follows: "How exceedingly strange that such a work as this should have
been written by the man who, in 1692, at Salem, when nineteen people
were hanged and one was pressed to death for witchcraft, appeared
among the crowd, openly exulting in the spectacle! Probably his zeal
against the witches was as much the offspring of his benevolence as
his 'Essays to do Good.' Concede his theory of witches, and it had
been cruelty to man not to hang them. Were they not in league with
Satan, the arch-enemy of God and man? Had they not bound themselves by
solemn covenant to aid the devil in destroying human souls and
afflicting the elect? Cotton Mather had not the slightest doubt of
it."
When Benjamin had exhausted the home stock of reading, he showed his
sound judgment by saying to his father:
"I wish I could have 'Burton's Historical Collections'; it would be a
great treat to read those books."
"It would, indeed; they are very popular, and I should like to have
you read them. But how to get them is more than I can tell."
"Would you be willing that I should exchange Bunyan's works for them?"
"I did not suppose that you would part with 'Pilgrim's Progress' for
Burton's books or any others," was Mr. Franklin's reply.
"I should rather keep both; but I have read 'Pilgrim's Progress' until
I know it by heart, so that I would be willing to part with it for
Burton's books, if I can get them in no other way."
"Well, you can see what you can do. I am willing to do 'most any thing
to keep you in good books, for they are good companions. I know of no
better ones, from all I have heard and read about them, than 'Burton's
Collections.'"
"Perhaps I can sell Bunyan's books for enough to buy Burton's,"
suggested Benjamin. Doubtless he had canvassed the matter, and knew of
some opportunity for a trade like that.
"Well, you may do that, if you can; I have no objection. I hope you
will succeed."
The result was that Benjamin sold the works of Bunyan, and bought
Burton's books in forty small volumes, quite a little library for that
day. He was never happier than when he became the owner of "Burton's
Historical Collections," famous in England and America, and
extensively sold, not only by book-sellers, but also by pedlars. They
contained fact, fiction, history, biography, travels, adventures,
natural history, and an account of many marvels, curiosities, and
wonders, in a series of "twelve-penny books."
Doctor Johnson referred to these books in one of his letters: "There
is in the world a set of books which used to be sold by the
book-sellers on the bridge, and which I must entreat you to procure
me. They are called Burton's books. The title of one is, 'Admirable
Curiosities, Rarities, and Wonders in England.' They seem very proper
to allure backward readers."
He might have added, also, _forward_ readers; for they lured Benjamin,
who was, perhaps, the most thoughtful and ready reader of his age in
Boston In them he discovered a rich mine of thought and information,
and he delved there. He found even nuggets of gold to make his mind
richer and his heart gladder.
His father's books were chiefly theological; yet Benjamin's love of
reading caused him to read them. He possessed, also, a collection of
religious tracts, called the "Boyle Lectures," because Robert Boyle,
the youngest son of an Irish earl, a very pious man, originated them,
"designed to prove the truth of the Christian religion among
infidels." Benjamin read all of these, and his father was delighted to
have him read them at the time, thinking that the moral results would
be good. But the sequel will show that the effect of reading them was
bad. In order to refute the arguments of deists, it was necessary to
print them in the tracks. So Benjamin read both sides, and he thought,
in some respects, that the deists had the best argument.
Not long after Benjamin became a printer, a prominent citizen of
Boston, Matthew Adams, who had heard of his talents and love of
reading, met him in the printing office, and entered into conversation
with him.
"You are a great reader, I learn," he said.
"Yes, sir, I read considerable every day."
"Do you find all the books you want to read?"
"Not all. I should like to read some books I can't get."
"Perhaps you can find them in my library; you can come and take out of
it any book you would like."
"Thank you very much," answered Benjamin, exceedingly gratified by
this unexpected offer. "I shall take the first opportunity to call."
"Boys who like to read as well as you do, ought to have books enough,"
continued Mr. Adams. "I think you will find quite a number of
entertaining and useful ones. You will know when you examine for
yourself."
"That I shall do very soon, and be very grateful for the privilege,"
answered Benjamin.
Within a few days, the printer-boy paid Mr. Adams a visit. The latter
gave him a cordial welcome, causing him to feel at ease and enjoy his
call. He examined the library to his heart's content, and found many
books therein he desired to read.
"Come any time: take out any and all the books you please, and keep
them till you have done with them," was Mr. Adams' generous offer. He
had great interest in the boy, and wanted to assist him; and Benjamin
fully appreciated his interest and kindness, and paid the library many
visits. As long as he lived he never forgot the generous aid of this
man, of whom he wrote in his "Autobiography":
"After some time, a merchant, an ingenious, sensible man, Mr. Matthew
Adams, who had a pretty collection of books, frequented our printing
office, took notice of me, and invited me to see his library, and very
kindly proposed to lend me such books as I chose to read."
The printing office was frequented by book-sellers' apprentices, whose
employers wanted jobs of printing done. Benjamin made their
acquaintance, and they invited him to call at their stores to examine
the books. There were several book-stores in Boston at that time,
although the number of books was very limited as compared with the
present time.
"I will lend you that book to-night," said one of these apprentices to
Benjamin, who was manifesting a deep interest in a certain volume.
"You can return it in the morning before customers come in."
"Very much obliged. I shall be glad to read it. I think I can read it
through before I go to bed, and I can leave it when I go to the office
in the morning."
"You won't have much time for sleep if you read that book through
before going to bed. But you are used to short naps, I expect."
"I can afford to have a short nap whenever I have the reading of such
a book as this," answered Benjamin. "I shall return it in just as good
a condition as it is now."
"The book is for sale, and we might have a customer for it to-morrow,
or I would let you have it longer. If you do not read it through
to-night, and we do not sell it to-morrow, you can take it again
to-morrow night. I frequently read a volume through, a little at a
time, before we have a chance to sell it."
This offer of the apprentice was very generous, and Benjamin suitably
expressed his appreciation of it.
"Your favor is so great that I shall feel myself under special
obligation to return the book in season for any customer to-morrow who
may want it. If I were in a book-store, as you are, I fear that my
love of reading would overcome my love of work. It would just suit me
to be in the company of so many books all the time."
"You could not have your evenings here for reading, as you do now. Our
busiest time is in the evening; so that I catch only fragments of time
to read--pretty small fragments, some days," said the apprentice.
"Well, it might be only an aggravation to live among so many books,
without time to read them," responded Benjamin. "I am content where I
am,--a printing office has some advantages over all other places for
me."
Benjamin made the most of this new opportunity. Borrowing the first
book was followed by borrowing many of the apprentices at the
book-stores. All the stores were patronized by him, and many a night
was shortened at both ends, that he might devour a book. He fairly
gorged himself with book-knowledge.
The reader must not forget that books were very few in number at that
time, and it was long before a public library was known in the land.
In Boston there were many literary people, who had come hither from
England, and they had a limited supply of books. So that Boston was
then better supplied with books than any other part of the country,
though its supply was as nothing compared with the supply now.
Book-stores, instead of being supplied with thousands of volumes to
suit every taste in the reading world, offered only a meagre
collection of volumes, such as would be scarcely noticed now. There
were no large publishing houses, issuing a new book each week-day of
the year, as there are at the present time, manufacturing hundreds of
cords of them every year, and sending them all over the land. Neither
were there any libraries then, as we have before said. Now the Public
Library of Boston offers three or four hundred thousand volumes, free
to all the citizens, and that number is constantly increasing. With
the Athenaeum, and other large libraries for public use, Boston
offers a MILLION volumes, from which the poor printer-boy, and all
other boys, can make their choice. In almost every town, too, of two
thousand inhabitants, a public library is opened, where several
hundred or thousand volumes are found from which to select, while
private libraries of from one to thirty thousand volumes are counted
by the score. The trouble with boys now is, not how to get books to
read, but what they shall select from the vast number that load the
shelves of libraries and book-stores. Benjamin had no trouble about
selecting books; he took all he could get, and was not overburdened at
that.
Another book that was of great benefit to Benjamin was an old English
grammar which he bought at a book-store. He said of it, in manhood:
"While I was intent on improving my language, I met with an English
grammar (I think it was Greenwood's), having at the end of it two
little sketches on the Arts of Rhetoric and Logic, the latter
finishing with a dispute on the Socratic method."
"What do you want of such a book as that?" inquired John Collins, when
he saw it in the printing office.
"To study, of course; I did not study grammar at school, and I want to
know something about it," was Benjamin's answer.
"I expect that some knowledge of it will not come amiss," said John.
"You mean to make the most of these things you can."
"I wanted the volume, too, for the chapters on Rhetoric and Logic at
the end," added Benjamin.
"Of what use are Rhetoric and Logic? Perhaps they may be of service to
you; they would not be to me." John spoke thus because he knew nothing
about them; he had never studied them.
"Every body ought to know something about them, even a printer," added
Benjamin. "They have already helped me to form a better opinion of the
style and value of some things I have read."
"Well, I can't get time to learn every thing. You seem to learn 'most
all there is to learn, with very little time. I wish I could, but I
can't, and so I won't try." John was always thus complimentary to
Benjamin. He gave him full credit for all his achievements.
"I mean to learn to speak and write the English language with
propriety," continued Benjamin, "and I do not know how it can be done
without a knowledge of grammar; do you?"
"I know nothing about it, any way whatever. I shall not begin now; am
too old. Can't teach old dogs new tricks." John's remark expressed his
real views of these things. Although he was a bookish fellow, he was
not inclined to go deep into literature or science.
Other books that Benjamin read were Locke's "Essay on the
Understanding"; "The Art of Thinking," by Messrs. de Port-Royal;
Sellers & Stumey's book on "Navigation," with many others of equal
merit.
Benjamin cultivated the habit of taking notes when he read, jotting
down notable facts and striking thoughts for future use. It is a
capital practice, and one that has been followed by nearly all
learners who have distinguished themselves in scholarship. He realized
the advantages of the method to such a degree that, in manhood, he
addressed the following letter from London to a bright girl in whose
education he was very much interested:
"CRAVEN STREET, May 16, 1760.
"I send my good girl the books I mentioned to her last night. I beg
her to accept of them as a small mark of my esteem and friendship.
They are written in the familiar, easy manner for which the French
are so remarkable, and afford a good deal of philosophic and
practical knowledge, unembarrassed with the dry mathematics used by
more exact reasoners, but which is apt to discourage young
beginners.
"I would advise you to read with a pen in your hand, and enter in a
little book short hints of what you find that is curious, or that
may be useful; for this will be the best method of imprinting such
particulars in your memory, where they will be ready, either for
practice on some future occasion, if they are matters of utility,
or, at least, to adorn and improve your conversation, if they are
rather points of curiosity; and, as many of the terms of science
are such as you can not have met with in your common reading, and
may therefore be unacquainted with, I think it would be well for
you to have a good dictionary at hand, to consult immediately when
you meet with a word you do not comprehend the precise meaning of.
"This may, at first, seem troublesome and interrupting; but it is a
trouble that will daily diminish, as you will daily find less and
less occasion for your dictionary, as you become more acquainted
with the terms; and, in the mean time, you will read with more
satisfaction, because with more understanding. When any point
occurs in which you would be glad to have further information than
your book affords you, I beg you would not in the least apprehend
that I should think it a trouble to receive and answer your
questions. It will be a pleasure, and no trouble. For though I may
not be able, out of my own little stock of knowledge, to afford you
what you require, I can easily direct you to the books where it may
most readily be found.
"Adieu, and believe me ever, my dear friend,
"B. FRANKLIN."
Reading with pen or pencil in hand fixes the attention, assists
method, strengthens purpose, and charges memory with its sacred trust.
A note-book for this purpose is the most convenient method of
preserving these treasures. Professor Atkinson, of the Massachusetts
Institute of Technology, advises students thus:
"Gather up the scraps and fragments of thought on whatever subject you
may be studying--for, of course, by a note-book I do not mean a mere
receptacle for odds and ends, a literary dust-bin--but acquire the
habit of gathering every thing, whenever and wherever you find it,
that belongs in your lines of study, and you will be surprised to see
how such fragments will arrange themselves into an orderly whole by
the very organizing power of your own thinking, acting in a definite
direction. This is a true process of self-education; but you see it is
no mechanical process of mere aggregation. It requires activity of
thought--but without that what is any reading but mere passive
amusement? And it requires method. I have myself a sort of literary
bookkeeping. I keep a day-book, and, at my leisure, I post my literary
accounts, bringing together in proper groups the fruits of much casual
reading."
The late President Garfield began this method when he began to study,
with a view to a liberal education, at about seventeen years of age.
He continued it as long as he lived. His notes and references,
including scrap-books, filled several volumes before his Congressional
career closed, on a great variety of subjects. A large number of
books, in addition to those in his own library, were made available in
this way. It was said that his notes were of great service to him in
Congress, in the discussion of almost any public question.
XIV.
LEARNING THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
Having delayed the narrative to learn of the books that helped to make
him the man he became, it is necessary to delay further to see how he
practised writing composition, both prose and poetry, in his early
life, thus laying the foundation for the excellence of his writings in
manhood.
Benjamin was not more than seven years old when he began to write
poetry. His "Uncle Benjamin's" frequent poetic addresses to him
inspired him to try his hand at the art, and he wrote something and
forwarded to his uncle in England. Whatever it was, it has not been
preserved. But we know that he wrote a piece, doggerel of course, and
sent to him, from the fact that his uncle returned the following reply:
"'T is time for me to throw aside my pen,
When hanging sleeves read, write, and rhyme like men.
This forward spring foretells a plenteous crop;
For, if the bud bear grain, what will the top?
If plenty in the verdant blade appear,
What may we not soon hope for in the ear!
When flowers are beautiful before they're blown,
What rarities will afterwards be shown!
"If trees good fruit uninoculated bear,
You may be sure 't will afterwards be rare.
If fruits are sweet before they've time to yellow,
How luscious will they be when they are mellow!
If first-year's shoots such noble clusters send,
What laden boughs, Engedi-like, may we expect in end!"
There was no time, from the above date, when Benjamin did not indulge,
to some extent, his inclination to write. It was done for his own
amusement and profit, so that he was not in the habit of showing or
speaking of his productions. None of them were preserved.
But his talent for composition developed rapidly from the time he was
fairly settled in the printing business. He practised putting original
thoughts, and thoughts culled from books, into sentences and
paragraphs, a very sensible method of self-improvement. He often tried
his hand at poetry, if it was only a couplet at a time. Longer
compositions he wrote, for no one to see and read but himself. One day
his brother James, curious to see what Benjamin was writing so much
about, looked over his shoulder.
"What have you there, Ben?" he said. "Writing a sermon or your will?
Ay! poetry is it?" catching a glimpse of it. "Then you are a poet are
you?"
"Seeing what I can do," Benjamin replied. "We do not know what we can
do till we try. It is not much any way."
"Let me read it, and I will tell you whether it is much or not.
Authors are not good judges of their own productions. They are like
parents, who think their own children handsomest and most promising;
they think their articles are better than they are."
James was in a happy mood for him when he thus spoke. He knew nothing
about Benjamin's ability in writing composition; for this was quite a
while before the newspaper was started for which he wrote.
"I have been reading much poetry of late," added Benjamin, "and I am
anxious to know if I can write it. I like to read it, and I have read
several of the poets since I had access to Mr. Adams' library," This
was after Mr. Adams invited him take books from his library, of which
we have already given an account.
"So much the more reason that I should read what you have written,"
added James. "I do not expect it will be quite equal to Shakespeare."
"Well, read it, I do not care." And Benjamin passed it over to his
brother without further hesitation.
James read it over carefully, and then he re-read it before making a
remark, as if to be sure that he was not mistaken in the quality of
the composition.
"That is good, Ben. It is really good, much better than I supposed you
could write. Indeed, I did not know that you could write poetry at
all. It is not quite equal to Virgil or Homer, but good for a
printer-boy to write. Have you any other pieces?"
James was honest in these last remarks, and felt more kindly at the
time than he often did towards his brother.
"Yes, I have two or three pieces more which I am going to improve
somewhat. You had better wait till I have rewritten them before you
read them." Benjamin was greatly encouraged by his brother's favorable
opinion of his literary venture, when he made this reply.
"No need of that. Let me see them now, and I can tell you whether they
are worth making better. Some things are not worth making better; and
I think this must be particularly true of poetry. Poor poetry is poor
stuff; better write new than to try to improve it."
James' last plea prevailed, and Benjamin produced the articles for his
examination. They were read with as much interest as the first one,
and they were re-read too, that there might be no mistake in his
judgment. Then his enthusiasm broke out.
"I tell you what it is, Ben, these are good, and I believe that you
can write something worthy of print if you try hard; and if you will
undertake it, you may print and sell a sheet on the street. I have no
doubt that it will sell well."
"I will see what I can do," Benjamin replied, very much elated over
his success. "I hardly think my poetry will read well in print,
though. I have not been writing for the press."
"We can tell best when we read it in print. Get up something as soon
as you can, and let us see," said James.
"I will go right about it, and I will not be long in getting up
something, good, bad, or indifferent."
Within a few days Benjamin produced two street ballads, after the
style of that day. They were better than any thing he had written, but
still susceptible of great improvement. One was entitled "The
Light-house Tragedy," and was founded on the shipwreck of Captain
Worthilake and his two daughters. The other was a sailor's song on the
capture of the famous _Teach_, or "Blackbeard, the Pirate." James read
them critically, to see if it would do to put them in print and offer
them to the public.
"These are really better than what I read the other day," he remarked,
when he had examined them all he desired. "Now, you may put them into
type, and sell them about the town, if you are willing. I think a good
number of them may be disposed of."
"How many copies will you print?"
"We can print a few to begin with, and let the type remain standing
until we see how they go Then we shall run no risk."
"Shall I do it immediately?"
"Just as soon as you can. The quicker the better. I am anxious to see
how they take with the public."
Benjamin was not long in printing the two ballads, and having them
ready for sale. Under the direction of his brother, he went forth, in
due time, to offer them about the town. Whether he cried them on the
streets as the newsboys do the daily papers now, we have no means of
knowing. But he was successful in selling his wares, whatever his
method was. "The Light-house Tragedy" sold the most readily. That
commemorated an event of recent occurrence, and which excited much
public feeling and sympathy at the time, so that people were quite
prepared to purchase it. It sold even beyond his expectations, and
seemed to develop what little vanity there was in his soul. He began
to think that he was a genuine born poet, and that distinction and a
fortune were before him. If he had not been confronted by his father
on the subject, it is possible that the speculation might have proved
a serious injury to him. But Mr. Franklin learned of his enterprise,
and called him to an account. Perhaps he stepped into his shop, as he
was selling them about town, and gave him a copy. Whether so or not,
his father learned of the fact, and the following interview will show
what he thought of it:
"I am ashamed to see you engaged in such a business, Benjamin. It is
unworthy of a son of Josiah Franklin."
"Why so, father? I can't understand you."
"Because it is not an honorable business. You are not a poet, and can
write nothing of that sort worth printing."
"James approved of the pieces, and proposed that I should print and
sell them," Benjamin pleaded.
"James is not a good judge of poetry, nor of the propriety of hawking
them about town. It is wretched stuff, and I am ashamed that you are
known as the author. Look here; let me show you wherein it is
defective."