the wholesome wilderness on one side of him and the wholesome ocean on
the other. He worked with his strong arms and hands all day, and the
mental discipline and reading were stolen sweets at the dinner-hour, at
night, and on Sunday,--for he neglected church-going for the sake of his
studies. Could he have budded and grown amid our distraction, dust, and
disquietude? and have we any more of the elements of happiness than he?
Ashamed of his failure to learn arithmetic during his two short years at
school, he procured a book on the subject and studied it by himself. In
the same way he studied navigation and a little geometry. When scarcely
seventeen he read Locke's "Essay on the Human Understanding" and "The
Art of Thinking," by Messieurs du Port-Royal.
"While I was intent on improving my language I met with an
English grammar (I think it was Greenwood's) at the end of which
there were two little sketches of the arts of rhetoric and
logic, the latter finishing with a specimen of a dispute in the
Socratic method; and soon after I procured Xenophon's memorable
things of Socrates, wherein there are many instances of the same
method. I was charmed with it, adopted it, dropt my abrupt
contradiction and positive argumentation, and put on the humble
inquirer and doubter."
It was very shrewd of the boy to see so quickly the strategic advantage
of the humbler method. It was also significant of genius that he should
of his own accord not only train and discipline himself, but feed his
mind on the great masters of literature instead of on trash. He could
hardly have done any better at school, for he was gifted with unusual
power of self-education. Boys are occasionally met with who have by
their own efforts acquired a sufficient education to obtain a good
livelihood or even to become rich; but it would be difficult to find
another instance of a boy with only two years' schooling self-educating
himself up to the ability not only of making a fortune, but of becoming
a man of letters, a man of science, a philosopher, a diplomat, and a
statesman of such very distinguished rank.
There was no danger of his inclination for the higher departments of
learning making him visionary or impractical, as is so often the case
with the modern collegian. He was of necessity always in close contact
with actual life. His brother, in whose printing-office he worked as an
apprentice, was continually beating him; perhaps not without reason, for
Franklin himself admits that he was rather saucy and provoking. He was,
it seems, at this period not a little vain of his learning and his skill
as a workman. He had been writing important articles for his brother's
newspaper, and he thought that his brother failed to appreciate his
importance. They soon quarrelled, and Franklin ran away to New York.
He went secretly on board a sloop at Boston, having sold some of his
books to raise the passage-money; and after a three days' voyage, which
completely cured his desire for the sea, he found himself in a strange
town, several hundred miles from home. He applied for work to old Mr.
William Bradford, the famous printer of the colonies, who had recently
removed from Philadelphia. But he had no position to give the boy, and
recommended him to go to Philadelphia, where his son kept a
printing-office and needed a hand.
Franklin started for Amboy, New Jersey, in a sloop; but in crossing the
bay they were struck by a squall, which tore their rotten sails to
pieces and drove them on Long Island. They saved themselves from wreck
on the beach by anchoring just in time, and lay thus the rest of the day
and the following night, soaked to the skin and without food or sleep.
They reached Amboy the next day, having had nothing to eat for thirty
hours, and in the evening Franklin found himself in a fever.
He had heard that drinking plentifully of cold water was a good remedy;
so he tried it, went to bed, and woke up well the next morning. But it
was probably his boyish elasticity that cured him, and not the cold
water, as he would have us believe.
He started on foot for Burlington, a distance of fifty miles, and
tramped till noon through a hard rain, when he halted at an inn, and
wished that he had never left home. He was a sorry figure, and people
began to suspect him to be a runaway servant, which in truth he was. But
the next day he got within eight miles of Burlington, and stopped at a
tavern kept by a Dr. Brown, an eccentric man, who, finding that the boy
had read serious books, was very friendly with him, and the two
continued their acquaintance as long as the tavern-keeper lived.
Reaching Burlington on Saturday, he lodged with an old woman, who sold
him some gingerbread and gave him a dinner of ox-cheek, to which he
added a pot of ale. His intention had been to stay until the following
Tuesday, but he found a boat going down the river that evening, which
brought him to Philadelphia on Sunday morning.
He walked up Market Street from the wharf, dirty, his pockets stuffed
with shirts and stockings, and carrying three great puffy rolls, one
under each arm and eating the third. Passing by the house of a Mrs.
Read, her daughter, standing at the door, saw the ridiculous,
awkward-looking boy, and was much amused. But he continued strolling
along the streets, eating his roll and calmly surveying the town where
he was to become so eminent. One roll was enough for his appetite, and
the other two, with a boy's sincere generosity, he gave to a woman and
her child. He had insisted on paying for his passage, although the
boatman was willing to let him off because he had assisted to row. A
man, Franklin sagely remarks, is sometimes more generous when he has but
little money through fear of being thought to have but little.
He wandered into a Quaker meeting-house and, as it was a silent meeting,
fell fast asleep. Aroused by some one when the meeting broke up, he
sought the river again, and was shown the Crooked Billet Inn, where he
spent the afternoon sleeping, and immediately after supper went sound
asleep again, and never woke till morning.
The next day he succeeded in obtaining work with a printer named Keimer,
a man who had been a religious fanatic and was a good deal of a knave;
and this Keimer obtained lodging for him at the house of Mrs. Read,
whose daughter had seen him walking up Market Street eating his roll.
Well lodged, at work, and with a little money to spend, he lived
agreeably, he tells us, in Philadelphia, made the acquaintance of young
men who were fond of reading, and very soon his brother-in-law, Robert
Holmes, master of a sloop that traded between Boston and the Delaware
River, heard that the runaway was in Philadelphia.
Holmes wrote from New Castle, Delaware, to the boy, assuring him of the
regret of his family at his absconding, of their continued good will,
and urging him to return. Franklin replied, giving his side of the
story, and Holmes showed the letter to Sir William Keith, Governor of
Pennsylvania and Delaware, who happened to be at New Castle.
Keith was one of the most popular colonial governors that Pennsylvania
ever had, and enjoyed a successful administration of ten years, which
might have lasted much longer but for his reckless ambition. He had
allowed himself to fall into habits of extravagance and debt, and had a
way of building up his popularity by making profuse promises, most of
which he could not keep. Chicanery finally became an habitual vice which
he was totally unable to restrain, and he would indulge in it without
the slightest reason or excuse.
He was surprised at the ability shown in Franklin's letter, declared
that he must be set up in the printing business in Philadelphia, where a
good printer was sadly needed, and promised to procure for him the
public printing. A few days afterwards Franklin and Keimer, working near
the window, were very much surprised to see the governor and Colonel
French, of New Castle, dressed in all the finery of the time, walking
across the street to their shop. Keimer thought that the visit was to
him, and "stared like a poisoned pig," Franklin tells us, when he saw
the governor addressing his workman with all the blandishments of
courtly flattery. "Why," exclaimed the unscrupulous Keith, "did you not
come to me immediately on your arrival in the town? It was unkind not to
do so." He insisted that the boy should accompany him to the tavern,
where he and Colonel French were going to try some excellent Madeira.
At the tavern the boy's future life was laid out for him. The governor
and Colonel French would give him the public printing of both
Pennsylvania and Delaware. Meantime he was to go back to Boston, see his
father, and procure his assistance in starting in business. The father
would not refuse, for Sir William would write him a letter which would
put everything right. So Franklin, completely deceived, agreed, and,
until a ship could be found that was going to Boston, he dined
occasionally with the governor, and became very much inflated with a
sense of his own importance.
Arrived at Boston, he strolled into his brother's printing-office,
dressed in beautiful clothes, with a watch, and jingling five pounds
sterling in silver in his pockets. He drew out a handful of the silver
and spread it before the workmen, to their great surprise, for at that
time Massachusetts was afflicted with a paper currency. Then, with
consummate impudence and in his brother's presence, he gave the men a
piece of eight to buy drink, and, after telling them what a good place
Philadelphia was, swaggered out of the shop. It is not surprising that
his brother turned away from him and refused to forgive or forget his
conduct.
His father, being a man of sense, flatly refused to furnish money to
start a boy of eighteen in an expensive business, and was curious to
know what sort of man Governor Keith was, to recommend such a thing. So
Franklin, with his conceit only slightly reduced, returned to
Philadelphia, but this time with the blessing and consent of his
parents.
He stopped in Rhode Island on his way, to visit his brother John, who
had quite an affection for him, and while there was asked by a Mr.
Vernon to collect thirty-five pounds due him in Pennsylvania, and was
given an order for the money. On the vessel from Newport to New York
were two women of the town, with whom Franklin, in his ignorance of the
world, talked familiarly, until warned by a matronly Quaker lady. When
the vessel reached New York, the women robbed the captain and were
arrested.
His education in worldly matters was now to begin in earnest. His friend
Collins accompanied him to Philadelphia; but Collins had taken to drink
and gambling, and from this time on was continually borrowing money of
Franklin. The Governor of New York, son of the famous Bishop Burnet,
hearing from the captain that a plain young man who was fond of books
had arrived, sent for him, flattered him, and added to his increasing
conceit. The boy who within a year had been made so much of by two
governors was on the brink of ruin.
On his journey to Philadelphia he collected the money due Mr. Vernon,
and used part of it to pay the expenses of Collins and himself. Collins
kept borrowing Mr. Vernon's money from him, and Franklin was soon in the
position of an embezzler.
Governor Keith laughed at the prudence of his father in refusing to set
up in business such a promising young man. "I will do it myself," he
said. "Give me an inventory of the things necessary to be had from
England, and I will send for them. You shall repay me when you are
able."
Thinking him the best man that had ever lived, Franklin brought him the
inventory.
"But now," said Keith, "if you were on the spot in England to choose the
types and see that everything was good, might not that be of some
advantage? And then you may make acquaintances there and establish
correspondences in the bookselling and stationery way."
Of course that was delightful.
"Then," said Keith, "get yourself ready to go with Annis," who was
captain of a vessel that traded annually between Philadelphia and
London.
Meantime, Franklin made love to Miss Read, who had seen him parading up
Market Street with his rolls, and, if we may trust a man's account of
such matters, he succeeded in winning her affections. He had lost all
faith in religion, and his example unsettled those friends who
associated and read books with him. He was at times invited to dine with
the governor, who promised to give him letters of credit for money and
also letters recommending him to his friends in England.
He called at different times for these letters, but they were not ready.
The day of the ship's sailing came, and he called to take leave of his
great and good friend and to get the letters. The governor's secretary
said that his master was extremely busy, but would meet the ship at New
Castle, and the letters would be delivered.
The ship sailed from Philadelphia with Franklin and one of his friends,
Ralph, who was going to England, ostensibly on business, but really to
desert his wife and child, whom he left in Philadelphia. While the
vessel was anchored off New Castle, Franklin went ashore to see Keith,
and was again informed that he was very busy, but that the letters would
be sent on board.
The despatches of the governor were brought on board in due form by
Colonel French, and Franklin asked for those which were to be under his
care. But the captain said that they were all in the bag together, and
before he reached England he would have an opportunity to pick them out.
Arrived in London after a long, tempestuous voyage, Franklin found that
there were no letters for him and no money. On consulting with a Quaker
merchant, Mr. Denham, who had been friendly to him on the ship, he was
told that there was not the slightest probability of Keith's having
written such letters; and Denham laughed at Keith's giving a letter of
credit, having, as he said, no credit to give.
Franklin was stranded, alone and almost penniless, in London. When seven
years old he had been given pennies on a holiday and foolishly gave them
all to another boy in exchange for a whistle which pleased his fancy.
Mortified by the ridicule of his brothers and sisters, he afterwards
made a motto for himself, "Don't give too much for the whistle." More
than fifty years afterwards, when minister to France, he turned the
whistle story into a little essay which delighted all Paris, and "Don't
give too much for the whistle" became a cant saying in both Europe and
America. He seldom forgot a lesson of experience; and, though he says
but little about it, the Keith episode, like the expensive whistle, must
have made a deep impression on him and sharpened his wits.
His life in London may be said to have been a rather evil one. He forgot
Miss Read; his companion, Ralph, forgot the wife and child he had left
in Philadelphia, and kept borrowing money from him, as Collins had done.
Franklin wrote a small pamphlet about this time, which he printed for
himself and called "A Dissertation on Liberty and Necessity, Pleasure
and Pain." It was an argument in favor of fatalism, and while
acknowledging the existence of God, it denied the immortality of the
soul; suggesting, however, as a possibility, that there might be a
transmigration of souls. It was a clever performance in its way, with
much of the power of expression and brightness which were afterwards so
characteristic of him; but in later years he regretted having published
such notions.
He sums up his argument on Liberty and Necessity as follows:
"When the Creator first designed the universe, either it was his
will and intention that all things should exist and be in the
manner they are at this time; or it was his will they should be
otherwise, i.e. in a different manner: To say it was his will
things should be otherwise than they are is to say somewhat hath
contracted his will and broken his measures, which is impossible
because inconsistent with his power; therefore we must allow
that all things exist now in a manner agreeable to his will, and
in consequence of that are all equally good, and therefore
equally esteemed by him."
His argument, though shorter, is almost precisely the same as that with
which Jonathan Edwards afterwards began his famous essay against the
freedom of the will, and it is strange that Franklin's biographers have
not claimed that he anticipated Edwards. But, so far as Franklin is
concerned, it is probable that he was only using ideas that were afloat
in the philosophy of the time; the two men were merely elaborating an
argument and dealing with a metaphysical problem as old as the human
mind. But Edwards carried the train of thought far beyond Franklin, and
added the doctrine of election, while Franklin contented himself with
establishing to his own satisfaction the very ancient proposition that
there can be no freedom of the will, and that God must be the author of
evil as well as of good.
In the second part of his pamphlet, "Pleasure and Pain," he argues that
pleasure and pain are exactly equal, because pain or uneasiness produces
a desire to be freed from it, and the accomplishment of this desire
produces a corresponding pleasure. His argument on this, as well as on
the first half of his subject, when we consider that he was a mere boy,
is very interesting. He had picked up by reading and conversation a
large part of the philosophy that permeated the mental atmosphere of the
time, and his keen observation of life and of his own consciousness
supplied the rest.
"It will possibly be objected here, that even common Experience
shows us, there is not in Fact this Equality: Some we see
hearty, brisk and cheerful perpetually, while others are
constantly burden'd with a heavy 'Load of Maladies and
Misfortunes, remaining for Years perhaps in Poverty, Disgrace,
or Pain, and die at last without any Appearance of
Recompence.'... And here let it be observed, that we cannot be
proper Judges of the good or bad Fortune of Others; we are apt
to imagine, that what would give us a great Uneasiness or a
great Satisfaction, has the same Effect upon others; we think,
for instance, those unhappy, who must depend upon Charity for a
mean Subsistence, who go in Rags, fare hardly, and are despis'd
and scorn'd by all; not considering that Custom renders all
these Things easy, familiar, and even pleasant. When we see
Riches, Grandeur and a chearful Countenance, we easily imagine
Happiness accompanies them, when often times 'tis quite
otherwise: Nor is a constantly sorrowful Look, attended with
continual Complaints, an infallible Indication of
Unhappiness.... Besides some take a Satisfaction in being
thought unhappy, (as others take a Pride in being thought
humble,) these will paint their Misfortunes to others in the
strongest Colours, and leave no Means unus'd to make you think
them thoroughly miserable; so great a Pleasure it is to them to
be pitied; Others retain the form and outside Shew or Sorrow,
long after the thing itself, with its Cause, is remov'd from the
Mind; it is a Habit they have acquired and cannot leave."
A very sharp insight into human nature is shown in this passage, and it
is not surprising that the boy who wrote it afterwards became a mover of
men. His mind was led to the subject by being employed to print a book
which was very famous in its day, called "The Religion of Nature
Delineated." He disliked its arguments, and must needs refute them by
his pamphlet "Liberty and Necessity," which was certainly a most
vigorous mental discipline for him, although he was afterwards
dissatisfied with its negative conclusions.
Obscure and poor as he was, he instinctively seized on everything that
would contribute to his education and enlargement of mind. He made the
acquaintance of a bookseller, who agreed for a small compensation to
lend him books. His pamphlet on Liberty and Necessity brought him to the
notice of Dr. Lyons, author of "The Infallibility of Human Judgment,"
who took him to an ale-house called The Horns, where a sort of club of
free-thinkers assembled. There he met Dr. Mandeville, who wrote "The
Fable of the Bees." Lyons also introduced him to Dr. Pemberton, who
promised to give him an opportunity of seeing Sir Isaac Newton; but this
was never fulfilled.
The conversation of these men, if not edifying in a religious way, was
no doubt stimulating to his intelligence. He had brought over with him a
purse made of asbestos, and this he succeeded in selling to Sir Hans
Sloane, who invited him to his house and showed him his museum of
curiosities.
He says of the asbestos purse in his Autobiography that Sir Hans
"persuaded me to let him add it to his collection, for which he paid me
handsomely." But the persuasion was the other way, for the letter which
he wrote to Sir Hans, offering to sell him the purse, has been
discovered and printed.
Even the woman he lodged with contributed to his education. She was a
clergyman's daughter, had lived much among people of distinction, and
knew a thousand anecdotes of them as far back as the time of Charles II.
She was lame with the gout, and, seldom going out of her room, liked to
have company. Her conversation was so amusing and instructive that he
often spent an evening with her; and she, on her part, found the young
man so agreeable that after he had engaged a lodging near by for two
shillings a week she would not let him go, and agreed to keep him for
one and sixpence. So the future economist of two continents enlarged his
knowledge and at the same time reduced his board to thirty-seven cents a
week.
He certainly needed all the money he could get, for he was helping to
support Ralph, who was trying to become a literary man and gradually
degenerating into a political hack. Ralph made the acquaintance of a
young milliner who lodged in the same house with them. She had known
better days and was genteelly bred, but before long she became Ralph's
mistress.
Ralph went into the country to look for employment at school-teaching,
and left his mistress in Franklin's care. As she had lost friends and
employment by her association with Ralph, she was soon in need of money,
and borrowed from Franklin. Presuming on her dependent position, he
attempted liberties with her, and was repulsed with indignation. Ralph
hearing of it on his return, informed him that their friendship was at
an end and all obligations cancelled. This precluded Franklin's hope of
being repaid the money he had lent, but it had the advantage of putting
a stop to further lending.
For a year and a half he lived in London, still keeping up his reading,
but also going to the theatres and meeting many odd characters and a few
distinguished ones. It was an experience which at least enlarged his
mind if it did not improve his morals. He eventually became very tired
of London, longing for the simple pleasures and happy days he had
enjoyed in Pennsylvania, and he seized the first opportunity to return.
Mr. Denham, the Quaker merchant who had come over in the same ship with
him, was about to return, and offered to employ him as clerk. He eagerly
accepted the offer, helped his benefactor to buy and pack his supply of
goods, and landed again in Philadelphia in the autumn of 1726.
Keith was no longer governor. Miss Read, despairing of Franklin's
return, had yielded to the persuasions of her family and married a
potter named Rogers, and Keimer seemed to be prospering. But the young
printer was in a business that he liked. He was devoted to Mr. Denham,
with whom his prospects were excellent, and he thought himself settled
at last. In a few months, however, both he and Mr. Denham were taken
with the pleurisy. Mr. Denham died, and Franklin, fully expecting to
die, made up his mind to it like a philosopher who believed that there
was nothing beyond the grave. He was rather disappointed, he tells us,
when he got well, for all the troublesome business of resignation would
some day have to be done over again.
Finding himself on his recovery without employment, he went back again
to work at his old trade with Keimer, and before long was in business
for himself with a partner. He had never paid Mr. Vernon the money he
had collected for him; but, fortunately, Mr. Vernon was easy with him,
and, except for worrying over this very serious debt and the loss of
Miss Read, Franklin began to do fairly well, and his self-education was
continued in earnest.
It was about this time that he founded the club called the Junto, which
he has described as "the best school of philosophy, morality, and
politics that then existed in the province."