., 488, 491

Cadross, Lord, ii., 408

Camden, Lord, ii., 195, 210

Canada Pamphlet, ii., 439, 444

Canton, John, i., 438

Capefigue, i., 21 (note)

Carlyle, Alexander, i., 38

Carlyle, Thomas, i., 11, 303 (note)

Carmichael, Wm., i., 322, 485, 500;

ii., 5, 257, 260, 263, 268, 274, 330 (note), 476

Carroll of Carrollton, Charles, i., 321;

ii., 237, 241, 331 (note), 529

Carroll, John, i., 321;

ii., 238, 240, 529 (note)

Cats, The Very Humble Petition to Madame Helvetius from her, i., 488, 497

Causes of the American Discontents, ii., 189

Chastellux, Marquis de, i., 263, 503, 530, 532

Chatham, Lord, i., 20, 438;

ii., 98, 180, 183, 195, 208, 210, 223, 229

Chaumont, M. Donatien LeRay de, i., 479, 515, 532;

ii., 25, 249, 250, 263

Chaumont, Madame Donatien LeRay de, i., 482

Chaumont, Donatien LeRay de (the younger), i., 481

Chess, Essay on the Morals of, i., 516;

ii., 491

Choice of a Mistress, ii., 529 (note)

Christ Church, Philadelphia, i., 23, 70, 130, 170, 346, 363

Cincinnati, Franklin's letter on the, ii., 494

Clapham, Col., i., 188

Clare, Lord, ii., 338 (note)

Clifton, John, i., 145

Clinton, Gov. George, i., 170

Cochin, ii., 359 (note)

Colden, Cadwallader, i., 15;

ii., 79, 90, 382, 407, 408

Coleman, William, i., 246, 326;

ii., 64, 64 (note), 66

Collas, Mr., i., 298

Collins, John, i., 90, 160, 200, 323;

ii., 35, 58, 428

Collinson, Peter, i., 123, 124, 133, 178, 180, 361, 449;

ii., 17, 23, 123, 126, 137, 150, 151, 152, 154, 192, 342, 352, 353, 354,

356, 357, 361, 362, 367, 368, 371, 372, 375, 378, 381, 397, 398, 416

Committee of Correspondence in Massachusetts, ii., 205

Comparison of the Conduct of the Ancient Jews and the Anti-Federalists,

ii., 489

Condorcet, Marquis de, i., 530;

ii., 350

Conte, i., 64

Conway, Madame, i., 43 (note)

Conygham, Capt. Gustavus, ii., 283, 297, 298

Cook, Capt. James, i., 154

Cool Thoughts, ii., 102, 128

Coombe, Rev. Thomas, i., 81, 346

Cooper, Dr. Samuel, i., 21, 352, 353, 472, 486;

ii., 25, 165, 170, 182, 203, 212, 218, 228, 250, 267, 341, 414

Council of Brutes, The, i., 440

Courant, The Boston, i., 83, 357;

ii., 30, 31, 85, 429, 434

Craven Street Gazette, i., 372;

ii., 468

Croghan, George, i., 182;

ii., 418