Some people there are who tell us that every man is born for a
particular walk in life, and that whether he will or not, in that walk
he must go; and can no more quit it than the sun can quit his course
through the skies.
This is a very pleasing part of faith; and really there seems much
ground for it. Certainly scripture, in many places, has a powerful
squinting that way. And in the lives of many of our greatest men, we
discover strong symptoms of it. The great Washington was, a dozen
times and more within an ace of getting out of the only track that
could have led him to the command of the American armies. But yet
there seems to have been always some invisible hand to meet him at the
threshold of his wanderings, and to push him back. Dr. Franklin also
appears, on several occasions, to have been at the very point of
breaking off from the printing business. But Heaven has decreed for
him that walk in life, and in it he must move. And though blind at
times, as Balaam's ass, he sought to turn out of the way, yet, crouch
as he would, he still found at every turn a good angel to bring him
back. First he was to have been a sailor out of Boston--then a
swimming-master in London--then a merchant in America. But it would
not all do. And though in this last brilliant affair, he seemed to
have effected his escape, losing the black-fingered printer in the
sprucely powdered merchant, yet, come back to the WORLD-ENLIGHTENING
TYPES he must--for Denham dies, and with him all the grand castles
which Ben had built in the air. Still averse to the printing business,
he tries hard for another place _behind the counter_, but nobody will
take him in. His money at length gone, and every avenue to honest
bread hedged up against him, he is constrained to take refuge in his
old trade.
Keimer, his former employer, who well knew his worth, waited on him,
and made liberal offers if he would take charge of his printing-office.
It must have been a sore trial to Ben to come under authority of a man
whose ignorance and hypocrisy he so heartily despised; and who, he well
knew, had nothing else in view, but just to get him to instruct his
numerous apprentices, and then pick a quarrel and pack him off. But
bad as he hated Keimer's vices, he still worse hated idleness and
dependence, and therefore he accepted his invitation. He found Keimer's
office in the old way, _i.e._ quite out of order, and miserably
destitute of letters. There being at that time no such thing in
America, as a type-foundry, this defect appeared at first utterly
incurable. But Ben soon found a remedy. Having once, while he lived in
London, glanced his eye on the practice of this art, he thought he
could imitate it. And, by casting in clay, he presently created a fine
parcel of letters in lead, which served at least, to keep the press
from stopping. He also, on occasion, engraved a variety of ornaments
for printing--made ink--gave an eye to the shop, and, in short, was in
all respects the factotum of the establishment. But useful as he made
himself, he had the mortification to find that his services became
every day of less importance to Keimer, in proportion as his
apprentices improved; and when Keimer paid Ben his second quarter's
wages, he did it very grumblingly, and gave him to understand, that
they were too heavy. By degrees he became less civil; was constantly
finding fault, and seemed always on the point of coming to an open
rupture.
Ben bore it all very patiently, conceiving that his ill humour was
owing to the embarrassment of his affairs.
At length, however, the old wretch insulted him so grossly, and that
under circumstances of all others the most provoking to a man of
honest pride, _i.e._ in the presence of neighbours, that Ben could
bear it no longer; but, after upbraiding him for his ingratitude, took
up his hat and left him, begging a young man of the office to take
care of his trunk, and bring it to him at night.
The name of this young man was Meredith, one of Keimer's apprentices.
He had taken a great liking to Ben, because that while Keimer,
ignorant and crabbed, taught him nothing, Ben was every day giving him
some useful lesson in his trade, or some excellent hint in morals,
conducive to the government and happiness of his life. In the evening
he came and entreated Ben not to think of quitting the printing office
while he continued in it. "My dear sir," said he to Ben, "I beg you
will take no notice of what this Keimer does. The poor man is always,
as you see, _half shaved_; and no wonder, for he is over head and ears
in debt--often selling his goods at prime cost, for the sake of
_cash_--constantly giving credit without taking any account; and
therefore cannot help shortly coming out of the little end of the
horn, which will leave a glorious opening for you to make your
fortune."
Ben replied that he had nothing to begin with. "O, as to that
difficulty," answered Meredith, "we can easily get over it. My father
has a very high opinion of you, and will, I am sure, readily advance
money to set us up, provided you will but go into partnership with me.
I am no workman, but you are. And so, if you like, I will find the
capital and you the skill, and let's go halves in the profits. By
spring we can have in from London, our press, types, and paper, and
then, as my time with Keimer will be out, we can fall to work at once,
and make our _jacks_."
As this was an offer not to be met with every day, Ben readily agreed
to it, as also did old Mr. Meredith.
But the old gentleman had a better motive in view than the pecuniary
profits. He had marked, with great pleasure, Ben's ascendancy over his
son, whom he had already wonderfully checked in his passion for
tobacco and brandy. And he fondly hoped, that by this connexion his
son would be perfectly cured.
With this hope, he desired Ben to make him out the list of a
_complete_ printing-office, which he immediately took to his merchant,
with orders to import it without loss of time. Keimer was to know
nothing of all this; and Ben, in the interim, was to get work with
Bradford.
On application, Bradford had no room. Ben, therefore, had to rest on
his oars. This, however, was but for a short season: for Keimer
getting a hint that he should be employed to print some New-Jersey
paper money, that would require engravings and types which he knew
nobody in Philadelphia but Ben could make; and fearful that Bradford,
by engaging Ben, might deprive him of the job, sent a very civil
message to Ben, telling him that "_old friends ought not to part on
account of a few hasty words dropt in a passion_," and concluding with
a pressing invitation to come back.
Ben went back; and Keimer met him with a most cordial welcome.
Although there was nothing in this poor old man to excite his esteem,
yet Ben could not help feeling happy to see smiles of joy brightening
over his withered face; and he then felt, though not for the first
time, that though learning is a pleasant thing, yet one touch of
"_kindred sentiment warm at the heart_," outweighs, in pure delight,
all the learning in the world.