_Franklin reappointed Agent at the Court of Great Britain. Visits
Germany and France. Returns to Philadelphia. Appointed Delegate to
Congress. Interview with Lord Howe. Sent as Ambassador to France. Asks
to be recalled. Chosen President of the Supreme Council of
Philadelphia. Death. Character._
1. The disputes between the proprietaries and the assembly, which had
for a long time subsided, again revived. At the election for a new
assembly in 1764, the friends of the proprietaries made great
exertions to keep out all those of the opposite party. They obtained a
small majority in the city of Philadelphia, and Franklin lost the seat
which he had now held for fourteen years.
2. On the meeting of the assembly, it appeared that there was still a
majority of Franklin's friends. He was again appointed agent of the
provinces at the court of Great Britain. His enemies were sadly vexed
at this appointment, and made a solemn protest against it, which they
wished to have entered upon the journals. This, however, was refused,
and it was consequently published in the newspapers. It drew from him
a spirited reply.
3. The opposition to his reappointment seems to have greatly affected
his feelings, as it came from men with whom he had long been
connected, both in public and private life. In his last publication,
he took a pathetic leave of Pennsylvania. "I am now," he says, "to
take leave (perhaps a last leave) of the country I love, and in which
I have spent the greatest part of my life. _Esto perpetua!_[1] I wish
every kind of prosperity to my friends, and I forgive my enemies."
[1] May it exist for ever!
4. During his residence in England, he consulted, with unremitting
industry, the best interests of his native country. He was every where
received with respect, on account of his reputation as a writer and
philosopher. In 1766 he made a visit to Holland and Germany, and
received the greatest marks of attention from men of science. In the
following year he travelled into France, where he was received with
much kindness and favor. He became acquainted with a number of
literary men, and was introduced to the king, Louis XV.
5. Difficulties had now commenced between Great Britain and her
provinces in America. Franklin was unwearied in his efforts to bring
about a reconciliation. He had frequent interviews with Lord Howe and
Lord Chatham, and other distinguished English statesmen, who
entertained for him the highest respect and esteem. Most of the time
during his present residence in England was occupied in these vain
efforts. The violent conduct of the parent state drove the colonies to
war, and Franklin returned to America in the year 1775.
6. The day after his return he was elected, by the legislature of
Pennsylvania, a delegate to congress. Not long after his election, a
committee was appointed, consisting of Mr. Lynch, Mr. Harrison and
himself, to visit the camp at Cambridge. They here united their
efforts with those of the commander in chief, to convince the soldiers
of the necessity of remaining in the field, and persevering in the
cause of their country.
7. When Lord Howe came to America in 1776, with powers to effect an
accommodation with the colonists, a correspondence on the subject took
place between him and Dr. Franklin. John Adams, Edward Rutledge and
Dr. Franklin were afterwards appointed to wait upon Lord Howe, and
learn the extent of his powers. These were found to be confined to the
liberty of granting pardons, on submission. The Americans, at that
time, would not thank the king for a thousand pardons, and the
interview terminated without effecting any thing towards a
reconciliation.
8. Dr. Franklin was an earnest advocate for the entire separation of
the colonies from Great Britain, and his writings upon the subject had
great influence on the public mind. In 1776, he was president of a
convention, which assembled for the purpose of establishing a new form
of government for the state of Pennsylvania. In the latter part of
this year, he was appointed to assist Mr. Silas Deane in managing the
affairs of the colonies at the court of France.
9. No one could have rendered more service to the United States, in
this situation, than Dr. Franklin. His character was much honored in
France, and as a philosopher he was held in very high esteem. He was
received with respect by all the celebrated literary men of the day;
and this respect naturally extended itself to all classes. His
political negotiations were of the greatest importance to his native
country.
10. When the independence of the United States was acknowledged by
Great Britain, Franklin became desirous of returning home. The
infirmities of age and disease had fallen upon him, and the situation
of his country rendered his services no longer indispensably
necessary. He applied to congress to be recalled, and Mr. Jefferson
was appointed to succeed him in 1785. In September of the same year,
Franklin arrived in Philadelphia. He was shortly after chosen a member
of the supreme council for the city, and was soon elected president of
the same body.
11. For the next three years Franklin still devoted himself to public
business, and to his political and philosophical studies. He retained
his desire of being useful to the last of his life. In 1788, his
increasing infirmities compelled him to retire from public office. His
complaints continued, and he suffered very severely from his sickness.
He still, however, remained good-natured and cheerful, was perfectly
resigned to his situation, acknowledging the justice and kindness of
that Being who had seen fit that he should be thus afflicted.
12. On the 17th of April, 1790, about eleven o'clock at night, Dr.
Franklin quietly expired. He had reached an honored and a happy old
age. From small beginnings, by a uniform course of prudence and
honesty, he had raised himself to high station, wealth and
distinction.
13. In considering the character of Franklin, we perceive that the
most marked trait was his habit of economy. By economy we do not mean
merely care in gaining and keeping of his money. We mean care of time,
of labor; frugality, industry, system, method in all his business. To
this we may add economy of his health; avoiding all excess and
unnecessary exposure.
14. His cheerfulness and good nature were also remarkable. He was ever
happy and entertaining. His anecdotes and jests were always to the
point, and his manner of conversing and writing was at once pleasing
and effective.
15. For his public services his country owes him her respect and
gratitude; while his philosophical discoveries have excited the
admiration of the world. His name will live with the names of the few
great men who have conferred enduring benefits on mankind.
The following epitaph on himself was written by him many years
previous to his death:
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;
yet the work itself shall not be lost,
for it will (as he believed) appear once more
in a new
and more beautiful edition,
corrected and amended
by
THE AUTHOR.
* * * * *
1. How did Franklin lose his seat in the assembly?
2. What appointment did he immediately receive?
3. How did the opposition to his reappointment affect him?
4. What was his reception in England? What countries did he visit in
1766? In 1767?
5. What were Franklin's efforts to bring about a reconciliation
between Great Britain and the provinces?
6. What appointment did he receive on his return? What committee was
chosen to visit the camp at Cambridge?
7. With what powers was Lord Howe invested? Who were appointed to wait
on him?
8. Of what convention was Franklin the president in 1776? To what
office was he appointed?
9. How was he esteemed in France? How were his political negotiations?
10. When did Franklin return to Philadelphia? What honor was
immediately conferred on him?
11. When did he retire from public office? On what account?
12. When did Dr. Franklin die?
13. What was the marked trait in Franklin's character?
14. What other traits were conspicuous?
ESSAYS OF DR. FRANKLIN
We are acquainted with no writer who inculcates lessons of practical
wisdom in a more agreeable and popular manner than Dr. Franklin. His
writings abound with infinite good sense, and a singular shrewdness,
not at all inconsistent with the highest integrity and purity. We have
selected a few of his lighter essays as a sequel to the Biography;
desirable, both as displaying somewhat of the character of their
author, and conveying common sense maxims likely to be of much service
to the young.
THE WHISTLE.
_A True Story--Written to his Nephew._
When I was a child, at seven years old, my friends, on a holyday,
filled my pockets with coppers. I went directly to a shop where they
sold toys for children; and being charmed with the sound of a
_whistle_, that I met by the way in the hands of another boy, I
voluntarily offered him all my money for one. I then came home, and
went whistling all over the house, much pleased with my _whistle_, but
disturbing all the family. My brothers, and sisters, and cousins,
understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times
as much for it as it was worth. This put me in mind what good things I
might have bought with the rest of the money; and they laughed at me
so much for my folly, that I cried with vexation; and the reflection
gave me more chagrin than the _whistle_ gave me pleasure.
This, however, was afterwards of use to me, the impression continuing
on my mind; so that often, when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary
thing, I said to myself, _Don't give too much for the whistle_; and so
I saved my money.
As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the actions of men, I
thought I met with many, very many, who _gave too much for their
whistle_.
When I saw any one too ambitious of court favor, sacrificing his time
in attendance on levees, his repose, his liberty, his virtue, and
perhaps his friends, to attain it, I have said to myself, _This man
gives too much for his whistle_.
When I saw another fond of popularity, constantly employing himself in
political bustles, neglecting his own affairs, and ruining them by
that neglect, _He pays, indeed_, says I, _too much for his whistle_.
If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of comfortable living, all
the pleasure of doing good to others, all the esteem of his fellow
citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship, for the sake of
accumulating wealth, _Poor man_, says I, _you do indeed pay too much
for your whistle_.
When I meet a man of pleasure, sacrificing every laudable improvement
of the mind, or of his fortune, to mere corporeal sensations,
_Mistaken man_, says I, _you are providing pain for yourself instead
of pleasure; you give too much for your whistle_.
If I see one fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, fine equipages, all
above his fortune, for which he contracts debts, and ends his career
in prison, _Alas_, says I, _he has paid dear, very dear, for his
whistle_.
When I see a beautiful, sweet-tempered girl, married to an ill-natured
brute of a husband, _What a pity it is_, says I, _that she has paid so
much for a whistle_!
In short, I conceived that great part of the miseries of mankind were
brought upon them by the false estimates they had made of the value of
things, and by their giving too much for their _whistles_.
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 contrarieties. Hence they are continually
discontented themselves, and, by their remarks, sour the pleasures of
society; offend personally many people, and make themselves every
where 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 effect 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
humor, 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 favor 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 or others about the contrarieties, 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 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 further acquaintance with him. Every body 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, if they wish to be respected and beloved by others,
and happy in themselves, they should _leave off looking at the ugly
leg_.
ADVICE TO A YOUNG TRADESMAN.
_Written Anno 1748._
TO MY FRIEND, A. B.
As you have desired it of me, I write the following hints, which have
been of service to me, and may, if observed, be so to you.
Remember that _time_ is money. He that can earn ten shillings a day by
his labor, and goes abroad, or sits idle one half of that day, though
he spends but six pence during his diversion or idleness, ought not to
reckon _that_ the only expense; he has really spent, or rather thrown
away, five shillings besides.
Remember that _credit_ is money. If a man lets his money lie in my
hands after it is due, he gives me the interest, or so much as I can
make of it during that time. This amounts to a considerable sum where
a man has good and large credit, and makes good use of it.
Remember that money is of a prolific, generating nature. Money can
beget money, and its offspring can beget more, and so on. Five
shillings turned is six; turned again is seven and three pence; and so
on till it becomes a hundred pounds. The more there is of it, the more
it produces every turning, so that the profits rise quicker and
quicker. He that kills a breeding sow, destroys all her offspring to
the thousandth generation. He that murders a crown, destroys all that
it might have produced, even scores of pounds.
Remember that six pounds a year is but a groat a day. For this little
sum (which may be daily wasted either in time or expense,
unperceived), a man of credit may, on his own security, have the
constant possession and use of a hundred pounds. So much in stock,
briskly turned by an industrious man, produces great advantage.
Remember this saying, "The good paymaster is lord of another man's
purse." He that is known to pay punctually and exactly to the time he
promises, may at any time, and on any occasion, raise all the money
his friends can spare. This is sometimes of great use. After industry
and frugality, nothing contributes more to the raising of a young man
in the world, than punctuality and justice in all his dealings:
therefore never keep borrowed money an hour beyond the time you
promised, lest a disappointment shut up your friend's purse for ever.
The most trifling actions that affect a man's credit are to be
regarded. The sound of your hammer at five in the morning, or nine at
night, heard by a creditor, makes him easy six months longer; but if
he sees you at a billiard-table, or hears your voice at a tavern, when
you should be at work, he sends for his money the next day; demands it
before he can receive it in a lump.
It shows, besides, that you are mindful of what you owe; it makes you
appear a careful as well as an honest man, and that still increases
your credit.
Beware of thinking all your own that you possess, and of living
accordingly. It is a mistake that many people who have credit fall
into. To prevent this, keep an exact account, for some time, both of
your expenses and your income. If you take the pains at first to
mention particulars, it will have this good effect; you will discover
how wonderfully small, trifling expenses mount up to large sums, and
will discern what might have been, and may for the future be saved,
without occasioning any great inconvenience.
In short, the way to wealth, if you desire it, is as plain as the
way to market. It depends chiefly on two words, _industry_ and
_frugality_; that is, waste neither _time_ nor _money_, but make the
best use of both. Without industry and frugality nothing will do, and
with them every thing. He that gets all he can honestly, and saves
all he gets (necessary expenses excepted), will certainly become
_rich_--if that Being, who governs the world, to whom all should look
for a blessing on their honest endeavors, doth not, in his wise
providence, otherwise determine.
AN OLD TRADESMAN.
NECESSARY HINTS TO THOSE THAT WOULD BE RICH.
_Written Anno 1786._
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 year.
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
advantages 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 any thing he has
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.
PAPER.
A POEM.
Some wits of old,--such wits of old there were,--
Whose hints showed meaning, whose allusions care,
By one brave stroke to mark all human kind,
Called clear blank paper every infant mind;
When still, as opening sense her dictates wrote,
Fair Virtue put a seal, or Vice a blot.
The thought was happy, pertinent and true;
Methinks a genius might the plan pursue.
I (can you pardon my presumption?) I--
No wit, no genius, yet for once will try.
Various the papers various wants produce,
The wants of fashion, elegance and use.
Men are as various; and if right I scan,
Each sort of _paper_ represents some _man_.
Pray note the fop--half powder and half lace--
Nice as a band-box were his dwelling-place:
He's the _gilt-paper_, which apart you store,
And lock from vulgar hands in the 'scrutoire.
Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth,
Are _copy-paper_, of inferior worth;
Less prized, more useful, for your desk decreed,
Free to all pens, and prompt at every need.
The wretch whom av'rice bids to pinch and spare,
Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir,
Is coarse _brown-paper_; such as pedlers choose
To wrap up wares, which better men will use.
Take next the miser's contrast, who destroys
Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys.
Will any paper match him? Yes, throughout
He's a true _sinking-paper_, past all doubt.
The retail politician's anxious thought
Deems _this_ side always right, and _that_ stark naught;
He foams with censure; with applause he raves--
A dupe to rumors, and a tool of knaves;
He'll want no type his weakness to proclaim,
While such a thing as _fools-cap_ has a name.
The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high,
Who picks a quarrel if you step awry,
Who can't a jest, or hint, or look, endure:
What's he? What? _Touch-paper_,--to be sure.
What are our poets, take them as they fall,
Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all?
Them and their works in the same class you'll find
They are the mere _waste-paper_ of mankind.
Observe the maiden, innocently sweet;
She's fair _white-paper_, an unsullied sheet;
On which the happy man, whom Fate ordains,
May write his _name_, and take her for his pains.
One instance more, and only one I'll bring;
'Tis the _great man_ who scorns a little thing,
Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims are his own,
Formed on the feelings of his heart alone:
True, genuine _royal-paper_ is his breast,
Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best.
ON THE ART OF SWIMMING.
_In Answer to some Inquiries of M. Dubourg_[2] _on the Subject._
[2] Translator of Dr. Franklin's works into French.
I am apprehensive that I shall not be able to find leisure for making
all the disquisitions and experiments which would be desirable on this
subject. I must, therefore, content myself with a few remarks.
The specific gravity of some human bodies, in comparison to that of
water, has been examined by M. Robinson, in our Philosophical
Transactions, volume 50, page 30, for the year 1757. He asserts, that
fat persons, with small bones, float most easily upon water.
The diving bell is accurately described in our Transactions.
When I was a boy, I made two oval pallets, each about ten inches long,
and six broad, with a hole for the thumb, in order to retain it fast
in the palm of my hand. They much resembled a painter's pallets. In
swimming, I pushed the edges of these forward, and I struck the water
with their flat surfaces as I drew them back: I remember I swam faster
by means of these pallets, but they fatigued my wrists. I also fitted
to the soles of my feet a kind of sandals; but I was not satisfied
with them, because I observed that the stroke is partly given by the
inside of the feet and the ankles, and not entirely with the soles of
the feet.
We have here waistcoats for swimming, which are made of double sail
cloth, with small pieces of cork quilted in between them.
I know by experience, that it is a great comfort to a swimmer who has
a considerable distance to go, to turn himself sometimes on his back,
and to vary in other respects the means of procuring a progressive
motion.
When he is seized with the cramp in the leg, the method of driving it
away is to give to the parts affected a sudden, vigorous and violent
shock; which he may do in the air as he swims on his back.
During the great heats of summer, there is no danger in bathing,
however warm we may be, in rivers which have been thoroughly warmed by
the sun. But to throw one's self into cold spring water, when the body
has been heated by exercise in the sun, is an imprudence which may
prove fatal. I once knew an instance of four young men, who, having
worked at harvest in the heat of the day, with a view of refreshing
themselves, plunged into a spring of cold water; two died upon the
spot, a third the next morning, and the fourth recovered with great
difficulty. A copious draught of cold water, in similar circumstances,
is frequently attended with the same effect in North America.
The exercise of swimming is one of the most healthy and agreeable in
the world. After having swam for an hour or two in the evening, one
sleeps coolly the whole night, even during the most ardent heat of
summer. Perhaps, the pores being cleansed, the insensible perspiration
increases, and occasions this coolness. It is certain, that much
swimming is the means of stopping a diarrhoea, and even of producing
a constipation. With respect to those who do not know how to swim, or
who are affected with a diarrhoea at a season which does not permit
them to use that exercise, a warm bath, by cleansing and purifying the
skin, is found very salutary, and often effects a radical cure. I
speak from my own experience, frequently repeated, and that of others,
to whom I have recommended this.
You will not be displeased if I conclude these hasty remarks by
informing you, that as the ordinary method of swimming is reduced to
the act of rowing with the arms and legs, and is, consequently, a
laborious and fatiguing operation when the space of water to be
crossed is considerable; there is a method in which a swimmer may pass
to great distances with much facility, by means of a sail. This
discovery I fortunately made by accident, and in the following
manner:--
When I was a boy, I amused myself one day with flying a paper kite;
and approaching the back of a pond, which was near a mile broad, I
tied the string to a stake, and the kite ascended to a very
considerable height above the pond, while I was swimming. In a little
time, being desirous of amusing myself with my kite and enjoying at
the same time the pleasure of swimming, I returned, and loosing from
the stake the string with the little stick which was fastened to it,
went again into the water, where I found, that, lying on my back, and
holding the stick in my hands, I was drawn along the surface of the
water in a very agreeable manner. Having then engaged another boy to
carry my clothes round the pond, to a place which I pointed out to
him, on the other side, I began to cross the pond with my kite, which
carried me quite over without the least fatigue, and with the greatest
pleasure imaginable. I was only obliged occasionally to halt a little
in my course, and resist its progress, when it appeared that, by
following too quick, I lowered the kite too much; by doing which
occasionally I made it rise again. I have never since that time
practised this singular mode of swimming, though I think it not
impossible to cross in this manner from Dover to Calais. The
packet-boat, however, is still preferable.
PRELIMINARY ADDRESS TO THE PENNSYLVANIA ALMANAC, ENTITLED, "POOR
RICHARD'S ALMANAC, FOR THE YEAR 1758."
I have heard, that nothing gives an author so great pleasure as to
find his works respectfully quoted by other learned authors. This
pleasure I have seldom enjoyed; for though I have been, if I may say
it without vanity, an eminent author (of almanacs) annually, now a
full quarter of a century, my brother authors in the same way (for
what reason I know not) have ever been very sparing in their
applauses; and no other author has taken the least notice of me; so
that, did not my writings produce me some solid pudding, the great
deficiency of praise would have quite discouraged me.
I concluded, at length, that the people were the best judges of my
merit, for they buy my works; and besides, in my rambles, where I am
not personally known, I have frequently heard one or other of my
adages repeated, with "as poor Richard says," at the end on't. This
gave me some satisfaction, as it showed not only that my instructions
were regarded, but discovered likewise some respect for my authority;
and I own, that to encourage the practice of remembering and repeating
those wise sentences, I have sometimes quoted myself with great
gravity.
Judge, then, how much I have been gratified by an incident which 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
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 ye of the times? Won't 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 have my advice, I'll give it to you in short; 'for a
word to the wise is enough; and many words won't fill a bushel,' as
poor Richard says." They joined in desiring him to speak his mind;
and, gathering round him, he proceeded as follows:
"Friends (says he) and neighbors, 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 in his Almanac.
"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, if we reckon all that is spent in absolute
sloth, or doing of nothing, with that which is spent in idle
employments, or amusements that amount to nothing. Sloth, by bringing
on diseases, absolutely shortens life. 'Sloth, like rust, consumes
faster than labor wears, while the key often used is always bright,'
as poor Richard says. 'But dost thou love life? then do not squander
time, for that's 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,' as poor Richard says; 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,' as we read in poor Richard; who adds, 'Drive thy
business, let not that drive thee;' and,
'Early to bed, and early to rise,
Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.'
"So what signifies wishing and hoping for better times? We make these
times better if we bestir ourselves. 'Industry needs not wish,' as
poor Richard says; 'He that lives upon hope 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;' and (as poor Richard likewise
observes) 'He that hath a trade hath an estate, and he that hath a
calling hath an office of profit and honor;' but then the trade must
be worked at, and the calling well followed, or neither the estate nor
the office will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are industrious, we
shall never starve; for, as poor Richard says, 'At the working-man's
house hunger looks in, but dares not enter.' Nor will the bailiff or
the constable enter; for, 'Industry pays debts, but despair increaseth
them,' says poor Richard. What though you have found no treasure, nor
has any rich relation left you a legacy? 'Diligence is the mother of
good luck,' as poor Richard says: and 'God gives all things to
industry: then plough deep while sluggards sleep, and you will have
corn to sell and to keep,' says poor Dick. Work while it is called
to-day; for you know not how much you may be hindered to-morrow; which
makes poor Richard say, 'One to-day is worth two to-morrows;' and,
further, 'Have you somewhat to do to-morrow, do it 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,' as poor Dick says. When there is so much to be done
for yourself, your family, and your gracious king, be up by peep of
day: 'Let not the sun look down, and say, Inglorious here he lies!'
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 continual dropping wears away
stones, and by diligence and patience the mouse ate into the cable;
and 'light strokes fell great oaks,' as poor Richard says in his
Almanac, the year I cannot just now remember.
"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; so that, as poor Richard says, 'A life of leisure
and a life of laziness are two things.' Do you imagine that sloth will
afford you more comfort than labor? No; for, as poor Richard says,
'Troubles spring from idleness, and grievous toils from needless ease:
many without labor would live by their own wits only; but they break
for want of stock.' Whereas industry gives comfort, and plenty, and
respect. 'Fly pleasures, and they'll follow you; the diligent spinner
has a large shift; and now I have a sheep and a cow, every body bids
me good-morrow;' all which is well said by poor Richard.
"But with our industry, we must likewise be steady, and 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 one 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 the 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, as the Almanac says, 'In the affairs of the world, men are saved
not by faith, but by the want of it; but a man's own care is
profitable; for,' saith poor Dick, 'Learning is to the studious and
riches to the careful, as well as power to the bold, and heaven to the
virtuous.' And, further, 'If you would have a faithful servant, and
one that you like, serve yourself.' And again, he adviseth to
circumspection and care, even in the smallest matters, because
sometimes, 'A little neglect may breed great mischief;' adding, '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 want of care about a horse-shoe nail.
"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,' as
poor Richard says; 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 (says he, in another Almanac), 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 have much
cause to complain of hard times, heavy taxes, and chargeable families;
for, as poor Dick says,
'Women and wine, game and deceit,
Make the wealth small, and the want great.
"And, further, '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 what
poor Richard says--'Many a little makes a mickle;' and further,
'Beware of little expenses; a small leak will sink a great ship;' 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
nick-nacks. 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
awhile.' He means, that perhaps the cheapness is apparent only, or 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, as poor Richard says, '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. 'Wise men (as poor Dick says) learn by others' harms, fools
scarcely by their own; but _Felix quem faciunt aliena pericula
cautum_.' Many a one, for the sake of finery on the back, have gone
with a hungry belly, and half starved their families: 'Silk and
satins, scarlet and velvets (as poor Richard says), put out the
kitchen fire.' 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! The artificial wants of mankind
thus become more numerous than the natural; and as poor Dick says,
'For one poor person there are a hundred indigent.' 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, '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.' 'A child and a fool (as poor Richard says) imagine
twenty shillings and twenty years can never be spent; but always be
taking out of the meal-tub, and never putting in, soon comes to the
bottom:' then, as poor Dick says, '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; and,
indeed, so does he that lends to such people, when he goes to get it
in again.' Poor Dick further 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 the
frog to swell in order to equal the ox.
'Vessels large may venture more,
But little boats should keep near shore.'
'Tis, however, a folly soon punished; for 'Pride that dines on vanity,
sups on contempt,' as poor Richard says. And in another place, '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, or ease
pain; it makes no increase of merit in the person; it hastens
misfortune.
What is a butterfly? At best,
He's but a caterpillar drest;
The gaudy fop's his picture just,
as poor Richard says.
"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, as poor Richard
says, 'The second vice is lying; the first is running in debt.' And
again, to the same purpose, 'Lying rides upon debt's back;' whereas a
free-born Englishman ought not to be ashamed nor afraid to 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,' as poor
Richard truly says. What would you think of that prince, or that
government, who would 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 yourself under
that 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 for life, or by selling you for a servant, if
you should not be able to pay him. When you have got your bargain, you
may, perhaps, think little of payment; but 'Creditors (poor Richard
tells us) have better memories than debtors;' and in another place he
says, '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 at his shoulders. 'Those have a short Lent (saith
poor Richard) who owe money to be paid at Easter.' Then since, as he
says, 'The borrower is a slave to the lender, and the debtor to the
creditor,' disdain the chain, preserve your freedom, and maintain your
independency: be industrious and free; be frugal and free. 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,'
as poor Richard says. 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.'
'Get what you can, and what you get hold,
'Tis the stone that will turn all your lead into gold,'
as poor Richard says. And when you have got the philosopher's stone,
sure you will no longer complain of bad times, or the difficulty of
paying taxes.
"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 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 afterwards prosperous.
"And now, to conclude, 'Experience keeps a dear school; but fools will
learn in no other, and scarce in that; for it is true, we may give
advice, but we cannot give conduct,' as poor Richard says. However,
remember this, 'They that will not be counseled cannot be helped,' as
poor Richard says; and further, that 'If you will not hear Reason, she
will surely rap your knuckles.'"
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, notwithstanding all his cautions, and their own
fear of taxes. I found the good man had thoroughly studied my
Almanacs, and digested all I had dropped on those topics, during the
course of twenty-five years. The frequent mention he made of me, must
have tired every 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.
OBSERVATIONS ON WAR.
By the original laws of nations, war and extirpation were the
punishment of injury. Humanizing by degrees, it admitted slavery
instead of death; a further step was the exchange of prisoners instead
of slavery; another, to respect more the property of private persons
under conquest, and be content with acquired dominion. Why should not
this law of nations go on improving? Ages have intervened between its
several steps; but as knowledge of late increases rapidly, why should
not those steps be quickened? Why should it not be agreed to, as the
future law of nations, that in any war hereafter, the following
description of men should be undisturbed, have the protection of both
sides, and be permitted to follow their employments in security? viz.
1. Cultivators of the earth, because they labor for the
subsistence of mankind.
2. Fishermen, for the same reason.
3. Merchants and traders in unarmed ships, who accommodate
different nations by communicating and exchanging the necessaries
and conveniences of life.
4. Artists and mechanics, inhabiting and working in open towns.
It is hardly necessary to add that the hospitals of enemies should be
unmolested; they ought to be assisted. It is for the interest of
humanity in general, that the occasions of war, and the inducements to
it, should be diminished. If rapine be abolished, one of the
encouragements to war is taken away; and peace, therefore, more likely
to continue and be lasting.
The practice of robbing merchants on the high seas--a remnant of the
ancient piracy--though it may be accidentally beneficial to particular
persons, is far from being profitable to all engaged in it, or to the
nation that authorizes it. In the beginning of a war, some rich ships
are surprised and taken. This encourages the first adventurers to fit
out more armed vessels; and many others to do the same. But the enemy
at the same time become more careful, arm their merchant ships better,
and render them not so easy to be taken; they go also more under the
protection of convoys. Thus, while the privateers to take them are
multiplied, the vessels subjected to be taken and the chances of
profit are diminished; so that many cruises are made wherein the
expenses overgo the gains; and, as is the case in other lotteries,
though particulars have got prizes, the mass of adventurers are
losers, the whole expense of fitting out all the privateers during a
war being much greater than the whole amount of goods taken.
Then there is the national loss of all the labor of so many men during
the time they have been employed in robbing; who, besides, spend what
they get in riot, drunkenness, and debauchery; lose their habits of
industry; are rarely fit for any sober business after a peace, and
serve only to increase the number of highwaymen and house-breakers.
Even the undertakers who have been fortunate are, by sudden wealth,
led into expensive living, the habit of which continues when the means
of supporting it cease, and finally ruins them; a just punishment for
their having wantonly and unfeelingly ruined many honest, innocent
traders and their families, whose substance was employed in serving
the common interests of mankind.
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
reinforce 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 hide-bound pocket soon begin to thrive, and will never
again cry with the empty belly-ache; 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 independency, 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.
MORALS OF CHESS.
Playing at chess is the most ancient and universal game known among
men; for its original is beyond the memory of history, and it has, for
numberless ages, been the amusement of all the civilized nations of
Asia--the Persians, the Indians, and the Chinese. Europe has had it
above a thousand years; the Spaniards have spread it over their parts
of America, and it begins to make its appearance in these States. It
is so interesting in itself as not to need the view of gain to induce
engaging in it; and thence it is never played for money. Those,
therefore, who have leisure for such diversions, cannot find one that
is more innocent; and the following piece, written with a view to
correct (among a few young friends) some little improprieties in the
practice of it, shows, at the same time, that it may, in its effects
on the mind, be not merely innocent, but advantageous, to the
vanquished as well as the victor.
The game of chess is not merely an idle amusement. Several very
valuable qualities of the mind, useful in the course of human life,
are to be acquired or strengthened by it, so as to become habits ready
on all occasions. For life is a kind of chess, in which we have points
to gain, and competitors or adversaries to contend with, and in which
there is a vast variety of good and ill events, that are, in some
degree, the effects of prudence or the want of it. By playing at
chess, then, we learn,
I. _Foresight_, which looks a little into futurity, considers the
consequences that may attend an action: for it is continually
occurring to the player, "If I move this piece, what will be the
advantage of my new situation? What use can my adversary make of it to
annoy me? What other moves can I make to support it, and to defend
myself from his attacks?"
II. _Circumspection_, which surveys the whole chessboard, or scene
of action, the relations of the several pieces and situation, the
dangers they are respectively exposed to, the several possibilities
of their aiding each other, the probabilities that the adversary may
take this or that move, and attack this or the other piece, and what
different means can be used to avoid his stroke, or turn its
consequences against him.
III. _Caution_, not to make your moves too hastily. This habit is
best acquired by observing strictly the laws of the game, such as, "If
you touch a piece, you must move it somewhere; if you set it down, you
must let it stand:" and it is therefore best that these rules should
be observed; as the game thereby becomes more the image of human life,
and particularly of war: in which, if you have incautiously put
yourself into a bad and dangerous position, you cannot obtain your
enemy's leave to withdraw your troops, and place them more securely,
but you must abide all the consequences of your rashness.
And, lastly, we learn by chess the habit of _not being discouraged by
present bad appearances in the state of our affairs_, the habit of
_hoping for a favorable change_, and that of _persevering in the
search of resources_. The game is so full of events, there is such a
variety of turns in it, the fortune of it is so subject to sudden
vicissitudes, and one so frequently, after long contemplation,
discovers the means of extricating one's self from a supposed
insurmountable difficulty, that one is encouraged to continue the
contest to the last, in hope of victory by our own skill, or at least
of giving a stale mate, by the negligence of our adversary. And
whoever considers, what in chess he often sees instances of,--that
particular pieces of success are apt to produce presumption, and its
consequent inattention, by which the loss may be recovered,--will
learn not to be too much discouraged by the present success of his
adversary, nor to despair of final good fortune, upon every little
check he receives in the pursuit of it.
That we may, therefore, be induced more frequently to choose this
beneficial amusement, in preference to others, which are not attended
with the same advantages, every circumstance which may increase the
pleasure of it should be regarded; and every action or word that is
unfair, disrespectful, or that in any way may give uneasiness, should
be avoided, as contrary to the immediate intention of both the
players, which is to pass the time agreeably.
Therefore, first, If it is agreed to play according to the strictest
rules, then those rules are to be exactly observed by both parties,
and should not be insisted on for one side, while deviated from by the
other--for this is not equitable.
Secondly, If it is agreed not to observe the rules exactly, but one
party demands indulgences, he should, then, be as willing to allow
them to the other.
Thirdly, No false move should ever be made to extricate yourself out
of a difficulty, or to gain an advantage. There can be no pleasure in
playing with a person once detected in such unfair practices.
Fourthly, If your adversary is long in playing, you ought not to hurry
him, or to express any uneasiness at his delay. You should not sing,
nor whistle, nor look at your watch, nor take up a book to read, nor
make a tapping with your feet on the floor, or with your fingers on
the table, nor do any thing that may disturb his attention. For all
these things displease; and they do not show your skill in playing,
but your craftiness or your rudeness.
Fifthly, You ought not to endeavor to amuse and deceive your
adversary, by pretending to have made bad moves, and saying that you
have now lost the game, in order to make him secure and careless, and
inattentive to your schemes; for this is fraud and deceit, not skill
in the game.
Sixthly, You must not, when you have gained a victory, use any
triumphing or insulting expression, nor show too much pleasure; but
endeavor to console your adversary, and make him less dissatisfied
with himself, by every kind of civil expression that may be used with
truth; such as, "You understand the game better then I, but you are a
little inattentive;" or, "You play too fast;" or, "You had the best of
the game, but something happened to divert your thoughts, and that
turned it in my favor."
Seventhly, If you are a spectator while others play, observe the most
perfect silence. For if you give advice, you offend both parties; him
against whom you give it, because it may cause the loss of his game;
and him in whose favor you gave it, because, though it be good, and he
follows it, he loses the pleasure he might have had, if you had
permitted him to think until it had occurred to himself. Even after a
move, or moves, you must not, by replacing the pieces, show how it
might have been placed better; for that displeases, and may occasion
disputes and doubts about their true situation. All talking to the
players lessens or diverts their attention, and is therefore
unpleasing. Nor should you give the least hint to either party, by any
kind of noise or motion. If you do, you are unworthy to be a
spectator. If you have a mind to exercise or show your judgment, do it
in playing your own game, when you have an opportunity, not in
criticising, or meddling with, or counseling the play of others.
Lastly, If the game is not to be played rigorously, according to the
rules above-mentioned, then moderate your desire of victory over your
adversary, and be pleased with one over yourself. Snatch not eagerly
at every advantage offered by his unskilfulness or inattention; but
point out to him kindly, that by such a move he places or leaves a
piece in danger and unsupported; that by another he will put his king
in a perilous situation, &c. By this generous civility (so opposite to
the unfairness above forbidden), you may, indeed, happen to lose the
game to your own opponent, but you will win what is better, his
esteem, his respect, and his affection; together with the silent
approbation and good-will of impartial spectators.
CONVERSATION OF A COMPANY OF EPHEMERAE;
WITH THE SOLILOQUY OF ONE ADVANCED IN AGE.
TO MADAME BRILLIANT.
You may remember, my dear friend, that when we lately spent that happy
day, in the delightful garden and sweet society of the _Moulin Joly_,
I stopped a little in one of our walks, and staid some time behind the
company. We had been shown numberless skeletons of a kind of little
fly, called an ephemera, whose successive generations, we were told,
were bred and expired within the day. I happened to see a living
company of them on a leaf, who appeared to be engaged in conversation.
You know I understand all the inferior animal tongues; my too great
application to the study of them is the best excuse I can give for the
little progress I have made in your charming language. I listened
through curiosity to the discourse of these little creatures; but as
they, in their national vivacity, spoke three or four together, I
could make but little of their conversation. I found, however, by some
broken expressions that I heard now and then, they were disputing
warmly on the merit of two foreign musicians, one a _cousin_, the
other a _moscheto_: in which dispute they spent their time, seeming as
regardless of the shortness of their life as if they had been sure of
living a month. Happy people, thought I; you live certainly under a
wise, just, and mild government, since you have no public grievances
to complain of, nor any other subject of contention but the
perfections or imperfections of foreign music. I turned my head from
them to an old gray-headed one, who was single on another leaf, and
talking to himself. Being amused with his soliloquy, I put it down in
writing, in hopes it will likewise amuse her to whom I am so much
indebted for the most pleasing of all amusements, her delicious
company and heavenly harmony.
"It was," says he, "the opinion of learned philosophers of our race,
who lived and flourished long before my time, that this vast world,
the _Moulin Joly_, could not itself subsist more than eighteen
hours: and I think there was some foundation for that opinion; since,
by the apparent motion of the great luminary, that gives life to all
nature, and which in my time has evidently declined considerably
towards the ocean at the end of the earth, it must then finish its
course, be extinguished in the waters that surround us, and leave the
world in cold and darkness, necessarily producing universal death and
destruction. I have lived seven of those hours; a great age, being no
less than 420 minutes of time! How very few of us continue so long! I
have seen generations born, flourish and expire. My present friends
are children and grand-children of the friends of my youth, who are
now, alas, no more! And I must soon follow them; for by the common
course of nature, though still in health, I cannot expect to live
above seven or eight minutes longer. What now avails all my toil and
labor, in amassing the honey dew on this leaf, which I cannot live to
enjoy? What my political struggles I have been engaged in, for the
good of my compatriot inhabitants of this bush, or my philosophical
studies, for the benefit of our race in general; for in politics (what
can laws do without morals?) our present race of ephemerae will in a
course of minutes become corrupt like those of other and older bushes,
and consequently as wretched! And in philosophy how small our
progress! Alas! art is long, and life is short! My friends would
comfort me with the idea of a name, they say, I shall leave behind me;
and they tell me I have lived long enough to nature and to glory. But
what will fame be to an ephemera who no longer exists? and what will
become of all history in the eighteenth hour, when the world itself,
even the whole _Moulin Joly_, shall come to its end, and be buried in
a universal ruin?"
To me, after all my eager pursuits, no solid pleasures now remain, but
the reflection of a long life spent in meaning well, the sensible
conversation of a few good lady ephemerae, and now and then a kind
smile and a tune from the ever amiable Brilliant
B. FRANKLIN.