A LITERARY GAME.
At this point it is necessary to speak of Benjamin's associates. He
was not long in finding new acquaintances in Philadelphia. His
industry and general good habits won the respect and confidence of all
who came in contact with him. Among those who particularly pleased him
were three young men, Charles Osborne, Joseph Watson, and James Ralph,
all lovers of reading. Their literary tendencies no doubt attracted
Benjamin, and caused him to value their companionship more highly. The
first two were clerks of Charles Brockden, an eminent conveyancer of
the town, and the other was a merchant's clerk. Watson was a pious
young man of sterling integrity, while the others were more lax in
their religious opinions and principles. All were sensible young men,
much above the average of this class in intellectual endowments.
Osborne and Ralph were imaginative and poetical, and frequently tried
their talents at verse-making.
Much of their leisure time was spent together, reading to each other,
and discussing what they read. Even their Sundays were often wickedly
devoted to such intellectual pastime on the banks of the Schuylkill,
whither they strolled, instead of visiting the house of God--all
except Watson, who had too much religious principle thus to desecrate
the Sabbath.
"You overrate your talent for poetry," said Osborne to Ralph, at one
of their interviews. "You will never make a poet, if you live to be as
old as Methuselah."
"Much obliged for your compliment," answered Ralph; "but it does not
alter my own opinion. All poets have their faults when they begin. It
is practice that makes perfect."
"It will take something more than practice to make a poet of you,"
continued Osborne. "That piece which you have just read has no poetry
about it. Besides, if you should become a poet, it will not bring you
a fortune, as you seem to think."
"Perhaps not; but I am confident that a poet may easily win both
popularity and a livelihood. At any rate, I am determined to try it,
in spite of your decidedly poor opinion of my abilities."
"Well, I advise you to stick to the business to which you were bred,"
added Osborne, "if you would keep out of the poor-house. A good clerk
is better than a bad poet"--and he cast a particularly roguish glance
at Ralph as he said it.
"You need not set yourself up for a critic," said Benjamin to
Osborne, after hearing these remarks. "I think more of Ralph as a poet
than I do of you as a critic. You are not willing to grant that his
productions have any merit at all; but I think they have. Moreover, it
is a good practice for him to write poetry, to improve himself in the
use of language."
"Fiddlestick!" retorted Osborne; "it is wasting his time, that might
be profitably employed in reading."
"Not half so much as your empty criticisms are wasting your breath,"
said Benjamin, with a smile. "But, look here, I will tell you what we
better do. At our next meeting each one of us shall bring a piece of
poetry, of our own making, and we will compare notes, and criticise
each other."
"I will agree to that," replied Ralph.
"And so will I," added Osborne, "provided you will decide upon the
subject now, so that all shall have fair play."
"We will do that, of course," answered Benjamin. "Have you a subject
to suggest?"
"None, unless it is a paraphrase of the eighteenth Psalm, which
describes the descent of the Deity."
"A capital subject," said Benjamin; "what do you say to taking that,
Ralph?"
"I am satisfied with it," replied Ralph; "and more, too,--I rather
like it."
Thus it was agreed that each one should write a poetical paraphrase of
the eighteenth Psalm for their next meeting, and with this
understanding they separated.
Just before the time of their next meeting, Ralph called upon Benjamin
with his piece, and asked him to examine it.
"I have been so busy," said Benjamin, "that I have not been able to
write anything, and I shall be obliged to appear unprepared. But I
should like to read yours;" and he proceeded to examine it.
"That is excellent," said he, after reading it. "You have not written
anything that is equal to this."
"But," said Ralph, "Osborne never will allow the least merit in
anything of mine, but makes a thousand criticisms, out of mere envy.
He will do so with that piece, I have no doubt."
"If he does, it will prove that he is prejudiced against you, or is no
judge of poetry," replied Benjamin.
"I have a plan to test him," continued Ralph. "He is not so jealous of
you; I wish, therefore, you would take this piece and produce it as
yours. I will make some excuse and have nothing. We shall then hear
what he will say to it."
"I will do it," answered Benjamin, who was well convinced that Osborne
was prejudiced against Ralph; "but I must transcribe it, so that it
will appear in my own handwriting."
"Certainly; and be careful that you don't let the secret out."
They met at the appointed time. Watson was the first to read his
performance. Osborne came next, and his piece was much better than
Watson's. Ralph noticed two or three blemishes, but pointed out many
beauties in it.
"I have nothing to read," said Ralph, whose turn came next in order.
"I will try to do my part next time."
"Poets ought to be ready at any time," remarked Osborne jestingly.
"Well, then, Ben, let us have yours."
"I rather think I must be excused," answered Benjamin, feigning an
unwillingness to read.
"No excuse for you," said Osborne. "You have it written, for I saw it
in your hand."
"That is true," replied Benjamin; "but after such fine productions as
we have heard, there is little encouragement for me to read this. I
think I must correct it and dress it up a little before I read it."
"Not a word of it," said Ralph. "There is no excuse for any one who is
prepared."
So, after much urging, Benjamin proceeded to read the verses, with
seeming diffidence, all listening with rapt attention.
"You must read that again," said Osborne, when the first reading was
finished; which Benjamin consented to do.
"You surprise me, Ben," said Osborne, after the piece was read the
second time. "You are a genuine poet. I had no idea that you could
write like that."
"Nor I," added Watson. "It is better than half the poetry that is
printed. If we had not given out the subject, I should have charged
you with stealing it."
"What do _you_ say, Ralph?" inquired Osborne. "You are a poet, and
ought to be a judge of such matters."
"I don't think it is entirely faultless," responded Ralph. "You have
commended it full as highly as it will bear, in my estimation."
"Well done!" exclaimed Osborne. "Your opinion of that piece proves
that you are destitute of poetical taste, as I have told you before."
Ralph and Benjamin saw that Osborne was fairly caught, and they hardly
dared to exchange glances, lest they should betray themselves. They
succeeded, however, in controlling themselves, and allowed Osborne to
express himself most emphatically.
Ralph walked home with Osborne, and their conversation was upon
Benjamin's poetry.
"Who would have imagined," said Osborne, "that Franklin was capable of
such a performance,--such painting, such force, such fire! In common
conversation he seems to have no choice of words; he hesitates and
blunders; and yet, how he writes!"
"Possibly he may not have written it," suggested Ralph.
"That is the 'unkindest cut of all,'" retorted Osborne, "to charge him
of plagiarism. Franklin would not descend to so mean a thing."
They parted for that night; but Ralph embraced the first opportunity
to call on Benjamin, and have a sort of rejoicing over the success of
their enterprise. They laughed to their hearts' content, and discussed
the point of revealing the secret. They agreed that the real author of
the article should be known at their next meeting.
Accordingly, the affair was so managed as to bring the facts of the
case before their companions at their next gathering. Osborne was
utterly confounded when the revelation was made, and knew not what to
say for himself. Watson shook his whole frame with convulsive laughter
at poor Osborne's expense, and Benjamin joined him with a keen relish.
Never was a fellow in more mortifying predicament than this would-be
critic, since it was now so manifest that he had been influenced by
blind prejudice in his criticisms upon Ralph's poetry. It was certain
now that he had given it his most emphatic indorsement. While Osborne
was brought to confusion and suffered deservedly, the trick played
upon him is not one which can be approved by right-thinking persons.
Deceit is never commendable.
A few years after, Watson died in Benjamin's arms, much lamented by
all his companions, who regarded him as "the best of their set."
Osborne removed to the West Indies, where he became an eminent lawyer,
but was early cut off by death. Of the others we shall have occasion
to speak hereafter.
It is quite evident that this literary way of spending their leisure
time was of great advantage to this group of youths. Doubtless it led
to the cultivation of that taste which most of them who lived
exhibited for literature and science in after life. It is certainly an
example of the wise use of spare moments which the young may safely
imitate.