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[Illustration: Benjamin Franklin
I am, Yours, B Franklin
New-York, Harper & Brothers.]
MEMOIRS
OF
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN;
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
WITH HIS
MOST INTERESTING ESSAYS, LETTERS, AND MISCELLANEOUS
WRITINGS; FAMILIAR, MORAL, POLITICAL,
ECONOMICAL, AND PHILOSOPHICAL.
SELECTED WITH CARE
FROM ALL HIS PUBLISHED PRODUCTIONS, AND COMPRISING
WHATEVER IS MOST ENTERTAINING AND VALUABLE
TO THE GENERAL READER.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
PUBLISHERS' ADVERTISEMENT.
It would be difficult, and perhaps impossible, to gather from the
history and labours of any individual mind, a summary of practical
wisdom as rich in varied instruction as the memoirs and writings
presented in these volumes will be found to afford. If, on account of
the most distinguished public services, the name of Franklin has become
inseparably associated with his country's glory, the works which he has
left behind him no less justly entitle him to be considered as the
benefactor not only of his own country, but of mankind for all coming
time. So admirable, indeed, are these productions, that they can only
cease being read when the love of beauty and of simplicity, of moral
power and of truth, has no longer a place in the hearts of men.
"This self-taught American," to quote from the Edinburgh Review of 1806,
"is the most rational, perhaps, of all philosophers. He never loses
sight of common sense in any of his speculations. No individual,
perhaps, ever possessed a juster understanding, or was so seldom
obstructed in the use of it by indolence, enthusiasm, or authority. * *
* * There are not many among the thoroughbred scholars and philosophers
of Europe who can lay claim to distinction in more than one or two
departments of science and literature. The uneducated tradesman of
America has left writings which call for our attention in natural
philosophy, in politics, in political economy, and in general literature
and morality." And again: "Nothing can be more perfectly and beautifully
adapted to its object than most of the moral compositions of Dr.
Franklin. The tone of familiarity, of good-will, and harmless
jocularity; the plain and pointed illustrations; the short sentences,
made up of short words; and the strong sense, clear information, and
obvious conviction of the author himself, make most of his moral
exhortations perfect models of popular eloquence, and often the finest
specimens of a style which has been too little cultivated in his native
country.
"The most remarkable thing, however, in these, and indeed in the whole
of his physical speculations, is the unparalleled simplicity and
facility with which the reader is conducted from one stage of the
inquiry to another. The author never appears for a moment to labour or
be at a loss. The most ingenious and profound explanations are
suggested, as if they were the most natural and obvious way of
accounting for the phenomena; and the author seems to value himself so
little on his most important discoveries, that it is necessary to
compare him with others before we can form a just notion of his merits."
While to every age these volumes cannot fail of being deeply
interesting, to the young more especially they may be made of invaluable
use. What an animating example do they present of the power of industry,
and of frugality and temperance, of moral rectitude, and unremitting
perseverance, to overcome every difficulty! And what youth, fired with
the generous love of knowledge, and an ardent desire of honourable
distinction, need ever despair of success after reading the memoirs of
Benjamin Franklin; who, from the humble station of a printer's
apprentice, without fortune or other extraneous aid, through a manly
confidence in his own powers, elevated himself to the highest stations
of honour and usefulness.
It is from these and other considerations scarcely less interesting,
that the publishers feel great confidence and pleasure in presenting
this work to the public favour. Great care has been taken in selecting
the matter of which these volumes are composed; and, it is believed,
that they will be found to comprise nearly all that is most entertaining
and useful to the general reader, in the writings of Franklin.
H. & B.
_New-York, Sept., 1839_.
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.
PART I.
Page
Life of Dr. Franklin, written by himself 13
PART II.
Letter from Mr. Abel James 91
Letter from Mr. Benjamin Vaughan 92
Continuation of Life, begun at Passy, near Paris, 1784 98
Memorandum 115
PART III.
Life of Franklin, continued by Dr. Stuber 191
Extracts from Franklin's Will 227
WRITINGS OF FRANKLIN.
The Examination of Dr. Franklin before the British House
of Commons, relative to the Repeal of the American
Stamp-act 237
Narrative of the Massacre of Friendly Indians in Lancaster
County, Pennsylvania, 1764 264
Introduction to Historical Review of the Constitution and
Government of Pennsylvania 282
Dr. Franklin's Motion for Prayers in the Convention at
Philadelphia, 1787, to revise the then existing Articles of
Confederation 286
MEMOIRS OF FRANKLIN.
PART I.
_To William Franklin, Esq., Governor of New-Jersey_
Twyford, at the Bishop of St. Asaph's,[1] 1771.
DEAR SON,--I have ever had a pleasure in obtaining any little anecdotes
of my ancestors. You may remember the inquiries I made among the remains
of my relations when you were with me in England, and the journey I
undertook for that purpose. Imagining it may be equally agreeable to you
to learn the circumstances of _my_ life, many of which you are
unacquainted with, and expecting the enjoyment of a few weeks'
uninterrupted leisure, I sit down to write them. Besides, there are some
other inducements that excite me to this undertaking. From the poverty
and obscurity in which I was born, and in which I passed my earliest
years, I have raised myself to a state of affluence and some degree of
celebrity in the world. As constant good fortune has accompanied me even
to an advanced period of life, my posterity will perhaps be desirous of
learning the means which I employed, and which, thanks to Providence, so
well succeeded with me. They may also deem them fit to be imitated,
should any of them find themselves in similar circumstances. This good
fortune, when I reflect on it, which is frequently the case, has induced
me sometimes to say, that if it were left to my choice, I should have no
objection to go over the same life from its beginning to the end:
requesting only the advantage authors have, of correcting in a second
edition the faults of the first. So would I also wish to change some
incidents of it for others more favourable. Notwithstanding, if this
condition was denied, I should still accept the offer of recommencing
the same life. But as this repetition is not to be expected, that which
resembles most living one's life over again, seems to be to recall all
the circumstances of it; and, to render this remembrance more durable,
to record them in writing. In thus employing myself I shall yield to the
inclination so natural to old men, of talking of themselves and their
own actions; and I shall indulge it without being tiresome to those who,
from respect to my age, might conceive themselves obliged to listen to
me, since they will be always free to read me or not. And lastly (I may
as well confess it, as the denial of it would be believed by nobody), I
shall perhaps not a little gratify my own _vanity_. Indeed, I never
heard or saw the introductory words "_Without vanity_ I may say," &c.,
but some vain thing immediately followed. Most people dislike vanity in
others, whatever share they have of it themselves; but I give it fair
quarter, wherever I meet with it, being persuaded that it is often
productive of good to the possessor, and to others who are within his
sphere of action: and therefore, in many cases, it would not be
altogether absurd if a man were to thank God for his vanity among the
other comforts of life.
And now I speak of thanking God, I desire with all humility to
acknowledge that I attribute the mentioned happiness of my past life to
his divine providence, which led me to the means I used and gave the
success. My belief of this induces me to _hope_, though I must not
_presume_, that the same goodness will still be exercised towards me, in
continuing that happiness or enabling me to bear a fatal reverse, which
I may experience as others have done; the complexion of my future
fortune being known to him only, in whose power it is to bless us, even
in our afflictions.
Some notes, one of my uncles (who had the same curiosity in collecting
family anecdotes) once put into my hands, furnished me with several
particulars relative to our ancestors. From these notes I learned that
they lived in the same village, Ecton, in Northamptonshire, on a
freehold of about thirty acres, for at least three hundred years, and
how much longer could not be ascertained.[2]
This small estate would not have sufficed for their maintenance without
the business of a smith, which had continued in the family down to my
uncle's time, the eldest son being always brought up to that employment;
a custom which he and my father followed with regard to their eldest
sons. When I searched the registers at _Ecton_, I found an account of
their marriages and burials from the year 1555 only, as the registers
kept did not commence previous thereto. I however learned from it that I
was the youngest son of the youngest son for five generations back. My
grandfather Thomas, who was born 1598, lived at Ecton till he was too
old to continue his business, when he retired to Banbury in Oxfordshire,
to the house of his son John, with whom my father served an
apprenticeship. There my uncle died and lies buried. We saw his
gravestone in 1758. His eldest son Thomas lived in the house at Ecton,
and left it with the land to his only daughter, who, with her husband,
one Fisher, of Wellingborough, sold it to Mr. Isted, now lord of the
manor there. My grandfather had four sons, who grew up: viz., Thomas,
John, Benjamin, and Josiah. Being at a distance from my papers, I will
give you what account I can of them from memory: and if my papers are
not lost in my absence, you will find among them many more
particulars.[3]
Thomas, my eldest uncle, was bred a smith under his father; but, being
ingenious, and encouraged in learning (as all my brothers were) by an
Esquire Palmer, then the principal inhabitant of that parish, he
qualified himself for the bar, and became a considerable man in the
county; was chief mover of all public-spirited enterprises for the
county or town of Northampton, as well as of his own village, of which
many instances were related of him: and he was much taken notice of, and
patronised by Lord Halifax. He died in 1702, the 6th of January; four
years to a day before I was born. The recital which some elderly persons
made to us of his character, I remember, struck you as something
extraordinary, from its similarity with what you knew of me. "Had he
died," said you, "four years later, on the same day, one might have
supposed a transmigration." John, my next uncle, was bred a dyer, I
believe of wool. Benjamin was bred a silk dyer, serving an
apprenticeship in London. He was an ingenious man. I remember, when I
was a boy, he came to my father's in Boston, and resided in the house
with us for several years. There was always a particular affection
between my father and him, and I was his godson. He lived to a great
age. He left behind him two quarto volumes of manuscript, of his own
poetry, consisting of fugitive pieces addressed to his friends. He had
invented a shorthand of his own, which he taught me, but, not having
practised it, I have now forgotten it. He was very pious, and an
assiduous attendant at the sermons of the best preachers, which he
reduced to writing according to his method, and had thus collected
several volumes of them. He was also a good deal of a politician; too
much so, perhaps, for his station. There fell lately into my hands in
London, a collection he made of all the principal political pamphlets
relating to public affairs, from the year 1641 to 1717; many of the
volumes are wanting, as appears by their numbering, but there still
remain eight volumes in folio, and twenty in quarto and in octavo. A
dealer in old books had met with them, and knowing me by name, having
bought books of him, he brought them to me. It would appear that my
uncle must have left them here when he went to America, which was about
fifty years ago. I found several of his notes in the margins. His
grandson, Samuel Franklin, is still living in Boston.
Our humble family early embraced the reformed religion. Our forefathers
continued Protestants through the reign of Mary, when they were
sometimes in danger of persecution on account of their zeal against
popery. They had an English Bible, and to conceal it, and place it in
safety, it was fastened open with tapes under and within the cover of a
joint-stool. When my great-grandfather wished to read it to his family,
he placed the joint-stool on his knees, and then turned over the leaves
under the tapes. One of the children stood at the door to give notice if
he saw the apparitor coming, who was an officer of the spiritual court.
In that case the stool was turned down again upon its feet, when the
Bible remained concealed under it as before. This anecdote I had from
uncle Benjamin. The family continued all of the Church of England till
about the end of Charles the Second's reign, when some of the ministers
that had been outed for their nonconformity holding conventicles in
Northamptonshire, my uncle Benjamin and father Josiah adhered to them,
and so continued all their lives: the rest of the family remained with
the Episcopal church.
My father married young, and carried his wife with three children to
New-England, about 1682. The conventicles being at that time forbidden
by law, and frequently disturbed in their meetings, some considerable
men of his acquaintance determined to go to that country, and he was
prevailed with to accompany them thither, where they expected to enjoy
the exercise of their religion with freedom. By the same wife my father
had four children more born there, and by a second wife ten others, in
all seventeen; of which I remember to have seen thirteen sitting
together at his table, who all grew up to years of maturity, and were
married; I was the youngest son, and the youngest of all except two
daughters. I was born in Boston, in New-England. My mother, the second
wife of my father, was Abiah Folger, daughter of Peter Folger, one of
the first settlers of New-England, of whom honourable mention is made by
Cotton Mather, in his ecclesiastical history of the country, entitled
_Magnalia Christi Americana_, as "a goodly and learned Englishman," if I
remember the words rightly. I was informed he wrote several small
occasional works, but only one of them was printed, which I remember to
have seen several years since. It was written in 1675. It was in
familiar verse, according to the taste of the times and people, and
addressed to the government there. It asserts the liberty of conscience,
in behalf of the Anabaptists, the Quakers, and other sectarians that had
been persecuted. He attributes to this persecution the Indian wars, and
other calamities that had befallen the country; regarding them as so
many judgments of God, to punish so heinous an offence, so contrary to
charity. This piece appeared to me as written with manly freedom and a
pleasing simplicity. The last six lines I remember, but have forgotten
the preceding ones of the stanza; the purpose of them was, that his
censures proceeded from good-will, and, therefore, he would be known to
be the author.
"Because to be a libeller (said he)
I hate it with my heart;
From Sherburne[4] town, where now I dwell,
My name I do put here;
Without offence your real friend,
It is Peter Folgier."
My elder brothers were all put apprentices to different trades. I was
put to the grammar-school at eight years of age; my father intended to
devote me, as the tithe of his sons, to the service of the church. My
early readiness in learning to read (which must have been very early,
and I do not remember when I could not read), and the opinion of all my
friends, that I should certainly make a good scholar, encouraged him in
this purpose of his. My uncle Benjamin, too, approved of it, and
proposed to give me his shorthand volumes of sermons to set up with, if
I would learn shorthand.
I continued, however, at the grammar-school rather less than a year,
though in that time I had risen gradually from the middle of the class
of that year to be at the head of the same class, and was removed into
the next class, whence I was to be placed in the third at the end of the
year. But my father, burdened with a numerous family, was unable,
without inconvenience, to support the expense of a college education;
considering, moreover, as he said to one of his friends in my presence,
the little encouragement that line of life afforded to those educated
for it, he gave up his first intentions, took me from the
grammar-school, and sent me to a school for writing and arithmetic, kept
by a then famous man, Mr. George Brownwell. He was a skilful master, and
successful in his profession, employing the mildest and most encouraging
methods. Under him I learned to write a good hand pretty soon, but
failed entirely in arithmetic. At ten years old I was taken to help my
father in his business of a tallow-chandler and soap-boiler, a business
to which he was not bred, but had assumed on his arrival in New-England,
because he found that his dying trade, being in little request, would
not maintain his family. Accordingly, I was employed in cutting the
wick for the candles, filling the moulds for cast candles, attending the
shop, going of errands, &c.
I disliked the trade, and had a strong inclination to go to sea, but my
father declared against it; but, residing near the water, I was much in
it and on it. I learned to swim well, and to manage boats; and when
embarked with other boys, I was commonly allowed to govern, especially
in any case of difficulty; and upon other occasions I was generally the
leader among the boys, and sometimes led them into scrapes, of which I
will mention an instance, as it shows an early projecting public spirit,
though not then justly conducted.
There was a salt-marsh which bounded part of the millpond, on the edge
of which, at high water, we used to stand to fish for minnows; by much
trampling, we had made it a mere quagmire. My proposal was to build a
wharf there for us to stand upon, and I showed my comrades a large heap
of stones, which were intended for a new house near the marsh, and which
would very well suit our purpose. Accordingly, in the evening, when the
workmen were gone home, I assembled a number of my playfellows, and we
worked diligently like so many emmets, sometimes two or three to a
stone, till we had brought them all to make our little wharf. The next
morning the workmen were surprised on missing the stones which formed
our wharf; inquiry was made after the authors of this transfer; we were
discovered, complained of, and corrected by our fathers; and though I
demonstrated the utility of our work, mine convinced me that _that which
was not truly honest could not be truly useful_.
I suppose you may like to know what kind of a man my father was. He had
an excellent constitution, was of a middle stature, well set, and very
strong: he could draw prettily, was a little skilled in music; his voice
was sonorous and agreeable, so that when he played on his violin and
sung withal, as he was accustomed to do after the business of the day
was over, it was extremely agreeable to hear. He had some knowledge of
mechanics, and, on occasion, was very handy with other tradesmen's
tools; but his great excellence was his sound understanding and solid
judgment in prudential matters, both in private and public affairs. It
is true, he was never employed in the latter, the numerous family he had
to educate and the strictness of his circumstances keeping him close to
his trade: but I remember well his being frequently visited by leading
men, who consulted him for his opinion in public affairs, and those of
the church he belonged to, and who showed great respect for his judgment
and advice: he was also much consulted by private persons about their
affairs when any difficulty occurred, and frequently chosen an
arbitrator between contending parties. At his table he liked to have, as
often as he could, some sensible friend or neighbour to converse with,
and always took care to start some ingenious or useful topic for
discourse, which might tend to improve the minds of his children. By
this means he turned our attention to what was good, just, and prudent
in the conduct of life; and little or no notice was ever taken of what
related to the victuals on the table, whether it was well or ill
dressed, in or out of season, of good or bad flavour, preferable or
inferior to this or that other thing of the kind, so that I was brought
up in such a perfect inattention to those matters as to be quite
indifferent as to what kind of food was set before me. Indeed, I am so
unobservant of it, that to this day I can scarce tell a few hours after
dinner of what dishes it consisted. This has been a great convenience to
me in travelling, where my companions have been sometimes very unhappy
for want of a suitable gratification of their more delicate, because
better instructed, tastes and appetites.
My mother had likewise an excellent constitution: she suckled all her
ten children. I never knew either my father or mother to have any
sickness but that of which they died, he at 89, and she at 85 years of
age. They lie buried together at Boston, where I some years since placed
a marble over their grave with this inscription:
JOSIAH FRANKLIN,
and
ABIAH, his wife,
lie here interred.
They lived lovingly together in wedlock
fifty-five years.
And without an estate, or any gainful employment,
By constant labour and honest industry,
maintained a large family comfortably,
and brought up thirteen children and seven grandchildren
respectably.
From this instance, reader,
Be encouraged to diligence in thy calling,
And distrust not Providence.
He was a pious and prudent man;
She a discreet and virtuous woman.
Their youngest son,
In filial regard to their memory,
Places this stone.
J. F. born 1655, died 1744, AEtas 89.
A. F. ---- 1667, ---- 1752, ---- 85.
By my rambling digressions, I perceive myself to be grown old. I used to
write more methodically. But one does not dress for private company as
for a public ball. Perhaps it is only negligence.
To return: I continued thus employed in my father's business for two
years, that is, till I was twelve years old; and my brother John, who
was bred to that business, having left my father, married and set up for
himself at Rhode Island, there was every appearance that I was destined
to supply his place, and become a tallow-chandler. But my dislike to the
trade continuing, my father had apprehensions that if he did not put me
to one more agreeable, I should break loose and go to sea, as my
brother Josiah had done to his great vexation. In consequence, he took
me to walk with him, and see joiners, bricklayers, turners, braziers,
&c., at their work, that he might observe my inclination, and endeavour
to fix it on some trade or profession that would keep me on land. It has
ever since been a pleasure to me to see good workmen handle their tools;
and it has been often useful to me to have learned so much by it as to
be able to do some trifling jobs in the house when a workman was not at
hand, and to construct little machines for my experiments, at the moment
when the intention of making them was warm in my mind. My father
determined at last for the cutlers' trade, and placed me for some days
on trial with Samuel, son to my uncle Benjamin, who was bred to that
trade in London, and had just established himself in Boston. But the sum
he exacted as a fee for my apprenticeship displeased my father, and I
was taken home again. From my infancy I was passionately fond of
reading, and all the money that came into my hands was laid out in the
purchasing of books. I was very fond of voyages. My first acquisition
was _Bunyan's_ works in separate little volumes. I afterward sold them
to enable me to buy _R. Burton's Historical Collections_; they were
small chapmen's books, and cheap, 40 volumes in all. My father's little
library consisted chiefly of books in polemic divinity, most of which I
read. I have often regretted that, at a time when I had such a thirst
for knowledge, more proper books had not fallen into my way, since it
was resolved I should not be bred to divinity; there was among them
Plutarch's Lives, which I read abundantly, and I still think that time
spent to great advantage. There was also a book of _De Foe's_, called an
_Essay on Projects_, and another of _Dr. Mather's_, called an _Essay to
do good_, which perhaps gave me a turn of thinking that had an
influence on some of the principal future events of my life.
This bookish inclination at length determined my father to make me a
printer, though he had already one son (James) of that profession. In
1717 my brother James returned from England with a press and letters to
set up his business in Boston. I liked it much better than that of my
father, but still had a hankering for the sea. To prevent the
apprehended effect of such an inclination, my father was impatient to
have me bound to my brother. I stood out some time, but at last was
persuaded, and signed the indentures when I was yet but twelve years
old. I was to serve as an apprentice till I was twenty-one years of age,
only I was to be allowed journeyman's wages during the last year. In a
little time I made a great progress in the business, and became a useful
hand to my brother. I had now access to better books. An acquaintance
with the apprentices of booksellers enabled me sometimes to borrow a
small one, which I was careful to return soon and clean. Often I sat up
in my chamber the greatest part of the night, when the book was borrowed
in the evening to be returned in the morning, lest it should be found
missing. 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. I now
took a strong inclination for poetry, and wrote some little pieces; my
brother, supposing it might turn to account, encouraged me, and induced
me to compose two occasional ballads. One was called the _Lighthouse
Tragedy_, and contained an account of the shipwreck of Captain
Worthilake, with his two daughters: the other was a sailor's song, on
the taking of the famous _Teach_ (or Blackbeard) the pirate. They were
wretched stuff, in street-ballad style; and when they were printed, my
brother sent me about the town to sell them. The first sold
prodigiously, the event being recent, and having made a great noise.
This success flattered my vanity; but my father discouraged me, by
criticising my performances, and telling me verse-makers were generally
beggars. Thus I escaped being a poet, and probably a very bad one: but
as prose writing has been of great use to me in the course of my life,
and was a principal means of my advancement, I shall tell you how, in
such a situation, I acquired what little ability I may be supposed to
have in that way.
There was another bookish lad in the town, John Collins by name, with
whom I was intimately acquainted. We sometimes disputed, and very fond
we were of argument, and very desirous of confuting one another, which
disputatious turn, by-the-way, is apt to become a very bad habit, making
people often extremely disagreeable in company, by the contradiction
that is necessary to bring it into practice; and thence, besides souring
and spoiling the conversation, it is productive of disgusts and,
perhaps, enmities with those who may have occasion for friendship. I had
caught this by reading my father's books of disputes on religion.
Persons of good sense, I have since observed, seldom fall into it,
except lawyers, university men, and, generally, men of all sorts who
have been bred at Edinburgh. A question was once some how or other
started, between Collins and me, on the propriety of educating the
female sex in learning, and their abilities for study. He was of opinion
that it was improper, and that they were naturally unequal to it. I took
the contrary side, perhaps for dispute' sake. He was naturally more
eloquent, having a greater plenty of words; and sometimes, as I thought,
I was vanquished more by his fluency than by the strength of his
reasons. As we parted without settling the point, and were not to see
one another again for some time, I sat down to put my arguments in
writing, which I copied fair and sent to him. He answered, and I
replied. Three or four letters on a side had passed, when my father
happened to find my papers and read them. Without entering into the
subject in dispute, he took occasion to talk to me about my manner of
writing; observed that, though I had the advantage of my antagonist in
correct spelling and pointing (which he attributed to the
printing-house), I fell far short in elegance of expression, in method,
and perspicuity, of which he convinced me by several instances. I saw
the justice of his remarks, and thence grew more attentive to my manner
of writing, and determined to endeavour to improve my style.
About this time I met with an odd volume of the Spectator. I had never
before seen any of them. I bought it, read it over and over, and was
much delighted with it. I thought the writing excellent, and wished, if
possible, to imitate it. With that view I took some of the papers, and,
making short hints of the sentiments in each sentence, laid them by a
few days, and then, without looking at the book, tried to complete the
papers again, by expressing each hinted sentiment at length and as fully
as it had been expressed before in any suitable words that should occur
to me. Then I compared my Spectator with an original, discovered some of
my faults, and corrected them. But I found I wanted a stock of words, or
a readiness in recollecting and using them, which I thought I should
have acquired before that time if I had gone on making verses; since the
continual search for words of the same import, but of different lengths,
to suit the measure, or of different sounds for the rhyme, would have
laid me under a constant necessity of searching for variety, and also
have tended to fix that variety in my mind, and make me master of it.
Therefore I took some of the tales in the Spectator, and turned them
into verse: and after a time, when I had pretty well forgotten the
prose, turned them back again. I also sometimes jumbled my collection of
hints into confusion, and after some weeks endeavoured to reduce them
into the best order, before I began to form the full sentences and
complete the subject. This was to teach me method in the arrangement of
the thoughts. By comparing my work with the original, I discovered many
faults and corrected them; but I sometimes had the pleasure to fancy
that, in particulars of small consequence, I had been fortunate enough
to improve the method or the language, and this encouraged me to think
that I might in time come to be a tolerable English writer, of which I
was extremely ambitious. The time I allotted for writing exercises and
for reading was at night, or before work began in the morning, or on
Sunday, when I contrived to be in the printing-house, avoiding as much
as I could the constant attendance at public worship which my father
used to exact from me when I was under his care, and which I still
continued to consider as a duty, though I could not afford time to
practise it.
When about sixteen years of age I happened to meet with another book,
written by one Tryon, recommending a vegetable diet. I determined to go
into it. My brother, being yet unmarried, did not keep house, but
boarded himself and his apprentices in another family. My refusing to
eat flesh occasioned an inconvenience, and I was frequently chid for my
singularity. I made myself acquainted with Tryon's manner of preparing
some of his dishes, such as boiling potatoes or rice, making hasty
pudding, and a few others, and then proposed to my brother if he would
give me, weekly, half the money he paid for my board, I would board
myself. He instantly agreed to it, and I presently found that I could
save half what he paid me.
This was an additional fund for buying of books. But I had another
advantage in it. My brother and the rest going from the printing-office
to their meals, I remained there alone; and despatching presently my
light repast, which was often no more than a biscuit, or a slice of
bread and a handful of raisins, a tart from the pastry-cook's, and a
glass of water, I had the rest of the time till their return for study,
in which I made the greater progress, from that clearness of head and
quick apprehension which generally attends temperance in eating and
drinking.
Now it was that, being on some occasion made ashamed of my ignorance in
figures, which I had twice failed learning when at school, I took
_Cocker's_ book on arithmetic, and went through the whole by myself with
the greatest ease. I also read _Sellers_ and _Sturny's_ book on
navigation, which made me acquainted with the little geometry it
contained; but I never proceeded far in that science. I read about this
time _Locke on the Human Understanding_, and the _Art of Thinking_, by
Messrs. du Port Royal.
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 in the Socratic method; and soon after I procured Xenophon's
_Memorable Things of Socrates_, wherein there are many examples of the
same method. I was charmed by it, adopted it, dropped my abrupt
contradiction and positive argumentation, and put on the humble
inquirer; and being then, from reading _Shaftesbury_ and _Collins_, made
a doubter, as I already was in many points of our religious doctrines, I
found this method the safest for myself and very embarrassing to those
against whom I used it; therefore I took delight in it, practised it
continually, and grew very artful and expert in drawing people, even of
superior knowledge, into concessions, the consequences of which they
did not foresee; entangling them in difficulties, out of which they
could not extricate themselves, and so obtaining victories that neither
myself nor my cause always deserved. I continued this method some few
years, but gradually left it, retaining only the habit of expressing
myself in terms of modest diffidence; never using, when I advanced
anything that might possibly be disputed, the word _certainly_,
_undoubtedly_, or any other that gave the air of positiveness to an
opinion; but rather said, I _conceive_ or _apprehend_ a thing to be so
and so; it _appears to me_, or I should not think it is so, for such and
such reasons; or I _imagine it to be so_; or _it is so, if I am not
mistaken_. This habit, I believe, has been of great advantage to me when
I have had occasion to inculcate my opinions, and persuade men into
measures that I have been from time to time engaged in promoting; and,
as the chief ends of conversation are to _inform_ or to be _informed_,
to _please_ or to _persuade_, I wish well-meaning and sensible men would
not lessen their power of doing good by a positive, assuming manner,
that seldom fails to disgust, tends to create opposition, and to defeat
most of those purposes for which speech was given to us.
In fact, if you wish to instruct others, a positive and dogmatical
manner in advancing your sentiments may occasion opposition and prevent
a candid attention. If you desire improvement from others, you should
not, at the same time, express yourself fixed in your present opinions;
modest and sensible men, who do not love disputations, will leave you
undisturbed in the possession of your errors. In adopting such a manner,
you can seldom expect to please your hearers, or obtain the concurrence
you desire. Pope judiciously observes,
"Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown proposed as things forgot."
He also recommends it to us,
"To speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence."
And he might have joined with this line that which he has coupled with
another, I think, less properly.
"For want of modesty is want of sense."
If you ask why less properly, I must repeat the lines,
"Immodest words admit of _no defence_,
For want of modesty is want of sense."
Now is not the _want of sense_ (where a man is so unfortunate as to want
it) some apology for his _want of modesty_? and would not the lines
stand more justly thus?
"Immodest words admit _but this defence_,
That _want of modesty_ is want of sense."
This, however, I should submit to better judgments.
My brother had, in 1720 or 21, began to print a newspaper. It was the
second that appeared in America, and was called the _New-England
Courant_. The only one before it was the _Boston News-Letter_. I
remember his being dissuaded by some of his friends from the
undertaking, as not likely to succeed, one newspaper being, in their
judgment, enough for America. At this time (1771) there are not less
than _five-and-twenty_.[5] He went on, however, with the undertaking; I
was employed to carry the papers to the customers, after having worked
in composing the types and printing off the sheets. He had some
ingenious men among his friends, who amused themselves by writing little
pieces for his paper, which gained it credit and made it more in demand,
and these gentlemen often visited us.
Hearing their conversations and their accounts of the approbation their
papers were received with, I was excited to try my hand among them; but
being still a boy, and suspecting that my brother would object to
printing anything of mine in his paper if he knew it to be mine, I
contrived to disguise my hand, and, writing an anonymous paper, I put it
at night under the door of the printing-house. It was found in the
morning, and committed to his writing friends when they called in as
usual. They read it, commented on it in my hearing, and I had the
exquisite pleasure of finding it had met with their approbation, and
that, in their different guesses at the author, none were named but men
of some character among us for learning and ingenuity. I suppose that I
was rather lucky in my judges, and they were not really so very good as
I then believed them to be.
Encouraged, however, by this attempt, I wrote and sent in the same way
to the press several other pieces that were equally approved; and I kept
my secret till all my fund of sense for such performances was exhausted,
and then discovered it, when I began to be considered with a little more
attention by my brother's acquaintance. However, that did not quite
please him, as he thought it tended to make me too vain. This might be
one occasion of the differences we began to have about this time. Though
a brother, he considered himself as my master, and me as his apprentice,
and, accordingly, expected the same services from me as he would from
another, while I thought he degraded me too much in some he required of
me, who from a brother required more indulgence. Our disputes were often
brought before our father, and I fancy I was either generally in the
right, or else a better pleader, because the judgment was generally in
my favour. But my brother was passionate, and had often beaten me, which
I took extremely amiss; and thinking my apprenticeship very tedious, I
was continually wishing for some opportunity of shortening it, which at
length offered in a manner unexpected.
Perhaps the harsh and tyrannical treatment of me might be a means of
impressing me with the aversion to arbitrary power that has stuck to me
through my whole life.
One of the pieces in our newspaper on some political point, which I have
now forgotten, gave offence to the Assembly. He was taken up, censured,
and imprisoned for a month, by the speaker's warrant, I suppose, because
he would not discover the author. I, too, was taken up and examined
before the council: but though I did not give them any satisfaction,
they contented themselves with admonishing me, and dismissed me,
considering me, perhaps, as an apprentice, who was bound to keep his
master's secrets.
During my brother's confinement, which I resented a good deal
notwithstanding our differences, I had the management of the paper; and
I made bold to give our rulers some rubs in it, which my brother took
very kindly, while others began to consider me in an unfavourable light,
as a youth that had a turn for libelling and satire. My brother's
discharge was accompanied with an order (and a very odd one), that
"James Franklin should no longer print the newspaper called the
New-England Courant."
On a consultation held in our printing-office among his friends, what he
should do in this conjuncture, it was proposed to elude the order by
changing the name of the paper; but my brother, seeing inconveniences in
this, came to a conclusion, as a better way, to let the paper in future
be printed in the name of BENJAMIN FRANKLIN: and in order to avoid the
censure of the Assembly, that might fall on him as still printing it by
his apprentice, he contrived and consented that my old indenture should
be returned to me, with a discharge on the back of it, to show in case
of necessity; and, in order to secure to him the benefit of my service,
I should sign new indentures for the remainder of my time, which was to
be kept private. A very flimsy scheme it was; however, it was
immediately executed, and the paper was printed, accordingly, under my
name for several months. At length, a fresh difference arising between
my brother and me, I took upon me to assert my freedom, presuming that
he would not venture to produce the new indentures. It was not fair in
me to take this advantage, and this I therefore reckon as one of the
first errata of my life; but the unfairness of it weighed little with
me, when under the impression of resentment for the blows his passion
too often urged him to bestow upon me; though he was otherwise not an
ill-natured man: perhaps I was too saucy and provoking.
When he found I would leave him, he took care to prevent my getting
employment in any other printing-house in town, by going round and
speaking to every master, who accordingly refused to give me work. I
then thought of going to New-York, as the nearest place where there was
a printer; and I was rather inclined to leave Boston, when I reflected
that I had already made myself a little obnoxious to the governing
party, and, from the arbitrary proceedings of the Assembly in my
brother's case, it was likely I might, if I stayed, soon bring myself
into scrapes; and farther, that my indiscreet disputations about
religion began to make me pointed at with horror by good people, as an
infidel or atheist. I concluded, therefore, to remove to New-York; but
my father now siding with my brother, I was sensible, that if I
attempted to go openly, means would be used to prevent me. My friend
Collins, therefore, undertook to manage my flight. He agreed with the
captain of a New-York sloop to take me. I sold my books to raise a
little money, was taken on board the sloop privately, had a fair wind,
and in three days found myself at New-York, near three hundred miles
from my home, at the age of seventeen, without the least recommendation
or knowledge of any person in the place, and very little money in my
pocket.
The inclination I had felt for the sea was by this time done away, or I
might now have gratified it. But having another profession, and
conceiving myself a pretty good workman, I offered my services to a
printer of the place, old Mr W. Bradford, who had been the first printer
in Pennsylvania, but had removed thence, in consequence of a quarrel
with the governor, General Keith. He could give me no employment, having
little to do, and hands enough already. But he said, "My son, at
Philadelphia, has lately lost his principal hand, Aquilla Rose, by
death; if you go thither, I believe he may employ you." Philadelphia was
one hundred miles farther; I set out, however, in a boat for Amboy,
leaving my chest and things to follow me round by sea. In crossing the
bay we met with a squall that tore our rotten sails to pieces, prevented
our getting into the kill, and drove us upon Long Island. In our way, a
drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, fell overboard; when he was
sinking, I reached through the water to his shock pate, and drew him up,
so that we got him in again. His ducking sobered him a little, and he
went to sleep, taking first out of his pocket a book which he desired I
would dry for him. It proved to be my old favourite author, _Bunyan's
Pilgrim's Progress_, in Dutch, finely printed on good paper, copper
cuts, a dress better than I had ever seen it wear in its own language. I
have since found that it has been translated into most of the languages
of Europe, and suppose it has been more generally read than any other
book, except perhaps the Bible. Honest John was the first that I know of
who mixed narration and dialogue; a method of writing very engaging to
the reader, who, in the most interesting parts, finds himself, as it
were, admitted into the company and present at the conversation. _De
Foe_ has imitated him successfully in his Robinson Crusoe, in his Moll
Flanders, and other pieces; and _Richardson_ has done the same in his
Pamela, &c.
On approaching the island, we found it was in a place where there could
be no landing, there being a great surf on the stony beach. So we
dropped anchor, and swung out our cable towards the shore. Some people
came down to the shore and hallooed to us, as we did to them, but the
wind was so high and the surf so loud that we could not understand each
other. There were some small boats near the shore, and we made signs,
and called to them to fetch us; but they either did not comprehend us,
or it was impracticable, so they went off. Night approaching, we had no
remedy but to have patience till the wind abated, and, in the mean time,
the boatmen and myself concluded to sleep if we could; and so we crowded
into the hatches, where we joined the Dutchman, who was still wet, and
the spray breaking over the head of our boat, leaked through to us, so
that we were soon almost as wet as he. In this manner we lay all night
with very little rest; but the wind abating the next day, we made a
shift to reach Amboy before night, having been thirty hours on the
water, without victuals, or any drink but a bottle of filthy rum, the
water we sailed on being salt.
In the evening I found myself very feverish, and went to bed; but having
read somewhere that cold water drank plentifully was good for a fever, I
followed the prescription, and sweat plentifully most of the night: my
fever left me, and in the morning crossing the ferry, I proceeded on my
journey on foot, having fifty miles to Burlington, where I was told I
should find boats that would carry me the rest of the way to
Philadelphia.
It rained very hard all the day; I was thoroughly soaked, and by noon a
good deal tired, so I stopped at a poor inn, where I stayed all night,
beginning now to wish I had never left home. I made so miserable a
figure too, that I found, by the questions asked me, I was suspected to
be some runaway indentured servant, and in danger of being taken up on
that suspicion. However, I proceeded next day, and got in the evening to
an inn within eight or ten miles of Burlington, kept by one Dr. Brown.
He entered into conversation with me while I took some refreshment, and,
finding I had read a little, became very obliging and friendly. Our
acquaintance continued all the rest of his life. He had been, I imagine,
an ambulatory quack doctor, for there was no town in England, or any
country in Europe, of which he could not give a very particular account.
He had some letters, and was ingenious; but he was an infidel, and
wickedly undertook, some years after, to turn the Bible into doggerel
verse, as Cotton had formerly done with Virgil. By this means he set
many facts in a ridiculous light, and might have done mischief with weak
minds if his work had been published; but it never was. At his house I
lay that night, and arrived the next morning at Burlington, but had the
mortification to find that the regular boats had gone a little before,
and no other expected to go before Tuesday, this being Saturday.
Wherefore I returned to an old woman in the town, of whom I had bought
some gingerbread to eat on the water, and asked her advice; she proposed
to lodge me till a passage by some other boat occurred. I accepted her
offer, being much fatigued by travelling on foot. Understanding I was a
printer, she would have had me remain in that town and follow my
business, being ignorant what stock was necessary to begin with. She was
very hospitable, gave me a dinner of ox-cheek with a great good-will,
accepting only of a pot of ale in return; and I thought myself fixed
till Tuesday should come. However, walking in the evening by the side of
the river, a boat came by which I found was going towards Philadelphia,
with several people in her. They took me in, and as there was no wind,
we rowed all the way; and about midnight, not having yet seen the city,
some of the company were confident we must have passed it, and would row
no farther: the others knew not where we were, so we put towards the
shore, got into a creek, landed near an old fence, with the rails of
which we made a fire, the night being cold, in October, and there we
remained till daylight. Then one of the company knew the place to be
Cooper's Creek, a little above Philadelphia, which we saw as soon as we
got out of the creek, and arrived there about eight or nine o'clock, on
the Sunday morning, and landed at Market-street wharf.
I have been the more particular in this description of my journey, and
shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in your mind
compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since made
there. I was in my working dress, my best clothes coming round by sea. I
was dirty, from my being so long in the boat; my pockets were stuffed
out with shirts and stockings, and I knew no one, nor where to look for
lodging. Fatigued with walking, rowing, and the want of sleep, I was
very hungry; and my whole stock of cash consisted in a single dollar,
and about a shilling in copper coin, which I gave to the boatmen for my
passage. At first they refused it on account of my having rowed, but I
insisted on their taking it. Man is sometimes more generous when he has
little money than when he has plenty; perhaps to prevent his being
thought to have but little. I walked towards the top of the street,
gazing about, still in Market-street, where I met a boy with bread. I
had often made a meal of dry bread, and inquiring where he had bought
it, I went immediately to the baker's he directed me to. I asked for
biscuits, meaning such as we had at Boston: that sort, it seems, was not
made in Philadelphia. I then asked for a threepenny loaf, and was told
they had none. Not knowing the different prices, nor the names of the
different sorts of bread, I told him to give me threepenny worth of any
sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. I was surprised
at the quantity, but took it, and having no room in my pockets, walked
off with a roll under each arm, and eating the other. Thus I went up
Market-street as far as Fourth-street, passing by the door of Mr. Read,
my future wife's father; when she, standing at the door, saw me, and
thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward, ridiculous
appearance. Then I turned and went down Chestnut-street and part of
Walnut-street, eating my roll all the way, and, coming round, found
myself again at Market-street wharf, near the boat I came in, to which I
went for a draught of the river water; and, being filled with one of my
rolls, gave the other two to a woman and her child that came down the
river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go farther. Thus
refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had many
clean-dressed people in it, who were all walking the same way: I joined
them, and thereby was led into the great meeting-house of the Quakers
near the market. I sat down among them, and after looking round awhile,
and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy, through labour and want of
rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and continued so till the
meeting broke up, when some one was kind enough to rouse me. This,
therefore, was the first house I was in, or slept in, in Philadelphia.
I then walked down towards the river, and looking in the faces of every
one, I met a young Quaker man whose countenance pleased me, and,
accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could get a
lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. "Here," said
he, "is a house where they receive strangers, but it is not a reputable
one; if thou wilt walk with me, I'll show thee a better one;" and he
conducted me to the Crooked Billet in Water-street. There I got a
dinner; and, while I was eating, several questions were asked me, as
from my youth and appearance I was suspected of being a runaway. After
dinner, my host having shown me to a bed, I lay myself on it, without
undressing, and slept till six in the evening, when I was called to
supper. I went to bed again very early, and slept very soundly till next
morning. Then I dressed myself as neat as I could, and went to Andrew
Bradford, the printer's. I found in the shop the old man, his father,
whom I had seen at New-York, and who, travelling on horseback, had got
to Philadelphia before me. He introduced me to his son, who received me
civilly, gave me a breakfast, and told me he did not at present want a
hand, being lately supplied with one: but there was another printer in
town lately set up, one Keimer, who perhaps might employ me; if not, I
should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would give me a little
work to do now and then, till fuller business should offer.
The old gentleman said he would go with me to the new printer; and when
we found him, "Neighbour," said Bradford, "I have brought to see you a
young man of your business; perhaps you may want such a one." He asked
me a few questions, put a composing stick in my hand to see how I
worked, and then said he would employ me soon, though he had just then
nothing for me to do; and taking old Bradford, whom he had never seen
before, to be one of the town's people that had a good will for him,
entered into conversation on his present undertaking and prospects;
while Bradford (not discovering that he was the other printer's
father), on Keimer's saying he expected soon to get the greatest part of
the business into his own hands, drew him on by artful questions, and
starting little doubts, to explain all his views, what influence he
relied on, and in what manner he intended to proceed. I, who stood by
and heard all, saw immediately that one was a crafty old sophister, and
the other a true novice. Bradford left me with Keimer, who was greatly
surprised when I told him who the old man was.
The printing-house, I found, consisted of an old damaged press, and a
small worn-out fount of English types which he was using himself,
composing an elegy on Aquilla Rose, before mentioned; an ingenious young
man, of excellent character, much respected in the town, secretary to
the Assembly, and a pretty poet. Keimer made verses too, but very
indifferently. He could not be said to _write_ them, for his method was
to _compose_ them in the types directly out of his head; there being no
copy, but one pair of cases, and the elegy probably requiring all the
letter, no one could help him. I endeavoured to put his press (which he
had not yet used, and of which he understood nothing) into order to be
worked with; and, promising to come and print off his elegy as soon as
he should have got it ready, I returned to Bradford's, who gave me a
little job to do for the present, and there I lodged and dieted. A few
days after Keimer sent for me to print off the elegy. And now he had got
another pair of cases, and a pamphlet to reprint, on which he set me to
work.
These two printers I found poorly qualified for their business. Bradford
had been bred to it, and was very illiterate; and Keimer, though
something of a scholar, was a mere compositor, knowing nothing of
presswork. He had been one of the French prophets, and could act their
enthusiastic agitations. At this time he did not profess any particular
religion, but something of all on occasion; was very ignorant of the
world, and had, as I afterward found, a good deal of the knave in his
composition. He did not like my lodging at Bradford's while I worked
with him. He had a house, indeed, but without furniture, so he could not
lodge me; but he got me a lodging at Mr. Read's, before mentioned, who
was the owner of his house; and my chest of clothes being come by this
time, I made rather a more respectable appearance in the eyes of Miss
Read than I had done when she first happened to see me eating my roll in
the street.
I began now to have some acquaintance among the young people of the town
that were lovers of reading, with whom I spent my evenings very
pleasantly, and gained money by my industry and frugality. I lived very
contented, and forgot Boston as much as I could, and did not wish it
should be known where I resided, except to my friend Collins, who was in
the secret, and kept it faithfully. At length, however, an incident
happened that occasioned my return home much sooner than I had intended.
I had a brother-in-law, Robert Holmes, master of a sloop that traded
between Boston and Delaware. He being at Newcastle, forty miles below
Philadelphia, and hearing of me, wrote me a letter, mentioning the grief
of my relations and friends in Boston at my abrupt departure, assuring
me of their good-will towards me, and that everything would be
accommodated to my mind if I would return, to which he entreated me
earnestly. I wrote an answer to his letter, thanking him for his advice,
but stated my reasons for quitting Boston so fully, and in such a light,
as to convince him that I was not so much in the wrong as he had
apprehended.
Sir William Keith, governor of the province, was then at Newcastle, and
Captain Holmes happening to be in company with him when my letter came
to hand, spoke to him of me, and showed him the letter. The governor
read it, and seemed surprised when he was told my age. He said I
appeared a young man of promising parts, and, therefore, should be
encouraged: the printers at Philadelphia were wretched ones, and if I
would set up there, he made no doubt I should succeed; for his part, he
would procure me the public business, and do me every other service in
his power. This my brother-in-law Holmes afterward told me in Boston,
but I knew as yet nothing of it; when one day, Keimer and I being at
work together near the window, we saw the governor and another gentleman
(who proved to be Colonel French, of Newcastle, in the province of
Delaware), finely dressed, come directly across the street to our house,
and heard them at the door. Keimer ran down immediately, thinking it a
visit to him; but the governor inquired for me, came up, and, with a
condescension and politeness I had been quite unused to, made me many
compliments, desired to be acquainted with me, blamed me kindly for not
having made myself known to him when I first came to the place, and
would have me away with him to the tavern, where he was going with
Colonel French to taste, as he said, some excellent Madeira. I was not a
little surprised, and Keimer stared with astonishment. I went, however,
with the governor and Colonel French to a tavern at the corner of
Third-street, and over the Madeira he proposed my setting up my
business. He stated the probabilities of my success, and both he and
Colonel French assured me I should have their interest and influence to
obtain for me the public business of both governments. And as I
expressed doubts that my father would assist me in it, Sir William said
he would give me a letter to him, in which he would set forth the
advantages, and he did not doubt he should determine him to comply. So
it was concluded I should return to Boston by the first vessel, with
the governor's letter to my father. In the mean time it was to be kept a
secret, and I went on working with Keimer as usual. The governor sent
for me now and then to dine with him, which I considered a great honour,
more particularly as he conversed with me in the most affable, familiar,
and friendly manner.
About the end of April, 1724, a little vessel offered for Boston. I took
leave of Keimer as going to see my friends. The governor gave me an
ample letter, saying many flattering things of me to my father, and
strongly recommending the project of my setting up at Philadelphia, as a
thing that would make my fortune. We struck on a shoal in going down the
bay, and sprung a leak; we had a blustering time at sea, and were
obliged to pump almost continually, at which I took my turn. We arrived
safe, however, at Boston, in about a fortnight. I had been absent seven
months, and my friends had heard nothing of me; for my brother Holmes
was not yet returned, and had not written about me. My unexpected
appearance surprised the family; all were, however, very glad to see me,
and made me welcome, except my brother: I went to see him at his
printing-house. I was better dressed than ever while in his service,
having a genteel new suit from head to foot, a watch, and my pockets
lined with near five pounds sterling in silver. He received me not very
frankly, looked me all over, and turned to his work again. The
journeymen were inquisitive where I had been, what sort of a country it
was, and how I liked it. I praised it much, and the happy life I led in
it, expressing strongly my intention of returning to it; and one of them
asking what kind of money we had there, I produced a handful of silver
and spread it before them, which was a kind of _raree-show_ they had not
been used to, paper being the money of Boston. Then I took an
opportunity of letting them see my watch; and, lastly (my brother still
grum and sullen), gave them a dollar to drink and took my leave. This
visit of mine offended him extremely. For when my mother some time after
spoke to him of a reconciliation, and of her wish to see us on good
terms together, and that we might live for the future as brothers, he
said I had insulted him in such a manner before his people, that he
could never forget or forgive it. In this, however, he was mistaken.
My father received the governor's letter with some surprise, but said
little of it to me for some time. Captain Holmes returning, he showed it
to him, and asked him if he knew Sir William Keith, and what kind of a
man he was; adding, that he must be of small discretion to think of
setting a youth up in business who wanted three years to arrive at man's
estate. Holmes said what he could in favour of the project, but my
father was decidedly against it, and at last gave a flat denial. He
wrote a civil letter to Sir William, thanking him for the patronage he
had so kindly offered me, and declining to assist me as yet in setting
up, I being, in his opinion, too young to be trusted with the management
of an undertaking so important, and for which the preparation required a
considerable expenditure.
My old companion, Collins, who was a clerk in the postoffice, pleased
with the account I gave him of my new country, determined to go thither
also; and while I waited for my father's determination, he set out
before me by land to Rhode Island, leaving his books, which were a
pretty collection of mathematics and natural philosophy, to come with
mine and me to New-York, where he proposed to wait for me.
My father, though he did not approve Sir William's proposition, was yet
pleased that I had been able to obtain so advantageous a character from
a person of such note where I had resided, and that I had been so
industrious and careful as to equip myself so handsomely in so short a
time; therefore, seeing no prospect of an accommodation between my
brother and me, he gave his consent to my returning again to
Philadelphia, advised me to behave respectfully to the people there,
endeavour to obtain the general esteem, and avoid lampooning and
libelling, to which he thought I had too much inclination: telling me,
that by steady industry and prudent parsimony, I might save enough by
the time I was one-and-twenty to set me up; and that, if I came near the
matter, he would help me out with the rest. This was all I could obtain,
except some small gifts, as tokens of his and my mother's love, when I
embarked again for New-York, now with their approbation and their
blessing. The sloop putting in at Newport, Rhode Island, I visited my
brother John, who had been married and settled there some years. He
received me very affectionately, for he always loved me. A friend of
his, one Vernon, having some money due him in Pennsylvania (about
thirty-five pounds currency), desired I would recover it for him, and
keep it till I had his directions what to employ it in. Accordingly, he
gave me an order to receive it. This business afterward occasioned me a
good deal of uneasiness.
At Newport we took in a number of passengers, among which were two young
women travelling together, and a sensible, matron-like Quaker lady, with
her servants. I had shown an obliging disposition to render her some
little services, which probably impressed her with sentiments of
good-will towards me; for, when she witnessed the daily growing
familiarity between the young women and myself, which they appeared to
encourage, she took me aside and said, "Young man, I am concerned for
thee, as thou hast no friend with thee, and seemest not to know much of
the world, or of the snares youth is exposed to: depend upon it, these
are very bad women. I can see it by all their actions; and if thou art
not upon thy guard, they will draw thee into some danger: they are
strangers to thee, and I advise thee, in a friendly concern for thy
welfare, to have no acquaintance with them." As I seemed at first not to
think so ill of them as she did, she mentioned some things she had
observed and heard that had escaped my notice, but now convinced me she
was right. I thanked her for her kind advice, and promised to follow it.
When we arrived at New-York, they told me where they lived, and invited
me to come and see them, but I avoided it, and it was well I did; for
the next day the captain missed a silver spoon, and some other things
that had been taken out of his cabin; and knowing that these were women
of bad character, he got a warrant to search their lodgings, found the
stolen goods, and had the thieves punished. So, though we had escaped a
sunken rock, which we scraped upon in the passage, I thought this escape
of rather more importance to me.
At New-York I found my friend Collins, who had arrived there some time
before me. We had been intimate from children, and had read the same
books together: but he had the advantage of more time for reading and
studying, and a wonderful genius for mathematical learning, in which he
far outstripped me. While I lived in Boston, most of my hours of leisure
for conversation were spent with him, and he continued a sober as well
as industrious lad; was much respected for his learning by several of
the clergy and other gentlemen, and seemed to promise making a good
figure in life. But during my absence he had acquired a habit of
drinking brandy, and I found by his own account, as well as that of
others, that he had been drunk every day since his arrival at New-York,
and behaved himself in a very extravagant manner. He had gamed too, and
lost his money, so that I was obliged to discharge his lodgings, and
defray his expenses on the road and at Philadelphia, which proved a
great burden to me. The then governor of New-York, Burnet (son of Bishop
Burnet), hearing from the captain that one of the passengers had a great
many books on board, desired him to bring me to see him. I waited on
him, and should have taken Collins with me had he been sober. The
governor received me with great civility, showed me his library, which
was a considerable one, and we had a good deal of conversation relative
to books and authors. This was the second governor who had done me the
honour to take notice of me; and, for a poor boy like me, was very
pleasing. We proceeded to Philadelphia. I received on the way Vernon's
money, without which we could hardly have finished our journey. Collins
wished to be employed in some counting-house; but whether they
discovered his dram-drinking by his breath or by his behaviour, though
he had some recommendations, he met with no success in any application,
and continued lodging and boarding at the same house with me and at my
expense. Knowing that I had that money of Vernon's, he was continually
borrowing of me, still promising repayment as soon as he should be in
business. At length he had got so much of it that I was distressed to
think what I should do in case of being called on to remit it. His
drinking continued, about which we sometimes quarrelled; for, when a
little intoxicated, he was very irritable. Once, in a boat on the
Delaware, with some other young men, he refused to row in his turn: "I
will be rowed home," said he. "We will not row you," said I. "You must,"
said he, "or stay all night on the water, just as you please." The
others said, "Let us row, what signifies it?" But my mind being soured
with his other conduct, I continued to refuse. So he swore he would make
me row, or throw me overboard; and coming along, stepping on the thwarts
towards me, when he came up and struck at me, I clapped my hand under
his thighs, and rising, pitched him head foremost into the river. I knew
he was a good swimmer, and so was under little concern about him; but,
before he could get round to lay hold of the boat, we had, with a few
strokes, pulled her out of his reach; and whenever he drew near the
boat, we asked him if he would row, striking a few strokes to slide her
away from him. He was ready to stifle with vexation, and obstinately
would not promise to row. Finding him at last beginning to tire, we drew
him into the boat, and brought him home dripping wet. We hardly
exchanged a civil word after this adventure. At length a West India
captain, who had a commission to procure a preceptor for the sons of a
gentleman at Barbadoes, met with him, and proposed to carry him thither
to fill that situation. He accepted, and promised to remit me what he
owed me out of the first money he should receive; but I never heard of
him after. The violation of my trust respecting Vernon's money was one
of the first great errata of my life; and this showed that my father was
not much out in his judgment when he considered me as too young to
manage business. But Sir William, on reading his letter, said he was too
prudent; that there was a great difference in persons; and discretion
did hot always accompany years, nor was youth always without it. "But,
since he will not set you up, I will do it myself. 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; I am resolved to have a good
printer here, and I am sure you must succeed." This was spoken with such
an appearance of cordiality, that I had not the least doubt of his
meaning what he said. I had hitherto kept the proposition of my setting
up a secret in Philadelphia, and I still kept it. Had it been known that
I depended on the governor, probably some friend that knew him better
would have advised me not to rely on him; as I afterward heard it as
his known character, to be liberal of promises which he never meant to
keep; yet, unsolicited as he was by me, how could I think his generous
offers insincere? I believed him one of the best men in the world.
I presented him an inventory of a little printing-house, amounting by my
computation to about one hundred pounds sterling. He liked it, but asked
me if my being on the spot in England to choose the types, and see that
everything was good of the kind, might not be of some advantage; "then,"
said he, "when there, you may make acquaintance, and establish
correspondences in the bookselling and stationary way." I agreed that
this might be advantageous. "Then," said he, "get yourself ready to go
with the Annis;" which was the annual ship, and the only one at that
time usually passing between London and Philadelphia. But as it would be
some months before the Annis sailed, I continued working with Keimer,
fretting extremely about the money Collins had got from me, and in great
apprehensions of being called upon for it by Vernon; this, however, did
not happen for some years after.
I believe I have omitted mentioning that, in my first voyage from Boston
to Philadelphia, being becalmed off Block Island, our crew employed
themselves in catching cod, and hauled up a great number. Till then I
had stuck to my resolution to eat nothing that had had life; and on this
occasion I considered, according to my master Tryon, the taking every
fish as a kind of unprovoked murder, since none of them had nor could do
us any injury that might justify this massacre. All this seemed very
reasonable. But I had been formerly a great lover of fish, and when it
came out of the frying-pan it smelled admirably well. I balanced some
time between principle and inclination, till, recollecting that when
fish were opened I saw smaller fish taken out of their stomachs; then,
thought I, "if you eat one another, I don't see why we may not eat you."
So I dined upon cod very heartily, and have since continued to eat as
other people; returning only now and then occasionally to a vegetable
diet. So convenient a thing it is to be a _reasonable creature_, since
_it enables one to find or make a reason for everything one has a mind
to do_.
Keimer and I lived on a pretty good, familiar footing, and agreed
tolerably well; for he suspected nothing of my setting up. He retained a
great deal of his old enthusiasm, and loved argumentation. We therefore
had many disputations. I used to work him so with my Socratic method,
and had trepanned him so often by questions apparently so distant from
any point we had in hand, yet by degrees leading to the point, and
bringing him into difficulties and contradictions, that at last he grew
ridiculously cautious, and would hardly answer me the most common
questions, without asking first "_What do you intend to infer from
that?_" However, it gave him so high an opinion of my abilities in the
confuting way, that he seriously proposed my being his colleague in a
project he had of setting up a new sect. He was to preach the doctrines,
and I was to confound all opponents. When he came to explain with me
upon the doctrines, I found several conundrums which I objected to,
unless I might have my way a little too, and introduce some of mine.
Keimer wore his beard at full length, because somewhere in the Mosaic
law it is said, "_Thou shalt not mar the corners of thy beard_." He
likewise kept the seventh-day Sabbath; and these two points were
essential with him. I disliked both; but agreed to them on condition of
his adopting the doctrine of not using animal food. I doubt, said he, my
constitution will not bear it. I assured him it would, and that he would
be the better for it. He was usually a great eater, and I wished to
give myself some diversion in half starving him. He consented to try
the practice if I would keep him company: I did so, and we held it for
three months. Our provisions were purchased, cooked, and brought to us
regularly by a woman in the neighbourhood, who had from me a list of
forty dishes, which she prepared for us at different times, in which
there entered neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. This whim suited me the
better at this time, from the cheapness of it, not costing us above
eighteen pence sterling each per week. I have since kept several Lents
most strictly, leaving the common diet for that, and that for the
common, abruptly, without the least inconvenience. So that I think there
is little in the advice of making those changes by easy gradations. I
went on pleasantly, but poor Keimer suffered grievously, grew tired of
the project, longed for the fleshpots of Egypt, and ordered a roast pig.
He invited me and two women friends to dine with him; but it being
brought too soon upon table, he could not resist the temptation, and ate
the whole before we came.
I had made some courtship during this time to Miss Read; I had a great
respect and affection for her, and had some reasons to believe she had
the same for me; but as I was about to take a long voyage, and we were
both very young (only a little above eighteen), it was thought most
prudent by her mother to prevent our going too far at present; as a
marriage, if it was to take place, would be more convenient after my
return, when I should be, as I hoped, set up in my business. Perhaps,
too, she thought my expectations not so well founded as I imagined them
to be.