FRANKLIN'S STORY OF A HOLIDAY IN CHILDHOOD.
AS barren as was the early Puritan town in things that please the fancy
of the child, Josiah Franklin's home was a cheerful one. It kept
holidays, when the violin was played, and some pennies were bestowed
upon the many children.
Let us enter the house by the candle-room door. The opening of the door
rings a bell. There is an odor of tallow everywhere. One side is hung
with wickings, to be cut and trimmed.
When the tallow is boiling the room is very hot, close, and the
atmosphere oily.
There is a soap kettle in the room. The odor of the lye is more
agreeable than that of the melted tallow.
Little Ben is here, short, stout, rosy-faced, with a great head. Where
he goes the other children go; what he does, they do. Already a little
world has begun to follow him.
Look at him as he runs around among the candle molds, talking like a
philosopher. Does he seem likely to stand in the French court amid the
splendors of the palace of Versailles, the most popular and conspicuous
person among all the jeweled multitude who fill the mirrored, the
golden, the blazing halls except the king himself? Does he look as
though he would one day ask the French king for an army to help
establish the independence of his country, and that the throne would bow
to him?
Homely as was that home, the fancy of Franklin after he became great
always loved to return to it.
In his advanced years he wished to prepare a little story or parable
that would show that people spend too much time and money on things that
could be more cheaply purchased or that they could well do without. He
wrote out an anecdote of his childhood that illustrated in a clear way,
like so many flashes, how the resources of life may be wasted. The story
has been printed, we may safely say, a thousand times. Few stories have
ever had a wider circulation or been more often quoted. It has in it a
picture of his old home, and as such we must give it here. Here is the
parable again, as in the original:
"When I was a child, at seven years old, my friends, on a holiday,
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 afterward 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 the 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 gave
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
neglect, _He pays, indeed_, says I, _too much for this 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 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 had 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 _whistle_."