[2] From a letter to Mr. Benjamin Vaughan, dated at Passy, July
26th, 1784.
It is wonderful how preposterously the affairs of this world are
managed. Naturally one would imagine that the interest of a few
individuals should give way to general interest; but individuals manage
their affairs with so much more application, industry, and address than
the public do theirs, that general interest most commonly gives way to
particular. We assemble parliaments and councils to have the benefit of
their collected wisdom; but we necessarily have, at the same time, the
inconvenience of their collected passions, prejudices, and private
interests. By the help of these, artful men overpower their wisdom and
dupe its possessors: and if we may judge by the acts, _arrêts_, and
edicts, all the world over, for regulating commerce, an assembly of
great men is the greatest fool upon earth.
I have not yet, indeed, thought of a remedy for luxury. I am not sure
that in a great state it is capable of a remedy, nor that the evil is in
itself always so great as it is represented. Suppose we include in the
definition of luxury all unnecessary expense, and then let us consider
whether laws to prevent such expense are possible to be executed in a
great country, and whether, if they could be executed, our people
generally would be happier, or even richer. Is not the hope of being one
day able to purchase and enjoy luxuries a great spur to labour and
industry! May not luxury, therefore, produce more than it consumes, if
without such a spur people would be, as they are naturally enough
inclined to be, lazy and indolent? To this purpose I remember a
circumstance. The skipper of a shallop, employed between Cape May and
Philadelphia, had done us some small service, for which he refused to be
paid. My wife, understanding that he had a daughter, sent her a
new-fashioned cap. Three years after, this skipper being at my house
with an old farmer of Cape May, his passenger, he mentioned the cap, and
how much his daughter had been pleased with it. "But," said he, "it
proved a dear cap to our congregation." "How so?" "When my daughter
appeared with it at meeting, it was so much admired that all the girls
resolved to get such caps from Philadelphia; and my wife and I computed
that the whole could not have cost less than a hundred pounds." "True,"
said the farmer, "but you do not tell all the story. I think the cap
was, nevertheless, an advantage to us, for it was the first thing that
put our girls upon knitting worsted mittens for sale at Philadelphia,
that they might have wherewithal to buy caps and ribands there; and you
know that that industry has continued, and is likely to continue, and
increase to a much greater value, and answer better purposes." Upon the
whole, I was more reconciled to this little piece of luxury, since not
only the girls were made happier by having fine caps, but the
Philadelphians by the supply of warm mittens.
In our commercial towns upon the seacoast fortunes will occasionally be
made. Some of those who grow rich will be prudent, live within bounds,
and preserve what they have gained for their posterity; others, fond of
showing their wealth, will be extravagant and ruin themselves. Laws
cannot prevent this; and perhaps it is not always an evil to the public.
A shilling spent idly by a fool may be picked up by a wiser person, who
knows better what to do with it. It is, therefore, not lost. A vain,
silly fellow builds a fine house, furnishes it richly, lives in it
expensively, and in a few years ruins himself; but the masons,
carpenters, smiths, and other honest tradesmen have been by his employ
assisted in maintaining and raising their families; the farmer has been
paid for his labour, and encouraged, and the estate is now in better
hands. In some cases, indeed, certain modes of luxury may be a public
evil, in the same manner as it is a private one. If there be a nation,
for instance, that exports its beef and linen to pay for the importation
of claret and porter, while a great part of its people live upon
potatoes and wear no shirts, wherein does it differ from the sot, who
lets his family starve and sells his clothes to buy drink? Our American
commerce is, I confess, a little in this way. We sell our victuals to
the Islands for rum and sugar; the substantial necessaries of life for
superfluities. But we have plenty, and live well, nevertheless, though,
by being soberer, we might be richer.
The vast quantity of forest-land we have yet to clear and put in order
for cultivation, will for a long time keep the body of our nation
laborious and frugal. Forming an opinion of our people and their manners
by what is seen among the inhabitants of the seaports, is judging from
an improper sample. The people of the trading towns may be rich and
luxurious, while the country possesses all the virtues that tend to
promote happiness and public prosperity. Those towns are not much
regarded by the country; they are hardly considered as an essential part
of the states; and the experience of the last war has shown, that their
being in possession of the enemy did not necessarily draw on the
subjection of the country, which bravely continued to maintain its
freedom and independence notwithstanding.
It has been computed by some political arithmetician, that if every man
and woman would work for four hours every day on something useful, that
labour would produce sufficient to procure all the necessaries of life,
want and misery would be banished out of the world, and the rest of the
twenty-four hours might be leisure and pleasure.
What occasions, then, so much want and misery? It is the employment of
men and women in works that produce neither the necessaries nor
conveniences of life; who, with those who do nothing, consume
necessaries raised by the laborious. To explain this.
The first elements of wealth are obtained by labour, from the earth and
waters. I have land and raise corn. With this, if I feed a family that
does nothing, my corn will be consumed, and at the end of the year I
shall be no richer than I was at the beginning. But if, while I feed
them, I employ them, some in spinning, others in making bricks, &c., for
building, the value of my corn will be arrested and remain with me, and
at the end of the year we may all be better clothed and better lodged.
And if, instead of employing a man I feed in making bricks, I employ him
in fiddling for me, the corn he eats is gone, and no part of his
manufacture remains to augment the wealth and convenience of the family;
I shall, therefore, be the poorer for this fiddling man, unless the rest
of my family work more or eat less, to make up the deficiency he
occasions.
Look round the world and see the millions employed in doing nothing, or
in something that amounts to nothing, when the necessaries and
conveniences of life are in question. What is the bulk of commerce, for
which we fight and destroy each other, but the toil of millions for
superfluities, to the great hazard and loss of many lives by the
constant dangers of the sea? How much labour is spent in building and
fitting great ships to go to China and Arabia for tea and coffee, to the
West Indies for sugar, to America for tobacco? These things can not be
called the necessaries of life, for our ancestors lived very comfortably
without them.
A question may be asked. Could all these people, now employed in
raising, making, or carrying superfluities, be subsisted by raising
necessaries? I think they might. The world is large, and a great part of
it still uncultivated. Many hundred millions of acres in Asia, Africa,
and America are still in a forest, and a great deal even in Europe. On a
hundred acres of this forest a man might become a substantial farmer;
and a hundred thousand men, employed in clearing each his hundred acres,
would hardly brighten a spot big enough to be visible from the moon,
unless with Herschel's telescope; so vast are the regions still in wood.
It is, however, some comfort to reflect, that, upon the whole, the
quantity of industry and prudence among mankind exceeds the quantity of
idleness and folly. Hence the increase of good buildings, farms
cultivated, and populous cities filled with wealth, all over Europe,
which a few ages since were only to be found on the coast of the
Mediterranean; and this, notwithstanding the mad wars continually
raging, by which are often destroyed in one year the works of many
years' peace. So that we may hope the luxury of a few merchants on the
coast will not be the ruin of America.
One reflection more, and I will end this long, rambling letter. Almost
all the parts of our bodies require some expense. The feet demand shoes;
the legs stockings; and the rest of the body clothing; and the belly a
good deal of victuals. Our eyes, though exceedingly useful, ask, when
reasonable, only the cheap assistance of spectacles, which could not
much impair our finances. But the eyes of other people are the eyes that
ruin us. If all but myself were blind, I should want neither fine
clothes, fine houses, nor fine furniture.
* * * * *
ON TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD.
Veritas luce clarior.[3]
[3] Truth is brighter than light.
A friend of mine was the other day cheapening some trifles at a
shopkeeper's, and after a few words they agreed on a price. At the tying
up of the parcels he had purchased, the mistress of the shop told him
that people were growing very hard, for she actually lost by everything
she sold. How, then, is it possible, said my friend, that you can keep
on your business? Indeed, sir, answered she, I must of necessity shut my
doors, had I not a very great trade. The reason, said my friend (with a
sneer), is admirable.
There are a great many retailers who falsely imagine that being
_historical_ (the modern phrase for lying) is much for their advantage;
and some of them have a saying, _that it is a pity lying is a sin, it is
so useful in trade_; though if they would examine into the reason why a
number of shopkeepers raise considerable estates, while others who have
set out with better fortunes have become bankrupts, they would find that
the former made up with truth, diligence, and probity, what they were
deficient of in stock; while the latter have been found guilty of
imposing on such customers as they found had no skill in the quality of
their goods.
The former character raises a credit which supplies the want of fortune,
and their fair dealing brings them customers; whereas none will return
to buy of him by whom he has been once imposed upon. If people in trade
would judge rightly, we might buy blindfolded, and they would save, both
to themselves and customers, the unpleasantness of _haggling_.
Though there are numbers of shopkeepers who scorn the mean vice of
lying, and whose word may very safely be relied on, yet there are too
many who will endeavour, and backing their falsities with asseverations,
pawn their salvation to raise their prices.
As example works more than precept, and my sole view being the good and
interest of my countrymen, whom I could wish to see without any vice or
folly, I shall offer an example of the veneration bestowed on truth and
abhorrence of falsehood among the ancients.
Augustus, triumphing over Mark Antony and Cleopatra, among other
captives who accompanied them, brought to Rome a priest of about sixty
years old; the senate being informed that this man had never been
detected in a falsehood, and was believed never to have told a lie, not
only restored him to liberty, but made him a high priest, and caused a
statue to be erected to his honour. The priest thus honoured was an
Egyptian, and an enemy to Rome, but his virtue removed all obstacles.
Pamphilius was a Roman citizen, whose body upon his death was forbidden
sepulture, his estate was confiscated, his house razed, and his wife and
children banished the Roman territories, wholly for his having been a
notorious and inveterate liar.
Could there be greater demonstrations of respect for truth than these of
the Romans, who elevated an enemy to the greatest honours, and exposed
the family of a citizen to the greatest contumely?
There can be no excuse for lying, neither is there anything equally
despicable and dangerous as a liar, no man being safe who associates
with him; for _he who will lie will swear to it_, says the proverb; and
such a one may endanger my life, turn my family out of doors, and ruin
my reputation, whenever he shall find it his interest; and if a man will
lie and swear to it in his shop to obtain a trifle, why should we doubt
his doing so when he may hope to make a fortune by his perjury? The
crime is in itself so mean, that to call a man a liar is esteemed
everywhere an affront not to be forgiven.
If any have lenity enough to allow the dealers an excuse for this bad
practice, I believe they will allow none for the gentleman who is
addicted to this vice; and must look upon him with contempt. That the
world does so, is visible by the derision with which his name is treated
whenever it is mentioned.
The philosopher Epimenides gave the Rhodians this description of Truth.
She is the companion of the gods, the joy of heaven, the light of the
earth, the pedestal of justice, and the basis of good policy.
Eschines told the same people, that truth was a virtue without which
force was enfeebled, justice corrupted; humility became dissimulation,
patience intolerable, chastity a dissembler, liberty lost, and pity
superfluous.
Pharmanes the philosopher told the Romans that truth was the centre on
which all things rested: a chart to sail by, a remedy for all evils, and
a light to the whole world.
Anaxarchus, speaking of truth, said it was health incapable of sickness,
life not subject to death, an elixir that healeth all, a sun not to be
obscured, a moon without eclipse, an herb which never withereth, a gate
that is never closed, and a path which never fatigues the traveller.
But if we are blind to the beauties of truth, it is astonishing that we
should not open our eyes to the inconvenience of falsity. A man given to
romance must be always on his guard, for fear of contradicting and
exposing himself to derision; for the most _historical_ would avoid
the odious character, though it is impossible, with the utmost
circumspection, to travel long on this route without detection, and
shame and confusion follow. Whereas he who is a votary of truth never
hesitates for an answer, has never to rack his invention to make the
sequel quadrate with the beginning of his story, nor obliged to burden
his memory with minute circumstances, since truth speaks easily what it
recollects, and repeats openly and frequently without varying facts,
which liars cannot always do, even though gifted with a good memory.
* * * * *
NECESSARY HINTS TO THOSE THAT WOULD BE RICH.
Written Anno 1736.
The use of money is all the advantage there is in having money.
For six pounds a year you may have the use of one hundred pounds,
provided you are a man of known prudence and honesty.
He that spends a groat a day idly, spends idly above six pounds a year,
which is the price for the use of one hundred pounds.
He that wastes idly a groat's worth of his time per day, one day with
another, wastes the privilege of using one hundred pounds each day.
He that idly loses five shillings' worth of time, loses five shillings,
and might as prudently throw five shillings into the sea.
He that loses five shillings, not only loses that sum, but all the
advantage that might be made by turning it in dealing, which, by the
time that a young man becomes old, will amount to a considerable sum of
money.
Again: he that sells upon credit, asks a price for what he sells
equivalent to the principal and interest of his money for the time he
is to be kept out of it; therefore, he that buys upon credit pays
interest for what he buys, and he that pays ready money might let that
money out to use: so that he that possesses anything he bought, pays
interest for the use of it.
Yet, in buying goods, it is best to pay ready money, because he that
sells upon credit expects to lose five per cent. by bad debts; therefore
he charges, on all he sells upon credit, an advance that shall make up
that deficiency.
Those who pay for what they buy upon credit, pay their share of this
advance.
He that pays ready money escapes, or may escape, that charge.
A penny saved is twopence clear,
A pin a day's a groat a year.
* * * * *
THE WAY TO MAKE MONEY PLENTY IN EVERY MAN'S POCKET.
At this time, when the general complaint is that "money is scarce," it
will be an act of kindness to inform the moneyless how they may
re-enforce their pockets. I will acquaint them with the true secret of
money-catching, the certain way to fill empty purses, and how to keep
them always full. Two simple rules, well observed, will do the business.
First, let honesty and industry be thy constant companions; and,
Secondly, spend one penny less than thy clear gains.
Then shall thy hidebound pocket soon begin to thrive, and will never
again cry with the empty bellyache: neither will creditors insult thee,
nor want oppress, nor hunger bite, nor nakedness freeze thee. The whole
hemisphere will shine brighter, and pleasure spring up in every corner
of thy heart. Now, therefore, embrace these rules and be happy. Banish
the bleak winds of sorrow from thy mind and live independent. Then shalt
thou be a man and not hide thy face at the approach of the rich nor
suffer the pain of feeling little when the sons of fortune walk at thy
right hand: for independence, whether with little or much, is good
fortune and placeth thee on even ground with the proudest of the golden
fleece. Oh, then, be wise, and let industry walk with thee in the
morning, and attend thee until thou reachest the evening hour for rest.
Let honesty be as the breath of thy soul, and never forget to have a
penny when all thy expenses are enumerated and paid: then shalt thou
reach the point of happiness, and independence shall be thy shield and
buckler, thy helmet and crown; then shall thy soul walk upright, nor
stoop to the silken wretch because he hath riches, nor pocket an abuse
because the hand which offers it wears a ring set with diamonds.
* * * * *
THE HANDSOME AND DEFORMED LEG.
There are two sorts of people in the world, who, with equal degrees of
health and wealth, and the other comforts of life, become, the one happy
and the other miserable. This arises very much from the different views
in which they consider things, persons, and events, and the effect of
those different views upon their own minds.
In whatever situation men can be placed, they may find conveniences and
inconveniences; in whatever company, they may find persons and
conversation more or less pleasing; at whatever table, they may meet
with meats and drinks of better and worse taste, dishes better and worse
dressed; in whatever climate, they will find good and bad weather; under
whatever government, they may find good and bad laws, and good and bad
administration of those laws; in whatever poem or work of genius, they
may see faults and beauties; in almost every face and every person, they
may discover fine features and defects, good and bad qualities.
Under these circumstances, the two sorts of people above mentioned fix
their attention, those who are disposed to be happy on the conveniences
of things, the pleasant parts of conversation, the well-dressed dishes,
the goodness of the wines, the fine weather, &c., and enjoy all with
cheerfulness. Those who are to be unhappy, think and speak only of the
contraries. Hence they are continually discontented themselves, and by
their remarks sour the pleasures of society, offend personally many
people, and make themselves everywhere disagreeable. If this turn of
mind was founded in nature, such unhappy persons would be the more to be
pitied. But as the disposition to criticise and to be disgusted is,
perhaps, taken up originally by imitation, and is, unawares, grown into
a habit, which, though at present strong, may nevertheless be cured;
when those who have it are convinced of its bad effects on their
felicity, I hope this little admonition may be of service to them, and
put them on changing a habit which, though in the exercise it is chiefly
an act of imagination, yet has serious consequences in life, as it
brings on real griefs and misfortunes. For, as many are offended by, and
nobody loves this sort of people, no one shows them more than the most
common civility and respect, and scarcely that; and this frequently puts
them out of humour, and draws them into disputes and contentions. If
they aim at obtaining some advantage in rank or fortune, nobody wishes
them success, or will stir a step or speak a word to favour their
pretensions. If they incur public censure or disgrace, no one will
defend or excuse, and many join to aggravate their misconduct, and
render them completely odious. If these people will not change this bad
habit, and condescend to be pleased with what is pleasing, without
fretting themselves and others about the contraries, it is good for
others to avoid an acquaintance with them, which is always disagreeable,
and sometimes very inconvenient, especially when one finds one's self
entangled in their quarrels.
An old philosophical friend of mine was grown, from experience, very
cautious in this particular, and carefully avoided any intimacy with
such 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 discover,
at first sight, this unpleasing disposition in a person, he for that
purpose made use of his legs; one of which was remarkably handsome, 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 my philosopher to have no farther
acquaintance with him. Everybody has not this two-legged instrument; but
every one, with a little attention, may observe signs of that carping,
fault-finding disposition, and 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 beloved by others and happy in themselves, they should
_leave off looking at the ugly leg_.
* * * * *
ON HUMAN VANITY.
Mr. Franklin, Meeting with the following curious little piece the other
day, I send it to you to republish, as it is now in very few hands.
There is something so elegant in the imagination, conveyed in so
delicate a style, and accompanied with a moral so just and elevated,
that it must yield great pleasure and instruction to every mind of real
taste and virtue.
_Cicero_, in the first of his Tusculan questions, finely exposes the
vain judgment we are apt to form of human life compared with eternity.
In illustrating this argument, he quotes a passage of natural history
from Aristotle, concerning a species of insects on the banks of the
river Hypanis, that never outlive the day in which they are born.
To pursue the thought of this elegant writer, let us suppose one of the
most robust of these _Hypanians_, so famed in history, was in a manner
coeval with time itself; that he began to exist at break of day, and
that, from the uncommon strength of his constitution, he has been able
to show himself active in life, through the numberless minutes of ten or
twelve hours. Through so long a series of seconds, he must have acquired
vast wisdom in his way, from observation and experience.