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MEMOIRS
OF
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN;
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
WITH HIS
MOST INTERESTING ESSAYS, LETTERS, AND MISCELLANEOUS
WRITINGS; FAMILIAR, MORAL, POLITICAL,
ECONOMICAL, AND PHILOSOPHICAL.
SELECTED WITH CARE
FROM ALL HIS PUBLISHED PRODUCTIONS, AND COMPRISING
WHATEVER IS MOST ENTERTAINING AND VALUABLE
TO THE GENERAL READER.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II
New York:
Harper & Brothers, Publishers,
Franklin Square.
1860.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by
Harper & Brothers,
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.
CONTENTS
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME.
ESSAYS.
Page
The Way to Wealth; as clearly shown in the practice of
an old Pennsylvania Almanac, entitled, "Poor Richard
Improved" 5
On True Happiness 14
Public Men 16
The Waste of Life 22
Self-denial not the Essence of Virtue 25
On the Usefulness of the Mathematics 27
The Art of procuring Pleasant Dreams 31
Advice to a young Tradesman 37
Rules of Health 39
The Ephemera; an Emblem of Human Life. To Madame
Brillon, of Passy 40
The Whistle. To Madame Brillon 42
On Luxury, Idleness, and Industry 45
On Truth and Falsehood 50
Necessary Hints to those that would be Rich 53
The Way to make Money plenty in every Man's Pocket 54
The Handsome and Deformed Leg 55
On Human Vanity 58
On Smuggling, and its various Species 62
Remarks concerning the Savages of North America 66
On Freedom of Speech and the Press 71
On the Price of Corn and the Management of the Poor 82
Singular Custom among the Americans, entitled Whitewashing 86
On the Criminal Laws and the Practice of Privateering 94
Letter from Anthony Afterwit 102
LETTERS.
To Mrs. Abiah Franklin 107
To Miss Jane Franklin 108
To the same 109
To Mr. George Whitefield 110
To Mrs. D. Franklin 112
To the same 113
To Mrs. Jane Mecom 114
To the same 115
To the same 116
To Miss Stevenson 119
To Lord Kames 120
To the same 121
To the same 128
To John Alleyne 130
To Governor Franklin 132
To Dr. Priestley 134
To the same 136
To Mr. Mather 137
To Mr. Strahan 138
To Dr. Priestley 138
To Mrs. Thompson 139
To Mr. Lith 142
Answer to a Letter from Brussels 144
To Dr. Price 151
To Dr. Priestley 152
To General Washington 154
To M. Court de Gebelin 156
To Francis Hopkinson 158
To Francis Hopkinson 159
To Samuel Huntingdon, President of Congress 160
To the Bishop of St. Asaph 162
To Miss Alexander 163
To Benjamin Vaughan 164
To Mrs. Hewson 166
To David Hartley 167
To Dr. Percival 168
To Sir Joseph Banks 169
To Robert Morris, Esq. 171
To Dr. Mather 172
To William Strahan, M.P. 174
To George Wheatley 178
To David Hartley 181
To the Bishop of St. Asaph 181
To Mrs. Hewson 184
To M. Veillard 185
To Mr. Jordain 187
To Miss Hubbard 189
To George Wheatley 190
To B. Vaughan 192
To the President of Congress 193
To Mrs. Green 196
To Dr. Price 197
To B. Vaughan 198
To Dr. Rush 199
To Miss Catharine Louisa Shipley 199
To * * * 200
Copy of the last Letter written by Dr. Franklin 201
PHILOSOPHICAL SUBJECTS.
To the Abbé Soulavie.--Theory of the Earth 203
To Dr. John Pringle.--On the different Strata of the Earth 207
To Mr. Bowdoin.--Queries and Conjectures relating to Magnetism
and the Theory of the Earth 208
To M. Dubourg.--On the Nature of Seacoal 211
Causes of Earthquakes 212
To David Rittenhouse.--New and Curious Theory of Light
and Heat 224
Of Lightning; and the Methods now used in America for
the securing Buildings and Persons from its mischievous
Effects 227
To Peter Collinson.--Electrical Kite 231
Physical and Meteorological Observations, Conjectures, and
Suppositions 232
To Dr. Perkins.--Water-spouts and Whirlwinds compared 240
To Alexander Small.--On the Northeast Storms in North
America 254
To Dr. Lining.--On Cold produced by Evaporation 256
To Peter Franklin.--On the Saltness of Seawater 263
To Miss Stephenson.--Salt Water rendered fresh by
Distillation.--Method of relieving Thirst by Seawater 264
To the same.--Tendency of Rivers to the Sea.--Effects of
the Sun's Rays on Cloths of different Colours 266
To the same.--On the Effect of Air on the Barometer, and
the Benefits derived from the Study of Insects 270
To Dr. Joseph Priestley.--Effect of Vegetation on Noxious Air 273
To Dr. John Pringle.--On the Difference of Navigation in
Shoal and Deep Water 274
To Oliver Neale.--On the Art of Swimming 277
To Miss Stephenson.--Method of contracting Chimneys.--Modesty
in Disputation 281
To M. Dubourg.--Observations on the prevailing Doctrines
of Life and Death 282
Lord Brougham's Portrait of Dr. Franklin 285
WRITINGS OF FRANKLIN
* * * * *
ESSAYS,
HUMOROUS, MORAL, ECONOMICAL, AND POLITICAL.
* * * * *
THE WAY TO WEALTH,
_As dearly shown in the practice of an old Pennsylvania Almanac,
entitled, "Poor Richard Improved."_
COURTEOUS READER,
I have heard that nothing gives an author so great pleasure as to find
his works respectfully quoted by others. Judge, then, how much I must
have been gratified by an incident I am going to relate to you. I
stopped my horse lately where a great number of people were collected at
an auction of merchants' goods. The hour of the sale not being come,
they were conversing on the badness of the times; and one of the company
called to a plain, clean old man, with white locks, "Pray, Father
Abraham, what think you of the times? Will not these heavy taxes quite
ruin the country? How shall we ever be able to pay them? What would you
advise us to?" Father Abraham stood up and replied, "If you would have
my advice, I will give it you in short; for _A word to the wise is
enough_, as Poor Richard says." They joined in desiring him to speak his
mind; and, gathering round him, he proceeded as follows:
"Friends," said he, "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.
"I. 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; 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 is 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, up and be 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_; 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_. _Drive thy business, let not that drive thee_; and _Early to bed
and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise_, as Poor
Richard says.
"So what signifies wishing and hoping for better times? We may make
these times better if we bestir ourselves. _Industry need not wish, and
he that lives upon hopes 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. _He that hath a trade hath an estate; and he that hath a
calling hath an office of profit and honour_, as Poor Richard says; but
then the trade must be worked at, and the calling followed, or neither
the estate nor the office will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are
industrious, we shall never starve; for, _At the workingman's house
hunger looks in, but dares not enter_. Nor will the bailiff or the
constable enter; for _Industry pays debts, while despair increaseth
them_. What though you have found no treasure, nor has any rich relation
left you a legacy? _Diligence is the mother of luck, and God gives all
things to industry. Then plough deep while sluggards sleep, and you
shall have corn to sell and to keep._ Work while it is called to-day,
for you know not how much you may be hindered to-morrow. _One to-day is
worth two to-morrows_, as Poor Richard says; and farther, _Never leave
that till to-morrow which you can do 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 when there
is so much to be done for yourself, your family, and your country.
Handle your tools without mittens; remember that _The cat in gloves
catches no mice_, as Poor Richard says. It is 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_.
"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 art 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; for _A life of leisure and a life of laziness are two
things. 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 will follow you. The diligent
spinner has a large shift; and now I have a sheep and a cow, everybody
bids me good-morrow._
"II. 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 are 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 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, _If you would have a
faithful servant, and one that you like, serve yourself. A little
neglect may breed great mischief; 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 the want of a
little care about a horseshoe nail._
"III. 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_; 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, 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. 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,
_Many a little makes a mickle_. Beware of little expenses; _A small leak
will sink a great ship_, as Poor Richard says; 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 sale of fineries and knickknacks.
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, _It is foolish to lay out money in a purchase of repentance_; and
yet this folly is practised every day at auctions, for want of minding
the Almanac. Many a one, for the sake of finery on the back, have gone
with a hungry belly, and half starved their families. _Silks and satins,
scarlet and velvets, put out the kitchen fire_, as Poor Richard says.
"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! By these and other extravagances, 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 _It is day, and will never be night_; that a little to be spent
out of so much is not worth minding; but _Always taking out of the
mealtub and never putting in, soon comes to the bottom_, as Poor Richard
says; and then, _When the well is 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_, as Poor Richard says; 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;
Ere 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, _It is
easier to suppress the first desire than to satisfy all that follow it_.
And it is as truly folly for the poor to ape the rich, as for the frog
to swell in order to equal the ox.
_Vessels large may venture more,
But little boats should keep near shore._
It is, however, a folly soon punished; for, as Poor Richard says, _Pride
that dines on vanity, sups on contempt. 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 nor ease pain; it makes no increase
of merit in the person; it creates envy; it hastens misfortune.
"But what madness must it be to _run in debt_ for these superfluities?
We are offered, by the terms of this sale, 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 _The second vice is lying, the
first is running in debt_, as Poor Richard says; and again, to the same
purpose, _Lying rides upon Debt's back_, whereas a freeborn ought not to
be ashamed nor afraid to see or speak to any man living. But poverty
often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue. _It is hard for an empty
bag to stand upright._
"What would you think of that prince or of that government who should
issue an edict forbidding you to dress like a gentleman or 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 your self under such 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 jail till you shall be
able to pay him. When you have got your bargain, you may, perhaps, think
little of payment; but, as Poor Richard says, _Creditors have better
memories than debtors; 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 seemed so long,
will, as it lessens, appear extremely short. Time will seem to have
added wings to his heels as well as his shoulders. _Those have a short
Lent who owe money to be paid at Easter_. At present, perhaps, you may
think yourselves 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._
Gain may be temporary and uncertain, but ever, while you live, expense
is constant and certain; and _It is easier to build two chimneys than to
keep one in fuel_, as Poor Richard says; so, _Rather go to bed
supperless than rise in debt_.
"IV. 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 afterward prosperous.
"And now, to conclude, _Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will
learn in no other_, as Poor Richard says, and scarce in that; for it is
true, _We may give advice, but we cannot give conduct_. However,
remember this, _They that will not be counselled cannot be helped_; and
farther, that, _If you will not hear Reason, she will surely rap your
knuckles_, as Poor Richard says."
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 auction opened, and they began
to buy extravagantly. I found the good man had thoroughly studied my
Almanacs, and digested all I had dropped on these topics during the
course of twenty-five 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 that 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.
* * * * *
ON TRUE HAPPINESS.
The desire of happiness in general is so natural to us, that all the
world are in pursuit of it; all have this one end in view, though they
take such different methods to attain it, and are so much divided in
their notions of it.
Evil, as evil, can never be chosen; and, though evil is often the effect
of our own choice, yet we never desire it, but under the appearance of
an imaginary good.
Many things we indulge ourselves in may be considered by us as evils,
and yet be desirable; but then they are only considered as evils in
their effects and consequences, not as evils at present, and attended
with immediate misery.
Reason represents things to us not only as they are at present, but as
they are in their whole nature and tendency; passion only regards them
in the former light. When this governs us, we are regardless of the
future, and are only affected with the present. It is impossible ever to
enjoy ourselves rightly, if our conduct be not such as to preserve the
harmony and order of our faculties, and the original frame and
constitution of our minds; all true happiness, as all that is truly
beautiful, can only result from order.
While there is a conflict between the two principles of passion and
reason, we must be miserable in proportion to the struggle; and when the
victory is gained, and reason so far subdued as seldom to trouble us
with its remonstrances, the happiness we have then is not the happiness
of our rational nature, but the happiness only of the inferior and
sensual part of us, and, consequently, a very low and imperfect
happiness to what the other would have afforded us.
If we reflect upon any one passion and disposition of mind, abstract
from virtue, we shall soon see the disconnexion between that and true,
solid happiness. It is of the very essence, for instance, of envy to be
uneasy and disquieted. Pride meets with provocations and disturbances
upon almost every occasion. Covetousness is ever attended with
solicitude and anxiety. Ambition has its disappointments to sour us, but
never the good fortune to satisfy us; its appetite grows the keener by
indulgence, and all we can gratify it with at present serves but the
more to inflame its insatiable desires.
The passions, by being too much conversant with earthly objects, can
never fix in us a proper composure and acquiescence of mind. Nothing but
an indifference to the things of this world, an entire submission to the
will of Providence here, and a well-grounded expectation of happiness
hereafter, can give us a true, satisfactory enjoyment of ourselves.
Virtue is the best guard against the many unavoidable evils incident to
us; nothing better alleviates the weight of the afflictions, or gives a
truer relish of the blessings, of human life.
What is without us has not the least connexion with happiness, only so
far as the preservation of our lives and health depends upon it. Health
of body, though so far necessary that we cannot be perfectly happy
without it, is not sufficient to make us happy of itself. Happiness
springs immediately from the mind; health is but to be considered as a
condition or circumstance, without which this happiness cannot be tasted
pure and unabated.
Virtue is the best preservation of health, as it prescribes temperance,
and such a regulation of our passions as is most conducive to the
well-being of the animal economy; so that it is, at the same time, the
only true happiness of the mind, and the best means of preserving the
health of the body.
If our desires are to the things of this world, they are never to be
satisfied. If our great view is upon those of the next, the expectation
of them is an infinitely higher satisfaction than the enjoyment of those
of the present.
There is no happiness, then, but in a virtuous and self-approving
conduct. Unless our actions will bear the test of our sober judgments
and reflections upon them, they are not the actions, and, consequently,
not the happiness, of a rational being.
* * * * *
PUBLIC MEN
The following is a dialogue between Socrates, the great Athenian
philosopher, and one Glaucon, a private man, of mean abilities, but
ambitious of being chosen a senator and of governing the republic;
wherein Socrates in a pleasant manner convinces him of his incapacity
for public affairs, by making him sensible of his ignorance of the
interests of his country in their several branches, and entirely
dissuades him from any attempt of that nature. There is also added, at
the end, part of another dialogue the same Socrates had with one
Charmidas, a worthy man, but too modest, wherein he endeavours to
persuade him to put himself forward and undertake public business, as
being very capable of it. The whole is taken from _Xenophon's Memorable
Things of Socrates, Book Third_.
"A certain man, whose name was Glaucon, the son of Ariston, had so fixed
it in his mind to govern the republic, that he frequently presented
himself before the people to discourse of affairs of state, though all
the world laughed at him for it; nor was it in the power of his
relations or friends to dissuade him from that design. But Socrates had
a kindness for him, on account of Plato, his brother, and he only it was
who made him change his resolution. He met him, and accosted him in so
winning a manner, that he first obliged him to hearken to his discourse.
He began with him thus:
"'You have a mind, then, to govern the republic?'
"'I have so,' answered Glaucon.
"'You cannot,' replied Socrates, 'have a more noble design; for if you
can accomplish it so as to become absolute, you will be able to serve
your friends, you will raise your family, you will extend the bounds of
your country, you will be known, not only in Athens, but through all
Greece, and perhaps your renown will fly even to the barbarous nations,
as did that of Themistocles. In short, wherever you come, you will have
the respect and admiration of all the world.'
"These words soothed Glaucon, and won him to give ear to Socrates, who
went on in this manner: 'But it is certain, that if you desire to be
honoured, you must be useful to the state.'
"'Certainly,' said Glaucon.
"'And in the name of all the gods,' replied Socrates, 'tell me, what is
the first service that you intend to render the state?'
"Glaucon was considering what to answer, when Socrates continued: 'If
you design to make the fortune of one of your friends, you will
endeavour to make him rich, and thus, perhaps, you will make it your
business to enrich the republic?'
"'I would,' answered Glaucon.
"Socrates replied, 'Would not the way to enrich the republic be to
increase its revenue?'
"'It is very likely it would,' answered Glaucon.
"'Tell me, then, in what consists the revenue of the state, and to how
much it may amount? I presume you have particularly studied this matter,
to the end that, if anything should be lost on one hand, you might know
where to make it good on another; and that, if a fund should fail on a
sudden, you might immediately be able to settle another in its place?'
"'I protest,' answered Glaucon, 'I have never thought of this.'
"'Tell me, at least, the expenses of the republic, for no doubt you
intend to retrench the superfluous?'
"'I never thought of this either,' said Glaucon.
"'You were best, then, to put off to another time your design of
enriching the republic, which you can never be able to do while you are
ignorant both of its expenses and revenue.'
"'There is another way to enrich a state,' said Glaucon, 'of which you
take no notice; and that is, by the ruin [spoils] of its enemies.'
"'You are in the right,' answered Socrates; 'but to this end it is
necessary to be stronger than they, otherwise we shall run the hazard of
losing what we have. He, therefore, who talks of undertaking a war,
ought to know the strength on both sides, to the end that, if his party
be the stronger, he may boldly advise for war, and that, if it be the
weaker, he may dissuade the people from engaging themselves in so
dangerous an enterprise.'
"'All this is true.'
"'Tell me, then,' continued Socrates,'how strong our forces are by sea
and land, and how strong are our enemies.'
"'Indeed,' said Glaucon, 'I cannot tell you on a sudden.'
"'If you have a list of them in writing, pray show it me; I should be
glad to hear it read.'
"'I have it not yet.'
"'I see, then,' said Socrates, 'that we shall not engage in war so
soon; for the greatness of the undertaking will hinder you from maturely
weighing all the consequences of it in the beginning of your government.
But,' continued he, 'you have thought of the defence of the country; you
know what garrisons are necessary, and what are not; you know what
number of troops is sufficient in one, and not sufficient in another;
you will cause the necessary garrisons to be re-enforced, and disband
those that are useless?'
"'I should be of opinion,' said Glaucon, 'to leave none of them on foot,
because they ruin a country on pretence of defending it.'
"'But,' Socrates objected, 'if all the garrisons were taken away, there
would be nothing to hinder the first comer from carrying off what he
pleased; but how come you to know that the garrisons behave themselves
so ill? Have you been upon the place? Have you seen them?'
"'Not at all; but I suspect it to be so.'
"'When, therefore, we are certain of it,' said Socrates, 'and can speak
upon better grounds than simple conjectures, we will propose this advice
to the senate.'
"'It may be well to do so,' said Glaucon.
"'It comes into my mind, too,' continued Socrates, 'that you have never
been at the mines of silver, to examine why they bring not in so much
now as they did formerly.'
"'You say true; I have never been there.'
"'Indeed, they say the place is very unhealthy, and that may excuse
you.'
"'You rally me now,' said Glaucon.
"Socrates added, 'But I believe you have at least observed how much corn
our land produces, how long it will serve to supply our city, and how
much more we shall want for the whole year; to the end you may not be
surprised with a scarcity of bread, but may give timely orders for the
necessary provisions.'
"'There is a deal to do,' said Glaucon, 'if we must take care of all
these things.'
"'There is so,' replied Socrates; 'and it is even impossible to manage
our own families well, unless we know all that is wanting, and take care
to provide it. As you see, therefore, that our city is composed of above
ten thousand families, and it being a difficult task to watch over them
all at once, why did you not first try to retrieve your uncle's affairs,
which are running to decay? and, after having given that proof of your
industry, you might have taken a greater trust upon you. But now, when
you find yourself incapable of aiding a private man, how can you think
of behaving yourself so as to be useful to a whole people? Ought a man,
who has not strength enought to carry a hundred pound weight, to
undertake to carry a heavier burden?'
"'I would have done good service to my uncle,' said Glaucon, 'if he
would have taken my advice.'
"'How,' replied Socrates, 'have you not hitherto been able to govern the
mind of your uncle, and do you now believe yourself able to govern the
minds of all the Athenians, and his among the rest? Take heed, my dear
Glaucon, take heed lest too great a desire of power should render you
despised; consider how dangerous it is to speak and entertain ourselves
concerning things we do not understand; what a figure do those forward
and rash people make in the world who do so; and judge yourself whether
they acquire more esteem than blame, whether they are more admired than
contemned. Think, on the contrary, with how much more honour a man is
regarded who understands perfectly what he says and what he does, and
then you will confess that renown and applause have always been the
recompense of true merit, and shame the reward of ignorance and
temerity. If, therefore, you would be honoured, endeavour to be a man of
true merit; and if you enter upon the government of the republic with a
mind more sagacious than usual, I shall not wonder if you succeed in all
your designs.'"
Thus Socrates put a stop to the disorderly ambition of this man; but, on
an occasion quite contrary, he in the following manner exhorted
Charmidas to take an employment.
"He was a man of sense, and more deserving than most others in the same
post; but, as he was of a modest disposition, he constantly declined,
and made great difficulties of engaging himself in public business.
Socrates therefore addressed himself to him in this manner:
"'If you knew any man that could gain the prizes in the public games,
and by that means render himself illustrious, and acquire glory to his
country, what would you say of him if he refused to offer himself to the
combat?'
"'I would say,' answered Charmidas, 'that he was a mean-spirited,
effeminate fellow.'
"'And if a man were capable of governing a republic, of increasing its
power by his advice, and of raising himself by this means to a high
degree of honour, would you not brand him likewise with meanness of soul
if he would not present himself to be employed?'
"'Perhaps I might,' said Charmidas; 'but why do you ask me this
question?' Socrates replied, 'Because you are capable of managing the
affairs of the republic, and nevertheless you avoid doing so, though, in
quality of a citizen, you are _obliged_ to take care of the
commonwealth. Be no longer, then, thus negligent in this matter;
consider your abilities and your duty with more attention, and let not
slip the occasions of serving the republic, and of rendering it, if
possible, more flourishing than it is. This will be a blessing whose
influence will descend not only on the other citizens, but on your best
friends and yourself.'"
* * * * *
THE WASTE OF LIFE.
Anergus was a gentleman of a good estate; he was bred to no business,
and could not contrive how to waste his hours agreeably; he had no
relish for any of the proper works of life, nor any taste at all for the
improvements of the mind; he spent, generally, ten hours of the
four-and-twenty in his bed; he dozed away two or three more on his
couch, and as many were dissolved in good liquor every evening, if he
met with company of his own humour. Five or six of the rest he sauntered
away with much indolence; the chief business of them was to contrive his
meals, and to feed his fancy beforehand with the promise of a dinner and
supper; not that he was so absolute a glutton or so entirely devoted to
his appetite, but, chiefly because he knew not how to employ his
thoughts better, he let them rove about the sustenance of his body. Thus
he had made a shift to wear off ten years since the paternal estate fell
into his hands; and yet, according to the abuse of words in our day, he
was called a man of virtue, because he was scarce ever known to be quite
drunken, nor was his nature much inclined to licentiousness.
One evening, as he was musing alone, his thoughts happened to take a
most unusual turn, for they cast a glance backward, and began to reflect
on his manner of life. He bethought himself what a number of living
beings had been made a sacrifice to support his carcass, and how much
corn and wine had been mingled with those offerings. He had not quite
lost all the arithmetic that he had learned when he was a boy, and he
set himself to compute what he had devoured since he came to the age of
man.
"About a dozen of feathered creatures, small and great, have, one week
with another," said he, "given up their lives to prolong mine, which in
ten years amounts to at least six thousand.
"Fifty sheep have been sacrificed in a year, with half a hecatomb of
black cattle, that I might have the choicest part offered weekly upon my
table. Thus a thousand beasts out of the flock and the herd have been
slain in ten years' time to feed me, besides what the forest has
supplied me with. Many hundreds of fishes have, in all their varieties,
been robbed of life for my repast, and of the smaller fry as many
thousands.
"A measure of corn would hardly afford me fine flour enough for a
month's provision, and this arises to above six score bushels; and many
hogsheads of ale and wine, and other liquors, have passed through this
body of mine, this wretched strainer of meat and drink.
"And what have I done all this time for God or man? What a vast
profusion of good things upon a useless life and a worthless liver!
There is not the meanest creature among all these which I have devoured,
but hath answered the end of its creation better than I. It was made to
support human nature, and it hath done so. Every crab and oyster I have
ate, and every grain of corn I have devoured, hath filled up its place
in the rank of beings with more propriety and honour than I have done.
Oh shameful waste of life and time!"
In short, he carried on his moral reflections with so just and severe a
force of reason, as constrained him to change his whole course of life,
to break off his follies at once, and to apply himself to gain some
useful knowledge, when he was more than thirty years of age. He lived
many following years with the character of a worthy man and an
excellent Christian; he performed the kind offices of a good neighbour
at home, and made a shining figure as a patriot in the senate-house; he
died with a peaceful conscience, and the tears of his country were
dropped upon his tomb.
The world, that knew the whole series of his life, stood amazed at the
mighty change. They beheld him as a wonder of reformation, while he
himself confessed and adored the Divine power and mercy, which had
transformed him from a brute to a man.
But this was a single instance; and we may almost venture to write
MIRACLE upon it. Are there not numbers of both sexes among our young
gentry, in this degenerate age, whose lives thus run to utter waste,
without the least tendency to usefulness?
When I meet with persons of such a worthless character as this, it
brings to my mind some scraps of Horace:
"Nos numerus sumus, et fruges consumere nati,
. . . . . . . . Alcinoique
. . . . . . . . . juventus,
Cui pulchrum fuit in medios dormire dies," &c.
PARAPHRASE.
There are a number of us creep
Into this world, to eat and sleep;
And know no reason why they're born,
But merely to consume the corn,
Devour the cattle, fowl, and fish,
And leave behind an empty dish.
Though crows and ravens do the same,
Unlucky birds of hateful name,
Ravens or crows might fill their places,
And swallow corn and eat carcáses,
Then, if their tombstone, when they die,
Be n't taught to flatter and to lie.
There's nothing better will be said,
Than that _they've eat up all their bread,
Drunk all their drink, and gone to bed_.
* * * * *
SELF-DENIAL NOT THE ESSENCE OF VIRTUE.
It is commonly asserted, that without self-denial there is no virtue,
and that the greater the self-denial the greater the virtue.
If it were said that he who cannot deny himself anything he inclines to,
though he knows it will be to his hurt, has not the virtue of resolution
or fortitude, it would be intelligible enough; but, as it stands, it
seems obscure or erroneous.
Let us consider some of the virtues singly.
If a man has no inclination to wrong people in his dealings, if he feels
no temptation to it, and, therefore, never does it, can it be said that
he is not a just man? If he is a just man, has he not the virtue of
justice?
If to a certain man idle diversions have nothing in them that is
tempting, and, therefore, he never relaxes his application to business
for their sake, is he not an industrious man? Or has he not the virtue
of industry?
I might in like manner instance in all the rest of the virtues; but, to
make the thing short, as it is certain that the more we strive against
the temptation to any vice, and practise the contrary virtue, the weaker
will that temptation be, and the stronger will be that habit, till at
length the temptation has no force or entirely vanishes; does it follow
from thence that, in our endeavours to overcome vice, we grow
continually less and less virtuous, till at length we have no virtue at
all?
If self-denial be the essence of virtue, then it follows that the man
who is naturally temperate, just, &c., is not virtuous; but that, in
order to be virtuous, he must, in spite of his natural inclination,
wrong his neighbours, and eat, and drink, &c., to excess.
But perhaps it may be said, that by the word _virtue_ in the above
assertion is meant merit; and so it should stand thus: Without
self-denial there is no merit, and the greater the self-denial the
greater the merit.
The self-denial here meant must be when our inclinations are towards
vice, or else it would still be nonsense.
By merit is understood desert; and when we say a man merits, we mean
that he deserves praise or reward.
We do not pretend to merit anything of God, for he is above our
services; and the benefits he confers on us are the effects of his
goodness and bounty.
All our merit, then, is with regard to one another, and from one to
another.
Taking, then, the assertion as it last stands,
If a man does me a service from a natural benevolent inclination, does
he deserve less of me than another, who does me the like kindness
against his inclination?
If I have two journeymen, one naturally industrious, the other idle, but
both perform a day's work equally good, ought I to give the latter the
most wages?
Indeed, lazy workmen are commonly observed to be more extravagant in
their demands than the industrious; for, if they have not more for their
work, they cannot live as well. But though it be true to a proverb that
lazy folks take the most pains, does it follow that they deserve the
most money?
If you were to employ servants in affairs of trust, would you not bid
more for one you knew was naturally honest than for one naturally
roguish, but who has lately acted honestly? For currents, whose natural
channel is dammed up till the new course is by time worn sufficiently
deep and become natural, are apt to break their banks. If one servant is
more valuable than another, has he not more merit than the other? and
yet this is not on account of superior self-denial.
Is a patriot not praiseworthy if public spirit is natural to him?
Is a pacing-horse less valuable for being a natural pacer?
Nor, in my opinion, has any man less merit for having, in general,
natural virtuous inclinations.
The truth is, that temperance, justice, charity, &c., are virtues,
whether practised with or against our inclinations; and the man who
practises them merits our love and esteem; and self-denial is neither
good nor bad but as it is applied. He that denies a vicious inclination,
is virtuous in proportion to his resolution; but the most perfect virtue
is above all temptation; such as the virtue of the saints in heaven; and
he who does a foolish, indecent, or wicked thing, merely because it is
contrary to his inclination (like some mad enthusiasts I have read of,
who ran about naked, under the notion of taking up the cross), is not
practising the reasonable science of virtue, but is a lunatic.
* * * * *
ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE MATHEMATICS.
Mathematics originally signified any kind of discipline or learning, but
now it is taken for that science which teaches or contemplates whatever
is capable of being numbered or measured. That part of the mathematics
which relates to numbers only, is called _arithmetic_; and that which
is concerned about measure in general, whether length, breadth, motion,
force, &c., is called _geometry_.
As to the usefulness of arithmetic, it is well known that no business,
commerce, trade, or employment whatsoever, even from the merchant to the
shopkeeper, &c., can be managed and carried on without the assistance of
numbers; for by these the trader computes the value of all sorts of
goods that he dealeth in, does his business with ease and certainty, and
informs himself how matters stand at any time with respect to men,
money, and merchandise, to profit and loss, whether he goes forward or
backward, grows richer or poorer. Neither is this science only useful to
the merchant, but is reckoned the _primum mobile_ (or first mover) of
all mundane affairs in general, and is useful for all sorts and degrees
of men, from the highest to the lowest.
As to the usefulness of geometry, it is as certain that no curious art
or mechanic work can either be invented, improved, or performed without
its assisting principles.
It is owing to this that astronomers are put into a way of making their
observations, coming at the knowledge of the extent of the heavens, the
duration of time, the motions, magnitudes, and distances of the heavenly
bodies, their situations, positions, risings, settings, aspects, and
eclipses; also the measure of seasons, of years, and of ages.
It is by the assistance of this science that geographers present to our
view at once the magnitude and form of the whole earth, the vast extent
of the seas, the divisions of empires, kingdoms, and provinces.
It is by the help of geometry the ingenious mariner is instructed how to
guide a ship through the vast ocean, from one part of the earth to
another, the nearest and safest way, and in the shortest time.
By help of this science the architects take their just measures for the
structure of buildings, as private houses, churches, palaces, ships,
fortifications, &c.
By its help engineers conduct all their works, take the situation and
plan of towns, forts, and castles, measure their distances from one
another, and carry their measures into places that are only accessible
to the eye.
From hence also is deduced that admirable art of drawing sundials on any
place, howsoever situate, and for any part of the world, to point out
the exact time of the day, the sun's declination, altitude, amplitude,
azimuth, and other astronomical matters.
By geometry the surveyor is directed how to draw a map of any country,
to divide his lands, and to lay down and plot any piece of ground, and
thereby discover the area in acres, rods, and perches; the gauger is
instructed how to find the capacities or solid contents of all kinds of
vessels, in barrels, gallons, bushels, &c.; and the measurer is
furnished with rules for finding the areas and contents of superfices
and solids, and casting up all manner of workmanship. All these, and
many more useful arts, too many to be enumerated here, wholly depend
upon the aforesaid sciences, namely, arithmetic and geometry.
This science is descended from the infancy of the world, the inventors
of which were the first propagators of human kind, as Adam, Noah,
Abraham, Moses, and divers others.
There has not been any science so much esteemed and honoured as this of
the mathematics, nor with so much industry and vigilance become the care
of great men, and laboured in by the potentates of the world, namely,
emperors, kings, princes, &c.
_Mathematical demonstrations_ are a logic of as much or more use than
that commonly learned at schools, serving to a just formation of the
mind, enlarging its capacity, and strengthening it so as to render the
same capable of exact reasoning, and discerning truth from falsehood in
all occurrences, even subjects not mathematical. For which reason it is
said the Egyptians, Persians, and Lacedæmonians seldom elected any new
kings but such as had some knowledge in the mathematics; imagining those
who had not men of imperfect judgments, and unfit to rule and govern.
Though Plato's censure, that those who did not understand the 117th
proposition of the 13th book of Euclid's Elements ought not to be ranked
among rational creatures, was unreasonable and unjust, yet to give a man
the character of universal learning, who is destitute of a competent
knowledge in the mathematics, is no less so.