MAKING CANDLES.
When Benjamin was ten years old he had acquired all the education his
father thought he could afford to give him. He could write a very good
hand, and read fluently, though his knowledge of arithmetic was very
limited indeed.
"Are you about ready, Benjamin, to come into the shop and help me?"
inquired his father, at the dinner table.
"Am I not going to Mr. Brownwell's school any longer?" he asked,
instead of replying to his father's question,--a Yankee-like way of
doing things, truly.
"I think the close of this term will complete the education I am able
to give you," replied his father. "You will fare, then, better than
your brothers, in respect to schooling."
"I had rather not go into the shop," said Benjamin. "I think I shall
not like to make candles, and I really wish you would engage in some
other business."
"And starve, too," said his father. "In such times as these we must be
willing to do what will insure us a livelihood. I know of no other
business that would give me a living at present, certainly none that I
am qualified to pursue."
Mr. Franklin was a dyer by trade, in England, and designed to continue
it when he removed to America, about the year 1685. But he found, on
arriving at Boston, that it would be quite impossible for him to
support his family at this trade. The country was new, and the habits
of the people were different from those of the English, so that the
dyeing business could receive but little patronage. The next pursuit
that presented itself, with fair promises of success, was that of
"tallow-chandler and soap-boiler;" not so cleanly and popular a
business as some, but yet necessary to be done, and very useful in its
place; and this was enough for such a man as Mr. Franklin to know. He
cared very little whether the trade was popular, so long as it was
indispensable and useful. To him no business was dishonourable, if the
wants of society absolutely demanded it.
"Well, I should rather make soap and candles than starve," said
Benjamin; "but nothing else could make me willing to follow the
business."
"One other thing ought to make you willing to do such work," added his
father. "You had better do this than do nothing, for idleness is the
parent of vice. Boys like you should be industrious, even if they do
not earn their bread. It is better for them to work for nothing than
not to work at all."
"I think they may save their strength till they can earn something,"
said Benjamin. "People must like to work better than I do, to work for
nothing."
"You do not understand me," continued Mr. Franklin. "I mean to say, it
is so important for the young to form industrious habits, that they
had better work for nothing than to be idle. If they are idle when
they are young, they will be so when they become men, and idleness
will finally be their ruin. 'The devil tempts all other men, but idle
men tempt the devil,' is an old and truthful proverb, and I hope you
will never consent to verify it."
Mr. Franklin had been a close observer all his life, and he had
noticed that industry was characteristic of those who accomplished
anything commendable. Consequently he insisted that his children
should have employment. He allowed no drones in his family hive. All
had something to do as soon as they were old enough to toil. Under
such influences Benjamin was reared, and he grew up to be as much in
love with industry as his father was. Some of his best counsels, and
most interesting sayings, when he became a man, related to this
subject. The following are among the maxims which he uttered in his
riper years:--
"Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labour wears; while the
used key is always bright."
"But dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is
the stuff life is made of."
"If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be
the greatest prodigality."
"Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all easy; and he
that ariseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake
his business at night; while laziness travels so slowly, that
poverty soon overtakes him."
"At the working man's house hunger looks in, but dares not
enter."
"Diligence is the mother of good luck, and God gives all things
to industry."
"One to-day is worth two to-morrows."
"Drive thy business, let not thy business drive thee."
"God helps them that help themselves."
These are very beautiful and expressive sentences, and they show that
Benjamin Franklin thought as much of industry in his manhood as his
father did a quarter of a century before. Take the first, in which he
compares slothfulness to rust, which will consume iron tools or
machinery faster than their constant use will. As the use of a hoe or
a spade keeps it polished, so the habitual exercise of the powers of
human nature preserves them in a good condition. A key that is cast
aside soon rusts, and is spoiled, but "the used key is always
bright." It is more fit for use because it has been used.
How true it is that "hunger dare not enter the working-man's house!"
By the sweat of his brow he earns his daily bread, and his children do
not cry with hunger. It is the lazy man's table that has no bread. His
children rise up hungry, and go to bed supperless. God himself hath
said, "If any would not work, neither should he eat."
"Diligence is the mother of good luck." Another gem of wisdom that
commands our acquiescence. How common for the indolent to complain of
"bad luck!" Their families need the necessaries of life, as both a
scanty table and rent apparel bear witness, and they cast the blame
upon "ill luck," "misfortune," "unavoidable circumstances," or
something of the kind. Many men whose faces are reddened and blotched
by intemperance, begotten in the barroom where they have worse than
idled away days and weeks of precious time, are often heard to lament
over their "bad luck," as if their laziness and intemperance were not
the direct cause of their misery. But it is not often that the
diligent experience "bad luck." They receive a reward for their
labours, and thrift and honour attend their steps, according as it is
written in the Bible: "The soul of the sluggard desireth, and _hath_
nothing; but the soul of the diligent shall be made fat. Seest thou a
man diligent in his business? he shall stand before kings; he shall
not stand before mean men."
But we need not enlarge upon these sayings of Franklin. They are all
charged with wisdom, and might be expanded into volumes. The more we
study them, the more beauty we perceive.
It was settled that Benjamin should assist his father in the
manufacture of candles, notwithstanding his disinclination to engage
in the business. His prospects of more schooling were thus cut off at
ten years of age, and now he was obliged to turn his attention to hard
work. It was rather an unpromising future to a little boy. No more
schooling after ten years of age! What small opportunities in
comparison with those enjoyed by nearly every boy at the present day!
Now they are just beginning to learn at this early age. From ten they
can look forward to six or eight years of golden opportunities in the
school-room. Does the young reader appreciate the privileges which he
enjoys?
"To-morrow for the work-shop, Benjamin!" exclaimed Mr. Franklin, with
a tone of pleasantry, on the evening before he was initiated into the
mysteries of making candles. "I am full of business, and need another
hand very much at present."
"You can't expect much help from me," said Benjamin, "till I learn how
to do the work. So I am thinking you will continue to be hurried for
a while, unless you have another hand besides me."
"You can do what I shall set you about just as well as a boy, or even
a man, who had worked at the business for a year."
"I wonder what that can be, that is so easy!" added Benjamin, with
some surprise.
"You can cut the wicks, fill the moulds for cast-candles, keep the
shop in order, run hither and thither upon errands, and do other
things that will save my time, and thus assist me just as much as a
man could in doing the same things."
"I am sure," said Mrs. Franklin, who had been listening to the
conversation attentively, "that is inducement enough for any boy, but
a lazy one, to work. You can make yourself about as useful to your
father as a man whom he would have to pay high wages."
"You will aid me just as much in going errands," said his father, "as
in doing anything else. I have a good deal of such running to do, and
if you do it, I can be employed in the more important part of my
business, which no one else can attend to. Besides, your nimble feet
can get over the ground much quicker than my older and clumsier ones,
so that you can really perform this part of the business better than I
can myself."
Benjamin made no reply to these last remarks, although he was more
favourably impressed, after hearing them, with the tallow-chandler's
calling. On the following day he entered upon his new vocation, and,
if "variety is the spice of life," then his first day in the shop had
a plenty of spice. The shop was situated at the corner of Hanover and
Union Streets, having the sign of a large blue ball, bearing the
inscription:
1698 JOSIAS
FRANKLIN 1698.
He cut wicks, filled moulds, performed errands, and played the part of
general waiter, in which there was much variety. And this was his work
for successive weeks, very little of his time running to waste. Do you
ask how he likes it? The following conversation with his mother will
answer.
"I don't like it at all, mother,--no better than I thought I should,"
he said. "I wish I could do something else."
"What else is there for you to do, Benjamin?" replied his mother.
"What would you like to do?"
"I would like to go to sea."
"Go to see what?" she inquired, as if she did not understand him at
first.
"Go on a voyage to Europe, or the East Indies."
"What!" exclaimed his mother, exhibiting surprise, for she had not
dreamed that her son had any inclination to go to sea. "Want to be a
sailor? What put that into your head?"
"I have always thought I should like to go to sea," he answered; "and
I am so tired of making candles that I want to go now more than ever."
"I am astonished, Benjamin. You might know that I should never give my
consent to that. I should almost as lief bury you. And how can you
want to leave your good home, and all your friends, to live in a ship,
exposed to storms and death all the time?"
"It is not because I do not love my home and friends, but I have a
desire to sail on a voyage to some other country. I like the water,
and nothing would suit me so well as to be a cabin-boy."
"There, Benjamin, you must never say another word about it," continued
his mother; "and you must not think any more about going; for I shall
never give my consent, and I know _your father never will_. It was
almost too much for me when your brother broke away from us, and went
to sea. I could not pass through another such trial. So you must not
persist in your wish, if you would not send me down to the grave." And
here his mother alluded to one of the most bitter experiences of her
life, when a son older than Benjamin became restless at home, and
would not be persuaded from his purpose of going to sea. It caused
her many unhappy hours.
Benjamin had said nothing about this matter to his father, and this
prompt veto of his mother put a damper on his hopes, so that he
continued to work at the shop, with all his dislike for the business.
His parents talked over the matter, and his father was led thereby to
watch him more carefully, that he might nip the first buddings of
desire for the sea. At length, however, Benjamin ventured to make
known his wishes to his father.
"I have thought," said he, "that I should like to go to sea, if you
are willing;" and there he stopped, evidently expecting to be refused.
"What has happened to lead you to desire this?" inquired his father.
"Not anything," he answered. "I always thought I should like
it,--though I have had a stronger desire lately."
"I see how it is," continued his father. "You have been to the water
with the boys frequently of late, and I have noticed that you loved to
be in a boat better than to make candles. I am afraid that your sports
on the water are making you dissatisfied with your home, and that here
is the secret of your wanting to go to sea."
"No, father; I think as much of my home as I ever did, and I like a
boat no better now than I did the first time I got into one."
"Perhaps it is so; but boys don't always know when they are losing
their attachment to home. You need not say another syllable, however,
about going to sea, for I shall never consent to it. You may as well
relinquish at once all thought of going, since I strictly forbid your
laying any such plans. If you do not wish to be a tallow-chandler, you
may try some other business. I shall not insist upon your working with
me, though I shall insist upon your following some calling."
"I shall not want to go to sea against your wishes," said Benjamin. "I
only thought I would go if you and mother were perfectly willing. I
can work at this dirty trade, too, if you think it is best, though I
can never like it."
"I am glad to see that you have so much regard for your parents'
wishes," said his father. "If your brother had been as considerate, he
never would have become a sailor. Children should always remember that
their parents know best, as they have had more experience and time to
observe. I say again, if you will abandon all thoughts of a seafaring
life, I will try to find you a situation to learn some trade you may
choose for yourself."
Benjamin was not disposed to enter upon a sailor's life contrary to
his parents' counsels, and he submitted to his father's decision with
as much cheerfulness and good feeling as could be expected in the
circumstances. He knew that it was little use to tease his father when
he said "no" to a project. His emphatic "no" usually put an end to all
controversy.
There is little doubt that Benjamin had been somewhat influenced by
his frolics in and on the water. For some time, as opportunity
offered, he had been down to the water both to bathe and take
boat-rides. He had become an expert swimmer in a very short time, and
not one of the boys so readily learned to manage a boat. He exhibited
so much tact in these water feats, that he was usually regarded as a
leader by the boys, and all matters of importance were referred to his
judgment. It was not strange that he should be more in love with an
ocean life after such pastimes with his comrades. Whether he admitted
it or not, it is probable that his desire to go to sea was greatly
increased by these pleasant times in and on the water.
It was certainly a poor prospect that was before the young
tallow-chandler. It was not a trade to call into exercise the higher
and nobler faculties of the mind and heart. On that account, no one
could expect that Benjamin would rise to much distinction in the
world; and this will serve to awaken the reader's surprise as he
becomes acquainted with the sequel. A little fellow, ten or twelve
years of age, cutting the wicks of candles, and filling the moulds,
does not promise to become a great statesman and philosopher. Yet
with no more promise than this some of the most distinguished men
commenced their career. Behold Giotti, as he tends his father's flock,
tracing the first sketches of the divine art in the sand with a clumsy
stick,--a deed so unimportant that it foreshadowed to no one his
future eminence. See Daniel Webster, the great expounder of the
American Constitution, sitting, in his boyhood, upon a log in his
father's mill, and studying portions of that Constitution which were
printed upon a new pocket-handkerchief; a trivial incident at the
time, but now bearing an important relation to that period of his life
when his fame extended to every land. Recall the early life of Roger
Sherman, bound as an apprentice to a shoemaker in consequence of his
father's poverty, with little education and no ancestral fame to
assist him,--how exceeding small the promise that his name would yet
be prominent in his country's history! In like manner, the little
candle-making lad of Boston, in 1717, scarcely appears to be related
to the philosopher and statesman of the same name, in 1775. But the
hand of God is in the lives of men as really as in the history of
nations.
The reader should not make use of the fact that Franklin, and other
eminent men, enjoyed small opportunities to acquire knowledge, as a
plea that he himself need not be kept in school for a series of
years. It is true that a little mental improvement may work wonders
for a person in some circumstances, and it should lead us to inquire,
if a little will accomplish so much, what will greater advantages do
for him? A very little knowledge of electricity once saved the life of
Benjamin Russell in his youth. He was an eminent citizen of Boston,
born in the year 1761, and in his younger years he had learned from
the writings of Franklin, who had become a philosopher, that it was
dangerous to take shelter, during a thunder-shower, under a tree, or
in a building not protected with lightning-rods. One day, in company
with several associates, he was overtaken by a tempest, and some of
the number proposed that they should take shelter under a large tree
near by, while others advised to enter a neighbouring barn. But young
Russell opposed both plans, and counselled going under a large
projecting rock as the safest place. The result showed that a little
knowledge of electricity was of great service to him; for both the
barn and the tree were struck by lightning. But neither Benjamin
Russell, nor any one else, from that day to this, would think of
saying that there is no need of knowing much about electricity, since
a little knowledge of it will do so much good. They might say it as
reasonably, however, as a youth can say that there is no need of much
schooling, since Benjamin Franklin, and others, became honoured and
useful though they did not go to school after ten or twelve years of
age. The deep regret of all this class of influential men ever has
been, that their early advantages were so limited. George Stephenson,
who did not learn to read until he was eighteen years old, felt so
keenly on this point, that, when his own son became old enough to
attend school, he sat up nights and mended the shoes and clocks of his
neighbours, after having completed his day's labour, to obtain the
means of educating him.
[Illustration: The Rogue's Wharf.--See page 44.]