one naturally leads to the acquisition of the following. As regards
chastity, he says himself: "The hard-to-be-governed passion of youth"
had more than once led him astray. But there is every reason to suppose
he exercised great self-control in this as in all other passions. We
may remark here that Franklin had an illegitimate son, William, whom he
reared in his own home, but who caused him great pain by siding with
the Tories in the Revolution. An illegitimate son of William, born in
London and named William Temple Franklin, adhered to the grandfather
and was a great comfort to him in his old age. One other of these
virtues Franklin could never acquire. He confesses sadly that try as he
might he could never learn orderliness. But in general it may be said
that few men have ever set before themselves so wise a law of conduct,
and that still fewer men have ever come so near to attaining their
ideal. This was both because his ideal was so thoroughly practical, and
because he was a man of indomitable will who had genuinely chosen true
Philosophy as his guide. "O vitae Philosophia dux! O virtutum
inda-gatrix expultrixque vitiorum!"--O Philosophy, thou guide of life!
thou searcher out of virtues and expeller of vices!--he wrote as one of
the mottoes on his little book of conduct, and to him the words were a
living reality.
The virtues in Franklin were eminently human. Though dwelling in a
community of Quakers and often identified with them, he looked to
anything rather than the inner light for guidance, nor could he
conceive the meaning of those "divine pleasures" which William Penn
declared "are to be found in a free solitude." On his voyage home from
London the boy philosopher had written in his journal: "Man is a
sociable being, and it is, for aught I know, one of the worst of
punishments to be excluded from society." Accordingly on his return to
Philadelphia he began to cultivate seriously his "sociable being."
Among the few clubs famous in literature is the Junto which Franklin
established in 1727, and which lasted for forty years. This club was a
little circle of friends, never more than twelve, who met on Friday
evenings to discuss matters of interest. Twenty-four questions were
read, with a pause after each for filling and drinking a glass of wine.
Two or three of these questions will suffice to show their general aim.
"1. Have you met with anything in the author you last read, remarkable,
or suitable to be communicated to the Junto, particularly in history,
morality, poetry, physic, travels, mechanic arts, or other parts of
knowledge?
"11. Do you think of anything at present, in which the Junto may be
serviceable to mankind, to their country, to their friends, or to
themselves?
"15. Have you lately observed any encroachment on the just liberties of
the people?
"20. In what manner can the Junto, or any of them, assist you in any of
your honorable designs?"
Besides the answering of these questions, there were regular debates,
declamations, and the reading of essays; while the wise Franklin took
care always that no undue heat should enter into the proceedings.
Singing and drinking and other amusements also claimed a fair share of
the time. It is curious to observe that in his Autobiography Franklin
half apologizes for mentioning the Junto, and declares that his reason
for so doing was to show how the various members of the club aided him
in his business. Were the Autobiography our only source of information,
we might sum up the lessons of Franklin's life in the one word
_Thrift_. The truth is that many of Franklin's schemes for public
improvement first found a hearing in the secrecy of these friendly
meetings.
Before returning to Franklin's active life, let us insert here an
amusing epitaph which he composed about this time, and which has become
justly famous:--
THE BODY
OF
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
PRINTER
(LIKE THE COVER OF AN OLD BOOK
ITS CONTENTS TORN OUT
AND STRIPT OF ITS LETTERING AND GILDING)
LIES HERE, FOOD FOR WORMS.
BUT THE WORK SHALL NOT BE LOST
FOR IT WILL (AS HE BELIEVED)
APPEAR ONCE MORE
IN A NEW AND MORE ELEGANT EDITION
REVISED AND CORRECTED
BY
THE AUTHOR.
IV
THE SCIENTIST AND PUBLIC CITIZEN IN PHILADELPHIA
Franklin was twenty-two years old when he began business with Meredith.
They had no capital, and in fact were in debt for part of their
appurtenances. Meredith proved not only incompetent, but a hard drinker
as well; so that Franklin, accepting the kindness of two friends who
lent him the money, soon bought his partner out and conducted the shop
alone. He prospered steadily, and in twenty years was able to retire
from active business. From the beginning friends came to his aid:
through a member of the Junto he got printing from the Quakers; by his
careful work he drew away from old Bradford the public printing for the
Assembly; he engaged assistants, and before many years was far the most
important printer in the colonies. Besides his regular trade he was
bookbinder, sold books and stationery, and dealt in soap and any other
commodity that came handy. The description of his thrift we must give
in his own words: "In order to secure my credit and character as a
tradesman, I took care not only to be in reality industrious and
frugal, but to avoid the appearance to the contrary. I dressed plain,
and was seen at no places of idle diversion. I never went out a-fishing
or shooting; a book indeed sometimes debauched me from my work, but
that was seldom, was private, and gave no scandal; and to show that I
was not above my business I sometimes brought home the paper I
purchased at the stores through the streets on a wheelbarrow."
When Franklin became independent of Keimer he turned to his favorite
project of establishing a newspaper. But in this case his usual habit
of secrecy failed him, and knowledge of his plans reached Keimer's
ears. Immediately his old master anticipated him by issuing proposals
for a paper which he grandiloquently styled "The Universal Instructor
in all Arts and Sciences, and Pennsylvania Gazette,"--an utterly absurd
sheet, whose contents were taken chiefly from an encyclopaedia recently
published in London. To counteract this Franklin published in
Bradford's paper, "The Mercury," a series of essays after the manner of
Addison, to which he subscribed the name "Busy-Body." Other members of
the Junto contributed to the series; and Keimer, being stung by their
satire, replied with coarse abuse, and also with attempted imitation.
But Keimer was quite unequal to the conflict, and after publishing
thirty-nine numbers of the paper sold it for a small sum to Franklin
and Meredith, and himself moved to the Barbadoes. Number 40, October 2,
1729, under the simple title of "The Pennsylvania Gazette," came from
Franklin's press. The encyclopaedic extracts were cut short, and in
their stead appeared what news could be gathered, with occasional
clever essays such as only Franklin could write. It was for the times a
good paper, and the printing was admirably done.
With prosperity Franklin began to think of matrimony. A family of
Godfreys lived in the same house with him, and now Mrs. Godfrey
undertook to make a match between him and the daughter of a relative of
hers. Franklin's account of this affair for its coolness and placidity
may almost be compared with Gibbon's "I sighed as a lover, I obeyed as
a son." On learning that the girl's parents could not or would not give
with her enough money to pay off his debts, the gallant suitor at once
and irrevocably withdrew.
He then looked about him for another match, but found to his chagrin
that an adventurous printer could not command an agreeable wife and a
dowry at the same time. Being determined to marry, that he might bring
order into his life, he at last turned to Miss Read, with whom he had
maintained a friendly correspondence, and notwithstanding the
difficulties in the way married her on the 1st of September, 1730. If
he rejected Miss Godfrey because she brought no dowry with her, he
praised his wife chiefly because she aided him in his economies. "He
that would thrive must ask his wife," he quotes, and congratulates
himself that he has a wife as much disposed to frugality as himself.
She helped in the business; they kept no idle servants; their table was
plain and simple, their furniture of the cheapest. His breakfast for a
long time was bread and milk, and he ate it out of a twopenny earthen
porringer with a pewter spoon. "But mark," he adds, "how luxuries will
enter families and make a progress despite of principles: being called
one morning to breakfast, I found it in a china bowl, with a spoon of
silver! They had been bought for me without my knowledge by my wife,
and had cost her the enormous sum of twenty-three shillings, for which
she had no other excuse or apology to make but that she thought _her_
husband deserved a silver spoon and china bowl as well as any of his
neighbors. This was the first appearance of plate and china in our
house, which afterward, in a course of years as our wealth increased,
augmented gradually to several hundred pounds in value."
Mrs. Franklin's temper was not of the serenest, and her manners perhaps
were not such as would have honored him had she followed him into the
great world; but she made him a good wife,--and we need not repeat the
tattle which we are told is still current among some of the high
families of Philadelphia. They had two children,--a son, the idol of
his father's heart, who died as a child; and a daughter, who married
Richard Bache, and is the ancestress of a large family.
In this happy home, and as his business prospered, Franklin found more
and more time for study and self-improvement. In 1733 he began the
acquisition of languages, teaching himself to read French fluently, and
then passing on to Italian and Spanish. Chess was always a favorite
amusement with him; and we can imagine the grave philosopher playing a
cautious and invulnerable game, with now and then, when least expected,
a brilliant sally. But his conscience seems always to have protested
against the waste of time involved, and he now made use of the game to
forward his studies. With his favorite antagonist he agreed that the
victor in each game should impose some task in Italian, which the other
on his honor was to complete before the next meeting. As his opponent
was a pretty even match for him they both made steady progress in the
language. In Latin he had had a year's instruction at school, and later
in life he dabbled a little in that language; but his knowledge of the
classics was always superficial, and he seems to have entertained
something like a spite against them.
In 1732 Franklin began the publication of an almanac under the name of
Richard Saunders, which he continued for twenty-five years, and which
gained immense popularity as Poor Richard's Almanac. It was the
flourishing time of such publications. Since the year 1639, when
Stephen Daye printed his first almanac at Cambridge, these annual
messages had increased in number until after theology they became
perhaps the most genuine feature of colonial literature. And from the
first they displayed the sort of shrewdness and humor which have always
been characteristic of the American mind. So, too, the bulk of Poor
Richard's production was humor, sometimes blunt and coarse, and
sometimes instinct with the finest irony. Perhaps the best of Poor
Richard's jokes is that played at the expense of Titan Leeds, his rival
in Philadelphia. In the first issue Mr. Saunders announces the imminent
death of his friend Titan Leeds: "He dies, by my calculation, made at
his request, on October 17, 1733, 3 ho., 29 m., P.M., at the very
instant of the [symbol for conjunction] of [symbol for sun] and [symbol
for Mercury].[1] By his own calculation, he will survive till the 26th
of the same month. This small difference between us we have disputed
whenever we have met these nine years past; but at length he is
inclined to agree with my judgment. Which of us is most exact a little
time will now determine. As, therefore, these Provinces may not longer
expect to see any of his performances after this year, I think myself
free to take up the task." Naturally Mr. Titan Leeds objected with
strenuous voice to this summary manner of being shuffled out of the
world; and Franklin's yearly protest that Leeds is really dead, and his
appeal to the degenerating wit of Leeds's almanac to prove his
assertion, is one of the most successful and malicious jokes ever
perpetrated. We ought to add, however, that this venomous jest is
borrowed bodily from Dean Swift's treatment of the poor almanac-maker,
Partridge. Indeed it might be said of Franklin, as Moliere said of
himself, that he took his own wherever he found it.
[1] [conjunction symbol] signifies _conjunction_; [sun symbol]
_the sun_; [Mercury symbol] _Mercury_.
But what gave the almanac its permanent fame was the cleverness of the
maxims scattered through its pages. These wise saws Franklin gathered
from far and wide, often, however, reshaping them and marking them,
with the stamp of his peculiar genius. As might be expected, they are
chiefly directed to instill the precepts of industry and frugality. On
ceasing to edit the almanac in 1757 Franklin gathered together the best
of these proverbs and wove them into a continuous narrative, which he
pretends to have heard spoken at an auction by an old man called Father
Abraham. This speech of Father Abraham became immediately famous, was
reprinted in England, was translated into the languages of Europe, and
still lives. It made the name of Poor Richard a household word the
world over.
Franklin, however, had many intellectual interests besides reading and
writing. He was always interested in music, himself playing the guitar
and harp and violin; and one of his proudest achievements was the
perfection of a musical instrument called the armonica, which consisted
of a series of glasses so designed as to give forth the notes of the
musical scale when chafed with the moistened finger.
He was moreover sensitive in his own way to the various spiritual
movements that swept over the country. This was the period of wild
revivals, when religion, entering into the converted soul with
inconceivable violence, found expression in gasping shrieks, rigid
faintings, and strong convulsions; and the leader of this movement,
strange as it may seem, was a warm friend of Franklin's. George
Whitefield first visited Philadelphia in 1739, and immediately filled
the city with enthusiasm by his powerful oratory. Franklin was
astonished at the hold he got on the people, especially as he assured
them they were naturally half beasts and half devils; but our
philosopher admits that he himself succumbed once to the preacher's
spell. Whitefield was preaching a begging sermon for a project which
Franklin did not approve, and the latter made a silent resolve that he
would not contribute. He had in his pocket a handful of copper money,
three or four silver dollars, and five pistoles in gold. As the orator
proceeded, he began to soften and concluded to give the copper. Another
stroke of eloquence made him ashamed of that and determined him to give
the silver; and the peroration was so admirable that he emptied his
pocket wholly into the collector's dish, gold and all. But he was never
too much carried away to omit analyzing and observing; and on one
occasion, when Whitefield was preaching in the open air, he calculated
by a clever experiment that the speaker might be heard by more than
thirty thousand persons. Nor did he suffer Whitefield's cant phrases to
pass unchallenged. At one time he invited the preacher to stop at his
house, and Whitefield in accepting declared that if Franklin made the
kind offer for Christ's sake he should not miss of a reward. To which
the philosopher replied: "Don't let me be mistaken; it was not for
_Christ's_ sake, but for _your_ sake."
This intimate acquaintance with Whitefield forms something like a bond
of union between Franklin and his only intellectual compeer, Jonathan
Edwards; and the different attitude of the two men towards the
wandering revivalist is a good illustration of the great contrast in
their characters. If Franklin may in some ways be called the typical
American, yet the lonely, introverted, God-intoxicated soul of Edwards
stands as a solemn witness to depths of understanding in his countrymen
which Dr. Franklin's keen wit had no means of fathoming. But in one
respect the two minds were alike: they were both acute observers of
nature, and we have only to read Edwards's treatise on spiders, written
when he was twelve years old, and to follow his later physical
investigations, which indeed foreshadowed some of Franklin's electrical
discoveries, to learn how brilliant a part he might have played in
science if his intelligence had not been troubled by the terrible
theology of the day. As for Franklin, we have seen the inquisitive bent
of his mind in childhood, and as he grew older the habit of observing
and recording and theorizing became his master passion. Though scarcely
a professional scientist, his various discoveries in natural history
and his mechanical inventions brought great renown to him as a man, and
were even an important factor in the national struggle for
independence.
Nothing was too small or too great to attract his investigating eyes.
All his life he was interested in the phenomena of health and in the
care of the body, and even as a boy, it will be remembered, he had
experimented in the use of a vegetarian diet. He had his own theory in
regard to colds, maintaining that they are not the result of exposure
to a low temperature, but are due to foul air and to a relaxed state of
the body,--as in general they no doubt are. His letters are full of
clever protests against the common theory, and at times he was brought
by his opinions into amusing conflict with the habits of other persons.
On one occasion in a tavern he was compelled to occupy the same bed
with John Adams, who, being an invalid and afraid of night air, shut
down the window. "Oh!" says Franklin, "don't shut the window, we shall
be suffocated." Adams answered that he feared the evening air. Dr.
Franklin replied, "The air within the chamber will soon be, and indeed
now is, worse than that without doors. Come, open the window and come
to bed, and I will convince you. I believe you are not acquainted with
my theory of colds." Whereupon Adams got into bed, and the Doctor began
an harangue upon air and cold, respiration and perspiration, with which
the Bostonian was so much amused that he soon fell asleep and left
Franklin and his philosophy together. The effect of drafts on chimneys
was just as interesting to our philosopher as their effect on the human
system, and it was one of his diversions when visiting the great houses
of England and Europe to cure smoky fireplaces. From chimneys to stoves
is an easy step, and the invention of the so-called Pennsylvania stove
is one of his best known achievements.
All his life he was an observer of the weather, and a student of the
winds and tides. His first discovery in natural history was an
observation of the fact that storms move against the wind, that is, for
instance, that a northeast storm along the coast is felt at
Philadelphia earlier than at Boston. He made a careful study of the
temperature of the gulf stream in the Atlantic; and in a letter written
when he was seventy-nine years old he gives a long account of his
inventions and observations in nautical matters.
But his discoveries in electricity quite overshadow all his other work
of the sort, and on them must rest his real claim to scientific renown.
For many years the world had been amusing itself with various machines
for making sparks and giving shocks, and after the discovery of the
Leyden jar, in 1745, the manipulation of electrical toys and machines
became the rage among scientists and even among the people of society.
Just about this time a friend in England sent Franklin specimens of the
glass tubes used to create electricity by friction, and immediately
Franklin's inquisitive mind was fired to take up the new study. So
fully indeed was his attention engrossed by the series of experiments
he now undertook, alone and with several investigating friends in the
city, that business became irksome to him and he retired from active
management of the printing house. Besides making many ingenious toys
and showy experiments, Franklin added three contributions of real
importance to science.
1. He anticipated Faraday in the discovery that the electricity in a
charged Leyden jar resides on the glass and not on the metal coatings.
He, however, made no generalizations from this discovery.
2. He advanced the fluid theory of electricity, recognizing clearly the
dual nature of the varieties commonly called positive and negative from
the mathematical symbols used to express them.
3. He established the identity of lightning and electricity.
To understand the importance of this last discovery we must remember
with what terror the world had hitherto regarded this bewildering
apparition of the sky. It was not so much the dread of feeling above
one an irresponsible power subject to a law that knows no sympathy with
human life, as the more debasing fear of superstition, that sees in the
red thunderbolt a deadly instrument of vengeance hurled by the hand of
an angry deity, and that loosens the inmost sinews of a man's moral
courage. With the knowledge that lightning is only a magnified
electrical spark, fell one of the last strongholds of false religion.
And there is something eminently fit in the fact that this lurking
mystery of the heavens was finally exploded by Dr. Franklin, the
exponent of common sense.
I am told by a specialist that the neatness and thoroughness of the
reasoning by which Franklin established his theory before proceeding to
experimentation are most laudable, and I am sure his letters of
explanation have a literary charm not often found in scientific
writing. The paper in which Franklin developed his theory and showed
how it might be tested by drawing lightning from the clouds by means of
a pointed wire set up on a steeple, was sent to his friend in England,
and there printed; and at the suggestion of the great Buffon the same
paper was translated into French. The pamphlet created a sensation in
France, and the proposed experiment was actually performed in the
presence of the king. Before the report, however, of the successful
experiment reached Franklin he had himself verified his theory, using a
kite to attain an altitude, as there was no spire or high building in
Philadelphia. Taking his son with him, he went to an old cow house in
the country, before a storm, and there, to catch the electric fluid,
sent up his kite made of an old silk handkerchief. A wire extended from
the upright stick of the kite, and this was connected with the cord,
which when wet acted as a good conductor. The part of the cord held in
his hand was of silk, and between this and the wet hempen cord a key
was inserted and connected with a Leyden jar. How successful the
experiment proved to be, all the world knows. Somehow all the important
events of Franklin's life are dramatic and picturesque, and this scene,
especially, of the philosopher in the storm drawing down the very
thunderbolts of heaven has always had a fascination for the popular
mind. The detailed story of the experiment became public only through
Franklin's conversation with his friends. When he learned that his
theory had been previously verified in France, his modesty was so great
that in writing he simply told how the experiment might be performed
with a kite, never that he himself had actually accomplished it. In
consequence of this discovery he was at once elected a member of the
Royal Society of London, Yale and Harvard gave him the honorary degree
of master of arts, and everywhere he was celebrated as the foremost
philosopher of the day.
When the time comes we shall see that Franklin's scientific fame was a
real aid to him in his diplomatic career; now we must turn our eyes
backward and trace from the beginning his slow rise in political and
civic power. And it is a peculiar feature of the day and of Franklin's
individual character that many of his reforms took their start in the
gayety of social intercourse. There was nothing morose, nothing stern,
in our genial philosopher. Though always temperate, his vivacity and
easy politeness made him welcome in any merry company of the day. He
could sing with the best of the young blades and even compose his own
ditties; and one of these songs, "The Old Man's Wish," he tells us he
sang at least a thousand times. The chorus of the song is
characteristic enough to be quoted:--
"May I govern my passions with absolute sway,
Grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by gentle decay;"
and another ballad in praise of his wife still has a kind of
popularity:--