W'''^**J^ V*^^^\<^ <^''''^**J^ * ^'> "^^.''T^J^-'.-fr^ «^- •'^.^•' .ri' V o "»bv* jP-W. * jp-n*, • o***^ "^o %^^' .^'"\. \^<^ 1 / 5jf iHJJI 2^2irs OF BE:N^JAMIN FRAKKIilNj * WITH MANY CHOICE ANECDOTES AND ADMIRABLE SAYINGS OF THIS GREAT MAN, NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED BY ANY OF HIS BIOGRAPHERS. BY M. L,. WEEMS, AUTHOR OF THE LIFE OF WASHINGTON. " Sage Franklin next arose in cheerful mien, And smil'd, unruffled, o'er the solemn scene ; High on his locl^s of age a wreatli was brae'd, Palm of all arts that e'er a mortal grac'd ; Beneath him lay the sceptre liings had borne, And crowns and laurels from their temples torn.' BTEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON, ■■ii i i6Q0 « ii» PHILADELPHIA: URIAH HUNT & SON, No. 44 North Fourth Street. CINCINNATI: APPLEGATE & CO. 1854. Cop--] 1 ^.astern District of Pmnsylvania^ to wit: BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the tenth day of June, in the fifly-third year of tKa Independence of the United States America, A. D. 1829, URIAH HUNT, of tho said District, has deposited in this office tiie titio of a book, the right whereof he claiius as proprietor, in tlie words following, to wit: "The Life of Benjamin Franklin; with many Choice Anecdotes and Admirable Say- ings of this great man, never before published by any of his biographers. By M. L AVoems, author of the Life of Washington. *' Sago Franklin next arose in cheerful mien, And smil'd, unruffled, o'er the solemn scene ; ^ High on his locks of ago a wreath was brac'd, Palm of all arts that e'er a mortal grac'd ; Beneath him lay the sceptre kings had borne, And crowns and laurels from tlieir temples torn.'* In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled, *' An Act for tho encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned;" and also to nn Act, entitled, " An Act supplementary to an Act, entitled, ' An Act for the encourage- ment I " propri tfaereof „ „ _ „ D. CALDWELL, Qtrk of tk€ Eastern District of PcnnsylvMniA ■t^JlyS'^ // JLIFE OF FRANKLIN. ^ CHAPTER I. DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, president of the AMERICAN PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY^ FELLOW OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF EDINBURGH, LONDON AND PARISJ GOVERNOR OF THE STATE OF PENNSYLVANIA; AND MINISTER PLENIPOTEN- TIARY FROM THE UNITED STATES TO THE COURT OF FRANCE,' was the son of an obscure tallow-chandler and soap-boiler, of Boston, where he was born on the 17th day of January, 1706. Some men carry letters of recommendation in their looks, and some in their names. 'Tis the lot but of few to inherit both of these advantages. The hero of this work was one of that favoured number. As to his physiognomy, there was in it such an air of wisdom and philanthropy, and con- sequently such an expvession of majesty and sweetness, as charms, even in the commonest pictures of him. And for his name, every one acquainted witli the old English history, must know, that Franklin stands for what we now mean by *' Gentleman," or "clever fellow." In the days of Auld Lang Syne, their neighbours from the continent made a descent " on the fast anchored isle,^^ and compelled the hardy, red-ochred natives to buckle to their yoke. Among the victors were some regiments of Franks, who distinguished themselves by their valor, and, still more by their politeness to the vanquished, and espe- cially to the females. By this amiable gallantry the Franks acquired such glory among the brave islander-s, that whe:n-^ ever any of their own people achieved any tiling uncom- monly handsome, he was called, by way of compliment, a Franklin, i. e. a little Frank. As the living flame does not more naturally tend upwards than does every virtue to exalt its possessors, these little Franks were soon promoted to be great men, such as justices of the peace, knights of the a2 THll^IFE OF shire, and other such names of high renown. Hence thosi prettj lines of the old poet Chaucer — " This worthy Franklin wore a purse of silk Fix'd to his girdle, pnre as morning milk ; Knight of the shire; first justice of th' assize, To help the poor, the doubtful to advise. In all employments, gen'rous just he prov'd ; Renovvn'd for courtesy ; by all belov'd." But though, according to Dr. Franklin's own account of nis family, whose pedigree he looked into with great dili- gence while he was in England, it appears that they were all of the ^^well horn,^^ or gentlemen in the best sense of the word; yet they did not deem it beneath them to continue the same useful courses which had at first conferred their titles. On the contrary, the doctor owns, and indeed glories in it, that for three hundred years the eldest son, or heir apparent in this family of old Britisli gentlemen, was invariably brought up a blacksmith. Moreover, it appears from tlie same indubitable authority, that the blacksmith succession was most religiously continued in the family down to the days of the doctor's father. How it has gone on since that time I have never heard; but considering the salutary effects of such a fashion on the prosperity of a young republic, it were most devoutly to be wished that it is kept up: and that the family of one of the greatest men who ever lived in tins or any other country, still display in tlieir coat of arms, not the barren gules and garters of European folly, but those better ensigns of American wisdom— -the sledge-hammer and ANVIL. CHAPTER II. • Were I so tall to reach the pole, And grasp the ocean in my span, I must be measur'd by my souJ; For 'tis the MIND that makes the man." From the best accounts which I have been able to pick up, it would appear that a passion for learning had a long run in the family of the Franklins. Of the doctor's three uncles, the elder, whose name was Thomas, though con scientiously brought up a blacksmith, and subsisting his family by the din and sweat of his anvil, was still a great reader. Instead of wasting his leisure hours, as too many of the trade do, in tippling and tobacco, he acquired enough DR. FRANKLIN. 7 of the law to render himself a very useful and leading man among the people of Northampton, where his forefathers had lived in great comfort for three hundred yeai^, on thirty acres of land. His uncle Benjamin, too, another old English gentleman of the right stamp, though a very hard-working man at the silk-dying trade, was equally devoted to the pleasures of the mind. He made it a rule whenever he lighted on a copy of verses that pleased him, to transcribe them into a large blank book which he kept for the purpose. In this way he collected two quarto volumes of poems, written in short hand of his own inventing. And, being a man of great piety, and fond of attending the best preachers, whose ser- mons he always took down, he collected in the course of his life, eight volumes of sermons in folio^ besides near thirty in quarto and octavo, and all in the aforesaid short hand I Astonishing proof, what a banquet of elegant pleasures even a poor mechanic may enjoy, who begins early to read and think ! 'Tis true, he was a long time about it. His piety afforded him a constant cheerfulness. And deriving from the same source a regular temperance, he attained to a great age. In his seventy-third year, still fresh and strong, he left his native country, and came over to America, to see his younger brother Josias, between whom and himself there had always subsisted a more than ordinary friendship. On his arrival in Boston, he was received with unbounded joy by Josias, who pressed him to spend the residue of his days in his family. To this proposition the old gentleman readily consented^ and the more so as he was then a widower, and his children, all married off, had left him. He had the honor to give his name, and to stand godfather to our little nero, for whom, on account of his vivacity and fondness for learning, he conceived an extraordinary affection. And Ben always took a great delight in talking of this uncle. Nor was it to be wondered at; for he was an old man who wore his religion very much to win young people — a pleasant countenance — a sweet speech — and a fund of anecdotes always entertaining, and generally carrying some good moral in the tail of them. His grandfather before him must have been a man of rare humour, as appears from a world of droll stories which uncle Benjamin used to tell after him, and which his New England descendants to this day are wont to repeat with great glee. I must let the reader hear one or two of them. They will amuse him, by showing what strange H TIWLIFE OF things were done in days of yore by kings and priests (ii the land of our venerable forefathers. It was his grandfather's fortune to live in the reign of Queen Mary, whom her friends called holy Mary, but her enemies bloody Mary. In the grand struggle for power be- tween those humble followers of the cross, the catholics and the protestants, the former gained the victory, for which ' Te Deums' in abundance were sung throughout the land. And having been sadly rib-roasted by the protestants when in power, they determined, like good christians, now that the tables were turned, to try on them the virtues of fire and faggot. The Franklin family having ever been stunly pro- testants, began now to be in great tribulation. «' What shall we do to save our Bible?" was the question. After serious consultation in a family caucus, it was resolved to hide it in the close-stool; which was accordingly done, by fastening it, open, on the under side of tlie lid by twine threads drawn strongly across the leaves. When the grands father read to the family, he turned up the aforesaid lid on his knees, passing the leaves of his Bible, as he read, from one side to the other. One of the children was carefully stationed at the door, to give notice if he saw the priest, or any of his frowning tribe, draw near. In that event, the lid with the Bible lashed beneath it, was instantly clapped down again on its old place. These things may appear strange to us, who live under a wise republic, which will not suffer the black gowns of one church to persecute those of another. But they were com- mon in those dark and dismal days, when the clergy thought more of creeds than of Christ, and of learning Latin than of learning love. Queen Mary w^as one of this gnostic ge- neration, Jwho place their religion in the head^ though Christ places it in the heart,) and finding it much easier to her unloving spirit, to burn human beings called heretics, than to mortify her own lust of popularity, she suffered her catho- lic to fly upon and worry her protestant subjects at a shame- ful rate. Good old uncle Benjamin use i to divert his friends with another story, which happened ii the family of his own aunt, who kept an inn at Eaton, Northamptonshire. A most violent priest, of the name of Asquith, v/ho thought, like Saul, that he should be doing " God service'^ by killing the heretics, had obtained letters patent from queen Mary against those people in the county of War- wick. On his way he called to dine at Eaton, where he was- DR. FRANKLIN. 9 quickly waited on by the mayor, a strong catholic, to ask how the good work went on. Asquith, leaping to his sad- dle-bags, drew forth a little box, that contained his commis* sion, which he flourished before the mayor, exclaiming with high glee, '^Aye! there's that that will scorch the rogues P^ Old Mrs. Franklin, under the rose a sturdy protestant, over- hearing this, was exceedingly troubled; and watching her opportunity when the priest had stepped out with the mayor, slipped the commission out of the box, and put in its place a pack of cards, wrapped in the same paper. The priest returning in haste, and suspecting no trick, huddled up his box, and posted off for Coventry. A grand council of the saints was speedily convoked to meet him. He arose, and having with great vehemence delivered a set speech against the heretics, threw his commission on the table for the secre- tary to read aloud. With the eyes of the whole council on him, the eager secretary opened the package, when in place of the flaming commission, behold a pack of cards with the knave of clubs turned uppermost ! A sudden stupefaction seized the spectators. In silence they stared at the priest and stared at one another. Some looking as though they suspected treachery: others as dreading a judgment in the case. Soon as the dumb-founded priest could recover speech, he swore by the Holy Mary, that he once had a commission; that he had received it from the queen's own hand. And he also swore that he would get another com- mission. Accordingly he hurried back to London, and having procured another, set off again for Coventry. But alas I before he got down, poor queen Mary had turned the cor ner, and the protestants under Elizabeth got the rule again. Having nothing now to dread, our quizzing old hostess, Mrs. Franklin, came out with the knavish trick she had played the priest, which so pleased the protestants of Coventry that they presented her a piece of plate, that cost fifty pounds sterling, equal, as money now goes, to a thousand dollars. From an affair which soon after this took place there, it appears that Coventry, however famous for saints, had no great cause to brag of her poets. — When queen Elizabeth, to gratify her subjects, made the tour of her island, she passed through Coventry. The mayor, aldermen, and company hearing of her approach, went out in great state to meet her. The queen being notified that they wished to address her, made a full stop right opposite to a stage erected for the purpose, and covered with embroidered cloth, from which a 10 TI^LIFE OF ready orator, after mucli bowing and arms full extended, made this wondrous speech — ^^ We men of Coventry are glad to see your royal liighness — Lord how /air you be!" To this the maiden queen, equal famed for fat and fun, rising in her carriage, and waving her lily white hand, made this prompt reply — " Our royal highness is glad to se'j you men of Coventry — Lord what Fools you be!" . CHAPTER IIL Our hero, little Ben, coming on the carpet — Put to school very young — Learns prodigiously— 'Taken home and set to candle-7naking — Curious capers, all proclaiming "the Achilles in petticoats. " Dr. Franklin's father married early in his own country, and would probably have lived and died there, but for the persecutions against his friends the Presbyterians, which so disgusted him, that he came over to New England, and set- tled in Boston about the year 1 682. He brought with him his English wife and three children. By the same wife he had four children more in America; and ten others after- wards by an American wife. The doctor speaks with plea- sure of having seen thirteen sitting together very lovingly at his father's table, and all married. Our little hero, who was the fifteenth child, and last of the sons, was born at Boston the 17th day of January, 1706, old style. That famous Italian proverb, " The Devil tempts every man^ hut the Idler tempts the Devil,^^ was a favourite canto with wise old Josias; for which reason, soon as their little lips could well lisp letters and syllables, he had them all to school. Nor was this the only instance with regard to them, wherein good Josias " sham'^d the Bevil;^^ for as soon as their education was finished, they were put to useful trades. Thus no leisure was allowed for bad company and habits. Little Ben, neatly clad and comb'd, was pack'd off to school with the rest; and as would seem, at a very early age, for he says himself that, "he could not recollect any time in his life when he did not know how to read,V whence we may infer that he hardly ever knew any thing more of childhood than its innocency^and playfulness. At the age of eight he DR. FRANKLIN. H was sent to a grammar school, where he made such a figure in learning, that his good old father set him down at once for the church, and used constantly to call him his ^'little chap- lain.'^^ He was confirmed in this design, not only by the ex- traordinary readiness with which he learned, but also by the praises of his friends, who all agreed that he would certainly one day or other become a mighty scholar. His uncle Ben- jamin too, greatly approved the idea of making a preacher of him; and by way of encouragement, promised to him all his volumes of sermons, written, as before said, in his own short hand. This his rapid progress in learning he ascribed very much to an amiable teacher who used gentle means only, to en- courage his scholars, and make them fond of their books. But in the midst of this gay career in his learning, when in the course of the first year only, he had risen from the middle of his class to the head of it; thence to the class im- mediatel/. above it; and was rapidly overtaking the third class, he was taken from school! His father having a large family, with but a small income, and thinking himself unable consistently with what he owed the rest of his children, to give him a collegiate education, took Ben home to assist him in his own humble occupation, which was that of a soap-boiler and tallow-chandler; a trade he had taken up of his own head after settling in Boston; his original one of a dyek being in too little request to maintain his family. I have never heard how Ben took this sudden reverse in his prospects. No doubt it put his little stock of philosoj)hy to the stretch. To have seen himself, one day, on the high road to literary fame, flying from class to class, the admira- tion and envy of a numerous school; and the next day, to have found himself in a filthy soap-shop; clad in a greasy apron, twisting cotton wicks ! — and in place of snuffing the sacred lami>s of the Muses, to be bending over pots of fetid tallow, dipping and moulding candles for the dirty cook wenches! Oh, it must have seem'd a sad falling oft' I Indeed, it ap- pears from his own account that he was so disgusted with it that he had serious thoughts of goin» to sea. But his fa- ther objecting to it, and Ben having virtue enough to be du- tiful, the notion was given up for that time. But the am bition which had made him the first at his school, and which now would have hurried him to sea, was not to be extin- guished. Though diverted from its favourite course, it still burned for distinction, and rendered him the leader of the 12 rlfi LIFE OF juvenile band in every enterprize where danger was to h» confronted, or glory to be won. In the neighbouring mill- pond he was the foremost to lead the boys to plunge and swim; thus teaching them an early mastery over that dan- gerous element. And when the ticklish mill-boat was launch- ing from the shore laden with his timid playmates, the pad- dle that served as rudder, was always put into his hands, as the fittest to steer her course over the dark waters of the pond. This ascendancy which nature had given him over the companions of his youth, was not always so well used as it might have been. He honestly confesses that, once at least, he made such an unlucky use of it as drew them into a scrape tliat cost them dear. Their favourite fishing shore on that pond was, it seems, very miry. To remedy so great an inconvenience he proposed to the boys to make a wharf. Their assent was quickly obtained: but what shall we make it of ? was the question. Ben pointed their attention to a heap of stones, hard by, of which certain Honest ma- sons were building a house. The proposition was hailed by the boys, as a grand discovery; and soon as night had spread her dark curtains around them, they fell to work with the activity of young beavers, and by midnight had completed their wharf. The next morning the masons came to work, but, behold ! not a stone was to be found ! The young rogues, however, detected by the track of their feet in the mud, were quickly summoned before their parents, who not being so partial to Ben as they had been, chastised their folly with a severe flogging. Good old Josias pursued a different course with his son. To deter him from such an act in fu- ture, he endeavoured to reason him into a sense of its im- morality. Ben, on the other hand, just fresh and confident from his school, took the field of argument against his fa- ther, and smartly attempted to defend what he had done, on the principle of its utility. But the old gentleman, who was a great adept in moral philosophy, calmly observed to him, that if one boy were to make use of this plea to take away his fellow's goods, another might; and thus contests would arise, filling the world with blood and murder without end. Convinced, in this simple way, of the fatal consequences of " doing evil that good may come, " Ben let drop the weapons of his rebellion, and candidly agreed with his father that what M^as not strictly honest could never be truly useful. This dis- covery he made at the tender age of nine. Some never make t in the course of their lives. The grand angler, Satan, DR. FRANKLIN. 15 throws out. his bait of immediate gain ; and they, like silly Jacks, snap at it at once j and in the moment of running off, fancy they have got a delicous morsel. But alas I the fatal hook soon convinces them of their mistake, though sometimes too late. And then the lamentation of the prophet serves as the epilogue of their tragedy — " ^Twas honey in the mouthy hut gall in the bowels. " CHAPTER IV. Picture of a wise father — To which is added a famous rt ceiptfor health and long life. The reader must already have discovered that Ben wa^ uncommonly blest in a father. Indeed from the portrait o\ him drawn by this grateful son, full fifty years afterwards, he must have been an enviable old man. As to his person, though that is but of minor consideration in a rational creature — I say, as to his person, it was of the right standard, i. e. medium size and finely formed — his complexion fair and ruddy — black, intelligent eyes — and an air uncommonly graceful and spirited. In respect of mhuU which is the true jewel of our nature, he was a man of the purest piety and morals, and consequently cheerful and amiable in a high degree. Added to this, he possessed a considerable taste for the fine arts, particularly drawing and music 5 and having a voice remarkably sonorous and sweet, whenever he sung a hymn accompanied with his vio- lin, which he usually did at the close of his day's labours, it was delightful to hear him. He possessed also an extra- ordinary sagacity in things relating both to public and pri- vate life, insomuch that not only individuals were constant- ly consulting him about their aftairs, and calling him in as an arbiter in their disputes; but even the leading men of Bos- ton would often come and ask his advice in their most im- portant concerns, as well of the town as of the church. For his slender means he was a man of extraordinary hos- pitality, which caused his friends to wonder how he made out to entertain so many. But whenever this was mentioned to him, he used to laugh and say, that the world was good natured and gave him credit for much more than he de- 14 TH^^LIFE OF servcil^ for that, in fact, others entertained ten times as inanj as he did. Bj this, 'tis thought he alluded to the os- tentatious practice common with some, of pointing their hungry visitant to their grand buildings, and boasting how manj thousands this or that bauble costj as if their ridicu- lous vanity would pass with them for a good dinner. For his part^ he said, he preferred setting before his visitors a plenty of wliolesome fare, with a hearty welcome. Though to do this he was fain to work hard, and content himself with a small house and plain furniture. But it was always nis opinion that a little laid out in this v/ay, went farther both with God and man too, than great treasures lavished on pride and ostentation. But though he delighted in hospitality as a great virtue, yet he always made choice of such friends at his table as were fond of rational conversation. And he took great care to introduce such topics as would, in a pleasant manner, lead to ideas useful to his family, both in temporal and eternal things. As to the dishes that were served up, he never talked of them; never discussed whether they were well or ill dressed; of a good or bad flavour, high seasoned or otherwise. For this manly kind of education at his table. Dr. Frank- lin always spoke as under great obligations to his father's judgment and taste. Thus accustomed, from infancy, to a generous inattention to the palate, he became so perfectly indifferent about what was set before him, that he hardly ever remembered, ten minutes after dinner, what he had dined on. In travelling, particularly, he found his account in this. For while those who had been more nice in their diet could enjoy nothing they met with; this one growling over the daintiest breakfast of new laid eggs and toast floated in butter, because his coffee was not half, strong enough.' — that wondering what people can mean by serving up a round of beef when they have no mustard! — and a third cursing like a trooper, though the finest rock-fish or sheep's-head be smoking on the table — ^because there is no walnut pickle or ketchup ! He for his part, happily engaged in a pleasant train of thinking or conversation, never attended to such trifles, but dined heartily on whatever was set before liim. In short, there is no greater kindness that a young man can do himsdf t^ian to learn the art of feasting on fish, flesh, or fowl as they come, without ever troubling his head about any other sauce than what the rich hand of nature has given: DR. FRANKLIN. 15 let him but bring to these dishes that §ood appetite which always springs from exercise and cheertulness, and he will be an epicure indeed. He would often repeat in the company of young people, the following anecdote which he had pickled up some where or other in his extensive reading. " A wealthy citizen of Athens, who had nearly ruined his constitution by gluttony and sloth, was advised by Hip*pocrates to visit a certain medicinal spring in Sparta; not that Hippocrates believed that spring to be better than some nearer home; but exercise was the object — *' Visit the springs of Sparta,^^ said the great physician. As the young debauchee, pale and bloated, travelled among the simple and hardy Spartans, he called one day at the house of a countryman on the road to get something to eat. A young woman was just serving up din- ner — a nice barn-door fowl boiled with a piece of fat bacen. *' You have got rather a plain dinner there madam," growled the Athenian. " Yes, sir,^^ replied the young woman blush- ing, ''but my husband will be here directly, and he always brings the sauce with him.''^ Presently the young husband stepped in, and after welcoming his guest, invited him to dinner. " I can't dream of dining, sir, without sauce,^^ said the Athenian, " and your wife promised you would bring it." '' O, sir, my wife is a wit,^^ cried the Spartan;^ ''she only meant the good appetite which I always bring with me from the barn, ivhere I have been threshing.''^ And here I beg leave to wind up this chapter with the following beautiful lines from Dryden, which I trust my young reader will commit to memory. They may save him many a sick stomach and headach, besides many a good dollar in doctor's fees. " The first physicians by debauch were made ; Excess began and sloth sustains the trade. By chace, our long liv'd fathers earn'd their bread; Toil strung their nerves and purified their blood: But we, their som, a painper'd race of men, Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten Better hunt in fields for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. The wise for health on exercise depend : God never made his works for man to mend." 16 TI^IJFE OF CHAPTER V. Bex contmurd with his father, assisting him in his humble toils, till his twelfth jearj and had he possessed a mind less active might have remained a candle-maker all the days of his life. But born to dilfuse a light beyond that of tallow or spermaceti, he could never reconcile himself to this in- ferior employment, and in spite of bis wishes to conceal it from his father, discontent would still lower on his brow, and the half-suppressed sigh steal in secret from his bosom. With equal grief his father beheld the deep-seated dis- quietude of his son. He loved all his children; but he loved this young one above all the rest. Ben was the child of his old age. The smile that dimpled his tender checks reminded him of his mother when he first saw her, lovely in the rosy freshness of youth. And then Ills intellect was so far beyond his years; his questions so shrewd; so strong in reasoning; so witty in remark, that his father would often forget his violin of nights for the higher pleasuie of holding an argument with him. This was a great trial to his sisters, who would often intreat their mo- ther to make Ben hold his tongue, that their fether might take down his fiddle, and play and sing hymns with th(im: for they took after him in his passion for music, and sung divinely. No wonder that such a child should lae dear to such a father. Indeed old Josias' aflection for Ben was so intimately interwoven with every fibre of his heart, that he could not bear the idea of separation from hini; and various were the stratagems which he employed to keep this dear child at home. One while, to frighten his youthful fancy from the sea, for that was the old man's dread, he w^ould paint the horrors of the watery world, where the maddening bil- lows, lashed into mountains by the storm, would lift the trembling^ ship to the skies; then hurl her down, headlong plunging into the yawning gulphs, never to rise again. At an- otlier time he would describe the wearisomeness of beating the gloomy wave for joyless months, pent up in a small ship, with no prospects but barren sea and skies — no smells but tar and bilge water — no society but men of uncultivated minds, and their constant conversation nothing but ribaldry and oaths. And then again he would take him to visit the masons, coopers, joiners, and other mechanics, at work: in hopes that his genius might be caught, and a stop put to his passion for DR. FRANKLIN. 17 wandering. But greatly to his sorrow, none of these things lield out the attractions that his son seemed to want. His visits among these tradesmen were not, however, without their advantage. He caught from them, as he somewhere says, such an insight into mechanic arts and the use of tools, as enabled him afterwards when there was no artist at hand, to make for himself suitable machines for the illustration of his philosophical experiments. But it was not long before this obstinate dislike of Ben's to all ordinary pursuits was found outj it was found out by his mother. '' Bless me," said she one night to her husband, as he lay sleepless and sighing on his son's account, " why do we make ourselves so unhappy about Ben for fear he should go to sea I let him but go to school, and I'll engage we hear no more about his running to sea. Don't you see the child is never happy but when he has a book in his hand ? Other boys when they get a little money never think of any thing better to lay it out on than their backs or their bellies j but he, poor fellow, the moment that he gets a shilling, runs and gives it for a book; and then, you know, there is no getting him to his meals until he has read it through, and told us all about it." Good old Josias listened very devoutly to his wife, while she uttered this oration on his voungest son. Then with looks as of a heart suddenly relieved from a heavy burden, and his eyes lifted to heaven, he fervently exclaimed—" that my son, even my little son Benjamin, may live before God, and that the days of his usefulness and glory may b© many!" How far the effectual fervent prayer of this righteous fa- ther found acceptance in heaven, the reader will find perhaps by the time he has gone through our little book. CHAPTER VI. Ben taken from school, turns his own teacher — History of the books which he first read — Is hound to the printing trade. At a learned table in Paris, where Dr. Franklin happen- ed to dine, it was asked by the abbe Raynal, What descrip* tion of men most deserves pity ? B 2 18 THR LIFE OF Some mentioned one character, and some another. When it came to Franklin's tarn, he replied, A lonesome man in a rainy day^ who does not know how to read. As every thing is interesting that relates to one who made such a figure in the world, it may gratify our readers to be told what were the books that first regaled the youthful ap- petite of the great Dr. Franklin. The state of literature in Boston at that time, being like himself, only in its infancy, it is not to be supposed that Ben had any very great choice of books. Books, however, there always were in Boston.* Among these was Bunyan's Voyages, which appears to have been the first he ever read, and of which he speaks with great pleasure. But there is reason to fear that Bunyan did no good: for, as it was the reading of the life of Alexander the Great that first set Charles the Twelfth in such a fever to be running over the world killing every body he met; so, in all probability, it was Bunyan's Voyages that fired Ben's fancy with that passion for travelling, which gave his father so much uneasiness. Having read over old Bunyan so often as to have him almost by heart, Ben added a little boot, and made a swap of him for Burton^s Historical Miscellanies. This, consisting of forty or fifty volumes, held him a good long tug: for he had no time to read but on Sundays, and early in the morning or late at night. After this he fell upon his father's library. This being made up principally of old puritanical divinity, would to most boys have ap- peared like the pillars of Hercules to travellers of old — a bound not to be passed. But so keen w^as Ben's appetite for any thing in the shape of a book, that he fell upon it with his usual voracity, and soon devoured every thing in it, especially of the lighter sort. Seeing a little bundle of something crammed away very snugly upon an upper shelf, his curiosity led him to take it down: and lo! what should it be but " Plutarch'' s Lives. ^^ Ben was a stranger to the work; but the title alone was enough for him; he instantly gave it one reading; and then a second, and a third, and so on until he had almost committed it to memory; and to his dy- in^ day he never mentioned the name of Plutarch without cknowledging how much pleasure and profit he had derived from that divine old writer. And there was another book, by Defoe, a small affair, entitled " *^n Essay on Projects,^' to which he pays the very high compliment of saying, tha< • You never find presbyterians witliout books. DR. FRANKLIN. 19 *'from it he received impressions which influenced some oj the principal events of his life.^^ Happy now to find that books had the cliarm to keep his darling boy at home, and thinking that if he were put into a printing office he would be sure to get books enough, his fa- ther determined to make a printer of him, though he already had a son in that business. Exactly to his wishes, that son, whose name was James, had just returned from London with a new press and tjpes. Accordingly, without loss of time, Ben, now in his twelfth year, was bound apprentice to him. By the indentures Ben was to serve his brother till twenty-one, i. e. nine full years, without receiving one penny of wages save for the last twelve months! How a man pretending to religion could reconcile it to himself to make so hard a bargain witli a younger brother, is strange. But perhaps it was permitted of God, that Ben should learR his ideas of oppression, not from reading but from suffering. The deliverers of mankind have all been made perfect through suffering. And to the galling sense of this villanous oppression, which never ceased to rankle on the mind of Franklin, the American people owe much of tliat spirited resistance to British injustice, which eventuated in their liberties. But Master James had no great cause to boast of this selfish treatment of his younger brother Benjamin; foi the old adage "foul play never thrives," was hardly ever more remarkably Illustrated than in this affair, as the reader will in due season be brought to understand. CHAPTER VII. Ben in clover — Turns a Rhymer — Makes a prodigious noise in Boston — Bit by the Poetic Tarantula — Luckily cured by his father, Ben is now happy. He is placed by the side of the press, the very mint and coining place of his beloved hooks; and animated by that delight which he takes in his business, he makes a proficiency equally surprising and profitable to hia brother. The field of his reading too is now greatly enlarges. From the booksellers' boys he makes shift, every now as. d then, to borrow a book, which he never fails to return ai 25 THE LIFE OF the promised time: though to accomplish this h^* was often abliged to sit up till midnight, readirxg by his bed side, that he might be as good as his word. Such an extraordinary passion for learning soon com- mended him to the notice of his neighbours, among whom was an ingenious young man, a tradesman, named Matthew Adams, who invited him to his house, showed him all his books, and offered to lend him any that he wished to read. About this time, which was somewhere in his thirteenth year, Ben took it into his head that he could write poetry : and actually composed several little pieces. These, after some hesitation, he showed to his brother, who pronounced them excellent; and thinking that money might be made by Ben's poetry, pressed him to cultivate his ivonderful talent^ as he called it; and even gave him a couple of subjects to write on. The one, which was to be called the Light-house Tragedy, was to narrate the late shipwreck of a sea cap- tain and his two daughters: and the other was to be a sai- lor's sons on the noted pirate Blackbeard, who had been recently killed on the coast of North Carolina, Dy Captain Maynard, of a British sloop of war. Ben accordingly fell to work, and after burning out seve- ral candles, for his brother could not afford to let him write poetry by daylight, he produced his two poems. His bro- ther extolled them to the skies, and in all haste had them put to the type and struck off; to expedite matters, fast as the sheets could be snatched from the press, all hands were set to work, folding and stitching them ready for market; while nothing was to be heard throughout the office but con- stant calls on the boys at press — ^' more sheets ho ! more Light-house tragedy ! more Blackbeard /" But who can tell what Ben felt when he saw his brother and all his journey- men in such a bustle on his account — ^and when he saw, wherever he cast his eyes, the splendid trophies of his ge- nius scattered on the floor and tables; some in common pa- per for the multitude; and others in snow-white foolscap. For presents to the great people, such as " His excellency THE GOVERNOR." ^'i The HON. THE SECRETARY OF STATE." "The Worshipful the mayor." — "The aldermen, and GENTLEMEN of the COUNCIL."— " The revei'cnd the clergy, &c." Ben could never tire of gazing at them; and as he gazed, his heart would leap for joy>— " O you precious little verses,^^ he would say to himself, " Fe first warblings of my youthful harp / /'// soon have you abroad, delighting every DR. FRANKLIN. 21 company, and filling all mouths with my name .'" According- ly, his two poems being ready, Ben, who had been both poet and printer, with a basket full of each on his arm, set out in high spirits to sell them through the town, which he did bj sing- ing: out as he went, after the manner of the London cries— *<> Choice Poetry! Choice Po-e-try ! Come BUY my choice Po-e-try!" The people of Boston having never heard any such cry as that before, were prodigiously at a loss to know what he was selling. But still Ben went on singing out as before, "Choice Poetry! Choice Poetry! Come, buy my choice Poetry!" I wonder now, said one with a stare, if it is not poultry that that little boy is singing out so stoutly yonder. no, I guess not, said a second. Well then, cried a third, I vow but it must be pastry. At length Ben was called up and interrogated. *' Pray, my little man, and what^s that that you are crying there so bravely ?^^ Ben told them it was poetry. u 01 — aye! poetry P^ said they; '' poetry! that^ a sort of something or other in metre — like the old version, is nH it?^^ rave ; Come hearken and I'll tell you _ What happen'd on the wave. Oh! 'tis of that bloody Blackbeard I'm going now for to fell ; And as how by gallant Maynard He soon was sent to hell — With a down, down, down derry down." The reader will, I suppose, agree with Ben in his criti- cism, many years afterwards, on this poetry, that it was « wretched stuff; mere blind men's ditties. " But fortunately for Ben, the poor people of Boston were at that time no 22 ;p[E LIFE OF judges of poetrj. The silver-tongued Watts had not, as yet, snatched the harp of Zion, and poured his divine songs over New-England. And having never been accustomed to any tiling better than an old version of David's Psalms, running in this way— " Ye monsters of the bubbling deep, Your Maker's praises spout ! Up from your sands ye codlings peep, And w'ag your tails about." — The people*of Boston pronounced Ben's poetry mighty Jine^ and bought them up at a prodigious ratej especially the Light-house Tragedy. A flood of success so sudden and unexpected, would in all probability have turned Ben's brain and run him stark mad with vanity, had not his wise old father timely stepped in and checked the rising fever. But highly as Ben hon- oured his father, and respected his judgment, he could hardly brook to hear him attack his beloved poetry, as he did, calling it "mere Grub-street.'^^ And he even held a stiff argument in defence of it. But on reading a volume of Pope, which his father, who well knew the force of contrast, put into his hand for that purpose, he never again opened his mouth in behalf of his ''•blind men^s ditties.''^ He used to laugh and say, that after reading Pope, he was so mortified with his Light-house Tragedy, and Sailor^ s Song, which he had once thought so fine,* that he could not bear the sight of them, but constantly threw into the fire every copy that fell in his way. Thus was he timely saved, as he ingenuously confesses, from the very great misfortune of being, perhaps, a miserable jingler for, life. But I cannot let fall the curtain on this curious chapter, without once more feasting my eyes on Ben, as, with a little basket on his arm, he trudged along the streets of Bos- ton crying his poetry. Who that saw the youthful David coming up fresh from his father's sheep cots, with his locks wet with the dews of the morning, and his cheeks ruddy as the opening rose-buds, would have dreamed that this was he who should one day, single handed, meet the giant Goliah, in the war-darkened val- ley of Elah, and wipe oft' reproach from Israel. In like man- ner, who that saw this *' curly headed child,^^ at the tender age of thirteen, selling his ''blind men's ditties,^^ among the wonder-struck Jonathans and Jemimas of Boston, would have tliought that this was he, who, single handed, was to meet DR. FRANKLIN. 23 the British ministry at the bar of their own house of Com- mons, and by the solar blaze of his wisdom, utterly disperse all their dark designs against their countrymen, thus gaining for himself a name lasting as time, and dear to liberty as the name of Washington. O you time-wasting, brain-starving young men, who can never be at ease unless you have a cigar or a plug of tobacco in your mouths, go on with your puffing and champing — go on with your filthy smoking, and your still more filthy spit- ting, keeping the cleanly house-wives in constant terror for their nicely waxed floors, and their shining carpets — go on I say 5 but remember it was not in this way that our little Ben became the GREAT DR. FRANKLIN. CHAPTER VIII. 'Tis the character of a ^reat mind never to despair. Though glory may not be gained in one way, it may in an- other. As a river, if it meet a mountain in its course, does not halt and poison all the country by stagnation, but rolls its gathering forces around the obstacle, urging its precious tides and treasures through distant lands. So it was with the restless genius of young Franklin. Finding that nature had never cut him out for a poet, he determined to take re- venge on her by making himself a good prose writer. As it is in this way that his pen has conferred great obligations on the world, it must be gratifying to learn by what means, humbly circumstanced as he was, he acquired that perspicuity and ease so remarkable in his writings. This information must be peculiarly acceptable to such youth as are apt to despair of becoming good writers, because they have never been taught the languages. Ben's example will soon convince them that Latin and Greek are not necessary to make En- glish scholars. Let them but commence with his passion for knowledge; with his firm persuasion, that wisdom is the glory and happiness of man, and the work is more tlian naif done. Honest Ben never courted a young man because he was rich, or the son of the rich — No. His favourites were of the youth fond of reading and of rational conversation, no matter now poor they were. '' Birds of a feather do not more natu- rally flock ^o^e//ier," than do young men ofthis high character. S4 IHE LIFE OF This was what first attracted to him that ingenious young carpenter, Matthew Adams: as also John Collins, the tan- ner's bo J. These three spirited youth, after finding each other out, became as fond as brothers. And often as pos- sible, when tlie labours of the day were ended, they would meet at a little school-house in the neighbourhood, and argue on some given subject till midnight. The advantages of this as a grand mean of exercising memory, strengthening the reasoning faculty, disciplining the thoughts, and im- proving a correct and graceful elocution, became daily more obvious and important in their view, and consequently in- creased their mutual attachment. But from his own obser- vation of what passed in this curious little society, Ben cautions young men against that war of words, which the vain are too apt to fall into, and which tends not only to make them insupportably disagreeable through a disputatious spirit, but is apt also to betray into a fondness for quizzing, 1. e. for asserting and supporting opinions which they do not themselves believe. He gi\'es the following as a case in point. One Might, Adams being absent, and only himself and Collms together in the old school-house, Ben observed that he thought it a great pity that the young ladies were not more attended to, as to the improvement of their minds by education. He said, that with their advantages of sweet voices and beautiful faces, they could give tenfold charms to wit and sensible conversation, making heavenly truths to appear, as he had somewhere read in his father's old Bible, " like apples of gold set in pictures of silver." Collins blowed upon the idea. He said, it was all stiiff^ and no pity at all, that the girls were so neglected in their education, as they were naturally incapable of it. And here he repeated, laughing, that infamous slur on the ladies, " Substance too soft a lasting mind to bear, And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair." At this, Ben, who was already getting to be a great ad- mirer of the ladies, reddened up against Collins; and to it they fell, at once, in a stiff argument on the education of women — as whether they were capable of studying the sciences or not Collins, as we have seen, led off against the ladies. Being much of an infidel, he took the Turkish ground altogether, and argued like one just soured and sul- len from the seraglio. Women study the sciences indeed! said he, with a sneer; a pretty story truly ! no sir, they have DR. FRANKLIN. ^^ nothing, to do with the sciences. They were not born for awj such thing. , ? c :> Ben wanted to know what they were born for? Born for! retorted Collins, why to dress md dance ; to sing and play ; and, like pretty tritiers, to divert the lords of the creation, after their toils and studies. This is all they were born for, or ever intended of nature, who has given them capacities for nothing higher. Sometimes, indeed, they look erave, and fall into such brown studies as would lead one to suppose they meant to go deep; but it is all fiid^e. They are only trying in this new character to play themselves off to a better effect on their lovers. And if you could but penetrate the bosoms of these fair Penserosoes; YOU would find that under all this affectation of study they were only fatio-uing their childish brains about what dress tliey should wear to the next ball: or what coloured ribands would best suit their new lutestrings. To this Ben replied with warmth, that it was extremely unphilosophical in Mr. Collins to argue in that way against the FAIR SEX— that in fixing their destination he had by no mepns given them that high ground to which they were en- titled. You say, sir, continued Ben, that the ladies were created to amuse the men by the charm of their vivacity and accomplishments. This to be sure was saying something. But you might, I think, have said a great ^^al more; at least the Bible says a great deal more for them. Ihe Bible, sir, tells us that' God created woman to be the helpmate ot man. Now if man were devoid of reason he might be wel enougti matched by such a monkey-like helpmate as you have de- scribed woman. But, sir, since man is a noble God-like creature, endued with the sublime capacities of reason, how could woman ever make a helpmate to him, unless she were rational like himself, and thus capable of being the com- panion of his thoughts and conversation through all+henlea- sant fields of knowledge? Here Collins interrupted him, askmg very sarcastically, if in this fine flourish in favour of the ladies he was really in ^^ NeUr more so in all my life, replied Ben, rather nettled. What, that the women are as capable of studying the sciences as the men? r x j • +i,« Yes, that the women are as capable of studying tne sciences as the men. And pray, sir, continued Collins, tauntingly, do you know ' C 26 ^kE LIFE OF of any young woman of your acquaintance that would make a Newton? • And pray, sir, answered Ben, do you know any young man of your acquaintance that would? But these are no arguments, sir, — because it is not every young man or woman that can carry the science of astronomy so high as Newton, it does not follow that they are incapable of the science altogether. God sees fit in every age to appoint certain persons to kindle new lights among men. — And Newton was appointed greatly to enlarge our views of celestial ob- jects. But we are not thence to infer that he was in all respects superior to other men, for we are told that in some instances he was far inferior to other men. Collins denied ihat Newton had ever shown himself, in any point of wit mferior to other men. No, indeed, replied Ben; well what do you think of that anecdote of him, lately published in the New England Cou- rant from a London paper? And pray what is the anecdote? asked Collins. Why it is to this effect, said Ben. — Newton, mounted on vhe wings of astronomy, and gazing at the mighty orbs of »re above, had entirely forgotten the poor little fire that slumbered on his own hearth below, which presently forgot him, that is in plain English, went out. The frost piercing his nerves, called his thoughts home, when lo! in place of the spacious skies, the gorgeous antichamber of the Almigh- ty, he found himself in his own little nut-shell apartment, cold and dark, comparatively, as the dwelling of the winter screech-owl. He rung the bell for his servant, who after making a rousing fire, went out again. But scarcely had the servant recovered his warm corner in the kitchen, before the vile bell, with a most furious ring, summoned him the second time. The servant flew into his master's presence. Monster I cried Newton with a face inflamed as if it had been toasting at the tail of one of his comets, did you mean to burn me alive? push back the fire! for God^s sake push back the fire, or I shall be a cinder in an instant I Push back the fire! replied the servant with a growl zounds, sir, I thought you might have had sense enough to push back your chair! Collins swore that it was only a libel against Sir Isaac. Ben contended that he had seen it in so many different publications, that he had no sort of doubt of its truth; espe- cially as Sir Hans Sloan had backed it wdth another anec- DR. FRANKLIN. 27 dote of Newton, in the same style; and to which he avers he Avas both eve and ear witness. And pra J what has that buttertly philosopher to say against the immortal Newton? asked Collins, quite angrily. Why, replied Ben, it is this: Sloan, stepping in one day, to see Sir Isaac, was told by his servant that he was up in ills study, but would be down immediately; for there, sir, you see is his dinner, which I have just set on the table. — It was a pheasant so neatly browned in the roasting, and withal so plump and inviting to the eye, that Sloan could not resist the temptation; but venturing on his great intimacy with the kniglit, sat down and picked the delicious bird to the bone; having desired the cook in all haste to clap another to the spit. Presently down came Sir Isaac — was very glad to see his friend Sloan — how had he been all this time? and how did he leave his good lady and family ? you have not dined ? No. Very glad of it indeed; very glad. Well then, come dine with me. — Turning to the table, he sees the dish empty, and his plate strewed with the bones of his favourite pheasant. — Lord bless me! he exclaimed, clasping his forehead, and looking betwixt laughing and blushing, at Sloan — what am J ^oodfor ? I have dined, as you see, my dear friend^ and yet I had entirely forgot it I I don't believe a syllable of it, said Collins; not one sylla- ble of it, sir. No, replied Ben; nor one syllable, I suppose, of his fa- mous courtship, when sitting by an elegant young lady, whom his friends wished him to make love to, he seized her lily white hand. But instead of pressing it with rapture to his bosom, he thrust it into the bowl of his pipe that he was smoking; thus making a tobacco stopper of one of the love- liest fingers in England; to the inexpressible mortification of the company, and to the most dismal scolding and scream- ing of the dear creature! 'Tis all a lie, sir, said Collins, getting quite mad, all a confounded lie. The immortal Newton, sir, w^as never capable of acting so much like a blockhead. But supposing all this slang to be true, what would you infer from it, against that prince of philosopiiy? — Wliy I would infer from it, replied Ben, that though a great man, he was but a man. And I w^ould also infer from it in favour of my fair clients, that though they did not make Sir Isaac's discoveries in astronomy, they are yet very capable of comprehending 28 IP^ LIFE OF them. And besides, I am astonished, Mr. Collins, how anv l^entleman tliat k)ves himself, as I know you do, can thus traduce the ladies. Don't you consider, sir, that in propor- tion as you lessen the dignity of the ladies, you lessen the dignity of your alTections for them, and consequently, your own hap})iness in them, which must for ever keep pace with your ideas of their excellence. — -This was certaiidy a home rhrust; and most readers would suppose, that Ben was in a fair way to crow over his antagonist; but, Collins was a voung man of too much pride and talents to give up so easi- ly. A spirited retort, of course, was made; a rejoinder followed, and thus the controversy was kept upfvuntil the watclnnan bawling twelve o'clock, reminded our stripling orators that it was time for them to quit tlie old school- house; which with great reluctance they did, but without being any nearer the end of their argument than when they began. CHAPTER IX. The shades of midnight had parted our young combatants, and silent and alone, Ben had trotted home to his printing- office; but still in his restless thoughts the combat raged in all its fury: still burning for victory, where truth and the ladies were at stake, he fell to mustering his arguments again, which now at the drum-beat of n.^collection came crowding on him so thick and strong that he felt equally ashamed and astonished that he had not utterly crushed his antagonist at once. He could see no reason on earth why Collins had made a drawn battle of it, but by his vastly su- perior eloquence. To deprive him of this advantage, Ben determined to attack him with his pen. And to this lie felt the greater inclination, as they were not to meet again for several nights. So, committing his thoughts to paper, and taking a fair copy, he sent it to him. Collins, who, " was not born in the woods to be scared by an owl," quickly an- swered, and Ben rejoined. In this way several vollies had passed on both sides, when good old Josias chanced to light upon them all; both the copies of Ben's letters to Collins, and the answers. He read them with a deep interest, aiid that very night sent for Ben that he might talk with him on DR. FRANKLIN. 29 their contents. " So BenP^ said he to him as he pressed his beloved hand, '''"you have got into a paper war already, have you /^" Ben blushed. I don't mean to blame jou, my son, continued the old gentleman. I don't blame you; on the contrary I am de lighted to see you taking such pains to improve your mind. Go on, my dear boy, go on; for your mind is the only part that is worth your care: and the more you accustom yourself to find your happiness in that, the better. The body, as I have a thousand times told you, is but nicely organized earth, that in spite of the daintiest meats and clothes, will soon grow old and withered, and then die and rot back to earth again. But the Mind, Ben, is the Heavenly part, the Immortal inhabitant, who, if early nursed with proper thoughts and aftections, is capable of a feast that will endure for ever. This your little controversy with your friend Collins is praiseworthy, because it has a bearing on that gi-aiid point, the improvement of your mind. But let me suggest a hint or two, my son, for your better conduct of it. You have greatly the advantage of Mr. Col- lins, in correctness of spelling and pointing; which you owe entirely to your profession as a printer; but then he is as far superior to you in other respects. He certainly has not so good a cause as you have, but he manages it better. He clodies his ideas with such elegance of expression, and ar- ranges his arguments with so much perspicuity and art, as wilt captivate all readers in his favour, and snatch the vic- tory from you, notwithstanding your better cause. In con- firmation of these remarks, the old gentleman drew from his pocket the letters of their correspondence, and read to him several passages, as strong cases in point. Ben sensibly felt the justice of these criticisms, and after thanking his father for his goodness in making them, assured nhn, that as he delighted above all things in reading books of a beautiful style, so he was resolved to spare no pains to acquire so divine an art. The next day, going into a fresh part of the town, with a paper to a new subscriber, he saw, on the side of the street, a little table spread out and covered with a parcel of toys, among which lay an odd volume, with a neat old woman sit- ting by. As he approached the table to look at the book, the old lady lifting on him a most pleasant countenance, said, '* well my little man do you ever dream dreams .^" 3 so IJPE LIFE OF Ben rather startled at so strange a salutation, replied, that he had dream^t in his time. — fFell, continued the old woman, and ivhat do you think of dreams ; do you put any faith in 'em ? Wlij, no, madam, answered Ben 5 as I have seldom had dreams except after taking too hearty a supper, I have al- ways looked on 'em as a mere matter of indigestion, and so have never troubled my head much about 'em. Well now, replied the old lady, laughing, there\s just the difference hetiveen you and me. I^for m.y part., always takes great notice of dreams, they generally turn out so true. And now can you tell what a droll dream I had last night ? Ben answered that he was no Daniel to interpret dreams. Well, said the old lady, I dreamed last night, that a little man just like you, came along here and bought that old book of me. Aye! why that's a droll dream sure enough, replied Ben 5 and pray, Madam, what do you ask for your old book ? Only four pence halfpenny, said the old lad old family horse that has just brought a bag of flour from the mill, or a load of wood from the forest, that this his beloved horse will by and by be eaten up of the buzzards, and instantly his looks will manifest ex- treme distress. And if his mother, to whom he turns for contradiction of this horrid prophecy, should confirm it, he is struck dumb with iiorror, or bursts into strong cries as if his little heart would break at thought of the dismal end to which his horse is coming. These, though very amiable, are yet the amiable weaknesses of the child, which, it is the duty of man to overcome. This animal was created of his God for the double purpose of doing service to man, and of enjoying comfort himself. And when these are accomplished, and that life which was only lent him is recalled, is it not better that nature's scavengers, the buzzards, should take up his flesh and keep the elements sweet, than that it should lie on the fields to shock the sight and smell of all who pass by r The fact is, continued Ben, I see that all creatures that live, whether men or beasts, or vegetables, are doomed to die. Now were it not a greater happiness that this uni- versal calamity, as it appears, should be converted into an universal blessing, and this dying of all be made the living of all } Well, through the admirable wisdom and goodness of the Creator, this is exactly the case. The vegetables all die to sustain animalsj and animals, whether birds, beasts, or fishes, all die to sustain man, or one another. Now, is it not far better for them that they should be thus continually changing into each other's substance, and existing in the wholesome shapes of life and vigour, than to be scattered about dying and dead, shocking all eyes with their ghastly forms, and poisoning both sea and air with the stench of their corruption ? This scrutiny into the economy of nature in this matter, gave him such an exalted sense of nature's Great Author, that in a letter to his father, to whom he made a point of writing every week for the benefit of his corrections, he says, though I was at first greatly angered with Tryon, yet after- wards I felt myself much obliged to him for giving me such a hard nut to crack, for I have picked out of it one of the sweetest kernels I ever tasted. In truth, father, continues he, although I do not make much noise or show about re- ligion, yet I entertain a most adoring sense of the Great First Cause ; insomuch that I had rather cease to exist thao cease to believe him all wise and benevolent. 54 TH^LIFE OF In the midst, however, of these pleasing speculations, an- other disquieting idea was suggested. — Is it not cruel, after giving life to take it away again so soon ? The tender grass has hardly risen above the earth, in all its spring-tide green and sweetness, before its beauty is all cropped by the lamb; and the playful lamb, full dressed in his snow-white fleece, has scarcely tasted the sweets of existence, before he is caught up by the cruel wolf or more cruel man. And so with every bird and fish : this has scarcely learned to sing his song to the listening grove, or that to leap with transport from the limpid wave, before he is called to resign his life to man or some larger animal. This was a horrid thought, which, like a cloud, spread a deep gloom over Ben's mind. But his reflections, like the sunbeams, quickly pierced and dispersed them. Tliese cavillers, said he, in another letter, are entirely wrong. They wish, it seems, long life to the creatures; the Creator wishes them a pleasant one. They would have but a few to exist in a long time ; he a great many in a short time. Now as youth is the season of gaiety and enjoyment, and all after is comparatively insipid, is it not better, before that pleasant state is ended in sorrow, the creature should pass away by a quick and generally easy fate, and appear again in some other shape ? Surely if the grass could reason, it would prefer, while fresh and beautiful, to be cropped by the lamb and converted into his substance, than, by staying a little longei', to disfigure the fields with its faded foliage. And the lamb too, if he could but think and clioose, would ask for a short life and a merry one, rather than, by staying a little longer, degenerate into a ragged old slieep, snoiting with the rattles, and dying of the rot, or murrain. But though Ben, at the tender age of sixteen, and with no other aid than his own strong mind, could so easily quell this host of atheistical doubts, which Tryon had conjured up; yet he hesitated not to become his disciple in another tenet. Tryon asserted of animal food, that though it gave great strength to the body, yet it contributed sadly to grossness of DJood and heaviness of mind; and hence he reasoned, that all who wish for cool heads and clear thoughts should make theii diet principally of vegetables. Ben was struck with this as the perfection of reason, and entered so heartily into it as a rare help for acquiring knowledge, that he instantly resolved, fond as he was of flesh and fish, to give both up from that DR. FRANKLIN. 35 day, and never taste them again as long as he lived This steady refusal of his to eat meat, was looked on as a very inconvenient singularity by his brother, who scolded him for it, and insisted he should give it up. Ben made no words with his brother on this account. — Knowing that avarice was his ruling passion, he threw out a bait to James which in- stantly caught, and without any disturbance produced the accommodation he wished. *' Brother," said he to him one day as he scolded; "you give three shillings and six pence a week for my diet at this boarding-house; give me but half that money and I'll diet myself without any farther trouble or expense to you." James immediately took him at his word and gave him in hand his week's ration, one shilling and nine pence, which after the Boston exchange, six shil- lings to the dollar, makes exactly thirty-seven and a half cents. Those who often give one dollar for a single dinner, and five dollars for a fourth of July dinner, would look very blue at an allowance of thirty-seven and a half cents for a w^hole week. But Ben so husbanded this little sum, that after defraying all the expenses of his table, he found him- self at the end of the week, near twenty cents in pocket- thus expending not quite three cents a day! This was a joyful discovery to Ben — twenty cents a week, said he, and fifty -two weeks in the year; why, that is upwards of ten dollars in the twelve months ! what a noble fund for books ! Nor was this the only benefit he derived from it; for, while his brother and the journeymen were gone to the boarding- house to devour their pork and beef, which, with lounging and picking their teeth, generally took them an hour, he stayed at the printing-office; and after dispatching his frugal meal, of boiled potatoe, or rice; or a slice of bread with an apple; or bunch of raisins and a glass of water, he had the rest of the time for study. The pure fluids and bright spirits secreted from such simple diet, proved exceedingly favour- able to that clearness and vigour of mind, and rapid growth in knowledge which his youthful soul delighted in. I cannot conclude this chapter without making a remark which the reader has perhaps anticipated — that it was by this simple regimen, vegetables and water, that the Jewish fieer, the holy Daniel, while a youth, was of Providence made fit for all the learning of the East; hence arose his bright visions into futurity, and his clear pointings to the far distant days of the Messiah, when the four great brass and iron monarciiies of Media, Persia, Grecia, and Rome, 86 TWE LIFE OF being overthrown, Christ should set up his last golden mo- narchy of Love, which, though faint in the beginning as the first beam of the uncertain dawn, shall yet at length bright- en all the skies, and chase the accursed clouds of sin and suftering from the abodes of man and beast. In like manner, it was on the simple regimen of vegetables and water, the easy purchase of three cents a day, that the same Providence raised up our young countryman to guard the last spark of perfect liberty in the British colonies of North America. Yes, it was on three cents' worth of daily bread and water, that young Ben Franklin commenced his collection of that blaze of light, which early as 1754, showed the infant and unsuspecting colonies their rights and their DANGERS — and which afterwards, in 1764, blasted the trea- sonable stamp act — and finally, in '73 and '74, served as the famed star of the East, to guide Washington and his wise men of the revolution, to the cradle of'liberty, struggling in the gripe of the British Herod, lord North. There rose the cattle of God for an injured people; there spread the star- spangled banner of freedom; and there poured the blood of the brave, fighting for the rights of man under the last re- public. O that God may long preserve this precious vine of his own right hand planting, for his own glory and the hap- piness of unborn millions ! But the reader must not conclude that Ben, through life, tied himself up to a vegetable diet. No. Nature will have ker way. And having designed man partly carnivorous, as his canine teeth, his lengthened bowels, and his flesh-pot appetites all evince, she will bring him back to the healthy mixture of animal food with vegetable, or punish his obsti- nacy with diarrhoea and debility. But she had no great diffi- culty in bringing Ben back to the use of animal food. Ac- cording to his own. account, no nosegay was ever more fragrant to his olfactories than was the smell of fresh fish in the frying pan. And as to his objection to such a savory diet on account of its stupifjing effects on the brain, he easily got the better of that, when he reflected that the witty queen Elizabeth breakfasted on beef-stake ; that sir Isaac New- ton dined on pheasants; that Horace supped on fat bacon; and tliat Pope both breakfasted, dined, and supped on shrimps and oysters. And for the objection taken from the cruelty of killing innocent animals, for their flesh, he got over that by the following curious accident: — On his first voyage to New-York, the vessel halting on the coast for lack of breeze, DR. FRANKLIN. 37 the sailors all fell to fishing for cod, of which thej presently took great-numbers and very fine. Instead of being de- li'^hted at this sight, Ben appeared much hurt, and began to p?each to the crew on their "injustice," as he called it, m thus taking away the lives of those poor little fish, who, " had never injured them, nor ever couhU^ The sailors were utterly dum-founded at such queer logic as this. Taking their silence for conviction, Ben rose in his argument, and beo-an to play the orator quite outrageously on the mam deck. At length an old wag of a boatswain, who had at first been struck somewhat aback by the strangeness of this attack, took courage, and luffing up again, with a fine breeze of humour in his weather-beaten sail, called out to Ben, i'Tfell, but my young Master preacher, may not we deal by these same cod here, as they deal by their neighbours/'' <' To be sure," said Ben. , " Welltlien. sir, see here," replied the boatswain, holding up a stout fish, '«* see here what a whaler I took just now out of the belly of that cod I" Ben looking as if he had his doubts, the boatswain went on, '* O sir, if you come to that, you shall have ;)roo/;" whereupon he laid hold of a large big-bellied cod that was just then flouncing on the deck, and ripping him open, in the presence of Ben and the crew, turned out several young cod from his maw. Here, Ben, well pleased with this discovery, cried out, Oho! villains! is that the game you play with one another un- der the water! Unnatural wretches! What! eat one another 1 Well then, if a cod can eat his own brother, I see no reason in nature why man may not eat him. With that he seized a stout young fish just fresh from his native brine, and frying him in all haste, made a very hearty meal. Ben never after this, made any more scruples about animal food, but ate fish, flesh, or fowl, as they came in his way, without asking any ques- tions for conscience sake. CHAPTER XI. Except the admirable Crichton, I have never heard cf a o-enius that was fitted to shine in every art and science. I'Wen Newton was dull in languages; and Pope used to sa;y of himself, that '*he had as leave hear the squeal ot pigs D 58 ^THE LIFE OF in a gate, as hear the organ of Handel !" Neither was oui 5en the *' omnis homo^^ or *' Jack of all trades. " He never c juld bear the mathematics ! and even arithmetic presented to him no attractions at all. Not that he was not capable of itj for, happening about this time, still in his sixteenth year, to be laughed at for his ignorance in the art of calculation, he went and got himself a copy of old Cocker's Arithmetic, one of the toughest in those days, and went through it by himself with great ease. The truth is, his mind was at this time en- tirely absorbed in the ambition to be a finished writer of the English language; such a one, if possible, as the Spectator, whom he admired above all others. While labouring, as we have seen, to improve liis style, lie laid his hands on all the English Grammars he could hear of. Among the number was a treatise of that sort, an old shabby looking thing, which the owner, marking his curiosity in those matters, made him a present of. Ben hardly re- turned him a thankee, as doubting at first whether it was worth carrying home. But how great was his surprise, when coming towards the close of it, he found, crammed into a small chapter, a treatise on the art of disputation, after the manner of Socrates. The treatise was very short, but it M^as enough for Ben; it gave an outline, and that was all he want- ed. As the little whortle-berry boy, on the sands of Cape May, grabbling for his breakfast in a turtle's nest, if he but reaches with his little hand but one egg, instantly laughs with joy, as well knowing that all the rest will follow, like beads on a string. So it was with the eager mind of Ben, when he first struck on this plan of Socratic disputation. In an in- stant his thoughts ran through all the threads and meshes of the wondrous net; and he could not help laughing in his sleeve, to tliink what a fine puzzling cap he should soon weave for the frightened heads of Collins, Adams, and all others who should pretend to dispute with him. But the use which he principally had in view to make of it, and wliich tickled his fancy most, was how completely he should now confound those ignorant and hypocritical ones in Boston, who were continually boring him about religion. Not tliat Ben ever took pleasure in confounding those who were ho- nestly desirous oi showing their religion by their good works; for such were always his esteem and delight. But he could never away with those who neglected justice, mercy, and truth, and yet aftected great familiarities with the Deity, from certain conceited wonders that Christ had wrought in DR. FRANKLIN. 5^ them. As no youth ever more heartily desired the happiness ot man and beast than Ben did, so none evermore seriously resented that the religion of love and good works tending to this, should be usurped by a harsh, barren puritanism, with her disfigured faces, whine and cant. Tliis appeared to him like Dagon •verturning the Ark of God with a vengeance. Burning with zeal against such detestable phariseeism he rejoiced in his Socratic logic as anew kind of weapon, which he hoped to employ with good effect against it. He studied his Socrates day and night, and particularly his admirable argumentations given by Xenophon, in his book, entitled "Memorable things of Socratesj" and in a little time came to wield his new artillery with great dexterity and success. But in all his rencontres with the false christians, he ad hered strictly to the spirit of Socrates, as being perfectly congenial to his own. Instead of blunt contradictions and positive assertions, he would put modest questions; and after obtaining of them concessions of which they did not foresee the consequences, he would involve them in difficulties and embarrassments, from which they could never extricate them- selves. Had he possessed a vanity capable of being satisfied with the triumph of wit over dulness, he might long have crowed the master cock of this Socratic pit. But finding that his victories seldom produced any practical good^ that they were acquired at a considerable expense of time, ne- glect of business, and injury of his temper, which was never formed for altercation with bigots, he abandoned it by de- grees, retaining only the habit of expressing himself with a modest diffidence. And not only at that time, but ever after- wards through life, it was remarked of him, that in argument he rarely used the words certainly, undoubtedly, or any others that might convey the idea of being obstinately conceited of his own opinion. His ordinary phrases were — I imagine^-' I suppose — or, it appears to me, that such a thing is so and so — or, it is so, if lam not mistaken. By such soothing arts he gradually conciliated the good will of his opponents, and almost always succeeded in bringing them over to his wishes. Hence he used to say, it was great pity that sensible and well-meaning persons should lessen their own usefulness by a positive and presumptuous way of talking, which only serves to provoke opposition from the passionate, and shy- ness from the prudent, who rather than get into a dispute with such self-conceited characters, will hold their peace» 40 'UK LIFE OF and let them go on in their errors. In short, if you wish to answer one of the noblest ends for which tongues were ^iven to rational beings, which is to inform or to be inform' (d, to please and to persuade them, for heaven's sake, treat t'leir opinions, even though erroneous, with great politeness. " Mon must be taught as though you taught them not, And tilings unknown propos'd as things forgot," .c;ajs Mr. Pope^ and again •' To speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence ; For waiit of modesty is want of sense. " CHAPTER XII. So late as 1720, there was but one newspaper in all North America, and even this by some was thought one too many so little reading was tliere among the people in those days. }jut believing that the reading appetite, weak as it was, ran more on newspapers than any thing else, James Franklin took it into his head to start another paper. His friends all vowed it would be the ruin of him; but James pei^evered, and a eecond newspaper, entitled "The New England Cou- KANT," vv^as published. AYhat was the number of sub- scribers, after so long a lapse of time, is now unknown; but it was Ben's humble lot to furnish their papers after having assisted to compose and work them oft'. Among his friends, James had a number of literary cha- racters, who, by way of amusement, used to write for his paper. These getitlemen frequently visited him at his office, merely for a little chat, and to tell how highly the public thought of their pieces Ben attended closely to their con versation, and happening to think they were no great wits, lie determined to cut in and try his hand among them. But how to get his little adventures into the paper was the ques- tion, and a serious one too ; for he knew very well that his brother, looking on him as hardly more than a child, would not dream of printing any thing that he knew had come from his pen. Stratagem of course must be resorted to. He took his time, and having written his piece pretty much to his mind, he copied it in a disguised hand, and when they were fdl gone to bed, slyly shoved it under the door of the office; where it was found next morning. In the course of the day, DR. FRANKLIN. 41 his friends dropping in as usual, James showed them the stranger papery a caucus was held, and with aching heart hen heard his piece read for their criticism. It was highly applauded: and to his greater joy still, among their various conjectures as to the author, not one was mentioned who did not hold a distinguished reputation for talents ! Encouraged by such good success of this his first adventure, he wrote on, and sent to the press, in the same sly way, several other pieces, which were equally approved, keeping the secret till his slen- der stock of information was pretty completely exhausted, when he came out with the real author. His brother, on this discovery, began to entertain a little more respect for him, but still looked on and treated him as a common apprentice. Ben, on the other hand, thought that, as a brother, he- had a right to greater indulgence, and sometimes complained of James as rather too rigorous. This difference in opinion rose to disputes, which were often brought before their father, who either from partiality to Ben, or his better cause, generally gave it in his favour. James could not bear these awards of his father in favour of a younger brother, but would fly into a passion and treat him with, abuse even to blows. Ben took this tyrannical behaviour of his brother in extremely ill part^ and he some- where says that it imprinted on his mind that deep rooted aversion to arbitrary power, which he never lost, and which rendered him through life such a firm and unconquerable ene- my of oppression. His apprenticeship became insupportable^ and he sighed continually for an opportunity of shortening it, which at length unexpectedly offered. An article in his paper, on some political subject, giving great offence to the assembly, James was taken up; and be- cause he would not discover the author, was ordered into confinement for a month. Ben also was had up and examined before the council, who, after reprimanding, dismissed him, probably because deeming him bound, as an apprentice, to keep his master's secrets. Notwithstanding their private quarrels, this imprisonment of his brother excited Ben's indignation against the assem- 6ly; and having now, during James' confinement, the sole direction of the paper, he boldly came out every week with some severe pasqumade against «* 77ie little tyrants of Bos- ton. " But though this served to gratify his own angry feel- ings, and to tickle James, as also to ^am himself the charac- ter of a wonderful young man tor satire; yet it answered no D 2 42 T#E LIFE OF goo(j end, but far contrariwise, proved a fatal blow to their newspaper ; for at the expiration of the month, James's en- largement was accompanied with an order from the assem- bly, that '* James Franklin should no longer print the NEWSPAPER ENTITLED THE NeW EnGLAND CoURANT." This was a terrible thunder-clap on poor James and his whole scribbling squad; and Ben could find no lightning rod to parry the bolt. A caucus, however, of all the friends was convoked at the printing-office, to devise ways and means of redress. One proposed this measure and another that; but the measure proposed by James himself was at length adopted. This was to carry on the newspaper under Ben's name. But, said some, will not the assembly haul you over the coals for thus attempting to whip the d / round the stump ? No, replied James. Aye, how will you prevent it? Why, I'll give up Ben's indentures. So then you'll let Ben run free.^ No, nor that neither ; for he shall sign a new contract. This was to be sure a very shallow arrangement. It was however carried into immediate execution, and the paper continued in consequence to make its appearance for some months in Ben's name. At length a new difference arising between the brothers, and Ben knowing that James vv^ould not dare to talk of his new contract, boldly asserted his freedom ! His numerous admirers will here blush for poor Ben, and hide tlieir reddening cheeks. But let them redden as they may, they will hardly ever equal that honest crimson whicli glows in the following lines from his own pen: " It was, no doubt, very dishonourable to avail myself of this advantage, and I reckon this as the Jirst error of my life. But I was little capable of seeing it in its true light, embittered as my mind had been by the blows I had received Exclusively of his passionate treatment of me, my brother was by no means an ill tempered man. And even here, per- haps, my manners had too much of impertinence not to af- ford it a very natural pretext." Go thy way, honest Ben. Such a confession of error wil plead thy excuse with all who know their own infirmities, and remember what the greatest saints have done. Yes, when we remember what youn^ Jacob did to his brothei Esau, and Uow he came over him with his mess of pottage, robbing him DR. FRAiNKLIN. 43 of liis birthright; and also what David did to Uriah, whom he robbed not only of his wife, but of his life also, we surely shall pity not only Ben, but every man his brother for their follies, and heartily rejoice that there is mercy with Christ to forgive a//, on their repentance and amendment. CHAPTER XIII. Finding that to live wdth James in the pleasant relations of a brother and a freeman was a lost hope, Ben made up his mind to quit him and go on journey-worK with some of the Boston printers. But James suspecting Ben's intentions, went around town to the printers, and made such a re- port of him, that not a man of them all would have any thing to say to him. The door of employment thus shut against him, and all New England furnishing no other printing office, Ben determined, in quest of one, to push off to New-York. He was fartlier confirmed in this resolution by a consciousness that his newspaper squibs in behalf of his brother, had made the governing party his mortal enemies. And he was also afraid that his bold and indiscreet argu- mentation against the gloomy puritans, had led those crab- bed people to look on him as no better than a young atheist, whom it would be doing God service to worry as they would a wild cat. He felt indeed that it was high time to be off. To keep his intended flight from the knowledge of his fa- ther, his friend Collins engaged his passage with the captain of a New- York sloop, to whom he represented Ben as an amorous young blade, who wished to get away privately in consequence of an intrigue wdth a worthless hussy, whom her relations wanted to force upon him. Ben had no mo- ney. But he had money's worth. Having, for four years past, been carefully turning into books every penny he could spare, he had by this time made up a pretty little library. It went prodigiously against him to break in upon his books. But there was no help for it. So turning a parcel of them /)ack again into money, he slipped privately on board of a sloop, which on the third day landed him safely in New- York, three hundred miles from home, only seventeen yeara old, without a single friend in the place, and but little money in his pocket 44 1^ LIFE OF He immediatelj offered his services to a Mr. Bradford, the only printer in New- York. The old gentleman express- ed his regret that he could give him no employment; but in a very encouraging manner advised him to go on to Phila- delphia, where he had a son, a printer, \vho would probably do something for him. Philadelphia was a good hun- dred miles farther olf ; but Ben, nothing disheartened by that, instantly ran down to the wharf, and took his passage in an open boat for Amboy, leaving his trunk to follow him by sea. In crossing the bay, they were overtaken by a dread- ful squall, during which a drunken Dutchman, a passenger, fell headlong into the raging waves. Being hissing hot and swollen with rum, he popped up like a dead catfish; but just as he was going down the second time, never to rise again, by a miracle of mercy, Ben caught him by the fore-top, and lugged him in^ where he lay tumbled over on the bottom of the boat, fast asleep, and senseless as a corpse of the fright- ful storm which threatened every moment to bury them all in a watery grave. The violence of the wind presently drove them on the rocky coasts of Long Island; where, to prevent being dashed to pieces among the furious breakers, they cast anchor, and there during the rest of the day, and all night long, lay riding out the gale. Their little boat pitching bows under at every surge, while the water constantly fly- ing over them in drenching showers, kept them as wet as drowned rats; and not only unable to get a wink of sleep, but also obliged to stir their stumps, baling the boat to keep her from sinking. The wind falling the next day, they reached A^nboy about dark, after having passed thirty hours without a n.orsel of victuals, and with no other drink than a bottle of bad rum; the water upon which they had rowed, being as salt as brine. Ben went to bed with a high fever. Having somewhere read that cold water, plentifully drank, was good in such cases; he followed the prescription, which threw him into a profuse sweat, and the fever left him. The next day, feeble and alone, he set out, with fifty wearisome miles to walk before he could reach Burlington, whence he was told that a passage boat would take him to Philadelphia. To increase his depression, soon as he left the tavern, it set in to rain hard. But though wet to the skin, he pressed on by himself through the gloomy woods till noon, when feeling much fatigued, and the rain still pouring down, he stopped at a paltry tavern, wnere ne passed the rest of the day and night. In this Page 44. DR. FRANKLIN. 45 ffloomj situation he began seriously to repent that he had ever left home; and the more, as from the wretched figure he made^ every body was casting a suspicious eye upon him as a run away servant. Indeed, from the many insulting questions put to him, he felt himself every moment in danger of being taken up as such, and then what would his father think on hearing that he was in jail as a runaway servant, four hun- dred miles from home! And what a triumph to his brother. A-fter a very uneasy night, however, he rose and continued his journey till the evening, when he stopped about ten miles from Burlington, at a little tavern, kept by one Dr. Brown. While he was taking some refreshment. Brown came in*, and being of a facetious turn, put a number of droll ques- tions to him; to which Ben retorted in a style so superioi to his youthful looks and shabby dress, that the Doctor be- came quite enamoured of him. He kept him up conversing until midnight; and next morning would not touch a penny of his money. This was a very seasonable liberality to poor Ben, for he had now very little more than a dollar in his pocket. On reaching Burlington, and buying some gingerbread for his passage, he hastened to the wharf. But alas ! the boat had just sailed! This was on Saturday; and there would be no other boat until Tuesday. Having been much struck with the looks of the old woman, of whom he had just bought his cargo of gingerbread, he went back and asked her advice. Her behaviour proved that he had some skill in physiogno- my. For the moment he told her of his sad disappointments and his doubts how he should act, she gave him the tender look of a mother, and told him he must stay with her till the next boat sailed. Pshaw! Don't mind these little disappoint- ments, child, said she, seeing him uneasy; they are not worth your being troubled about. When I was young, I used to be troubled about them too. But now I see that it is all but vanity. So stay with me till the boat ^oes again; and rest yourself, for I am sure you must be mighty tired after such a terrible walk. The good old lady was very right; for what with his late loss of sleep, as also his fever and long walk in the rains, he was tired indeed; so he glad- ly consented to stay with her and rest himself. Having shown him a small room with a bed in it, for him to take a nap^ for she saw clear enough, she said, that he was a dying for sleep, she turned with a mother's alacrity to get him something to eat. By and by she came again, and fioni a 46 TJ^ LIFE OF short but refreshing doze, waked him up to a dinner of hot beef-steaks, of which she pressed him to eat heartily^ telling him that gingerbread was fit only for children. While he was eating, she chatted with him in the affectionate spirit of an aged relative; she asked him a world of questions, such as how old he was — and what was his name — and whether his mother was alive — and how far he lived from Burling- ton? Ben told her every thing she asked him. He told her his name and age. He also told her that his mother was alive, and that he had left her only seven days ago in Boston, where she lived. The old lady could hardly believe him that he ever came from Boston. She lifted up her hands, and stared at him as though he had told her he had just dropped from the North Star. From Boston I said she with a scream, now only to think of that! O dear, only to think of that! And then, how she pitied his mother. Poor dear soldi She, all the way yonder in Boston, and such a sweet looking, innocent child, wandering here at such a distance by himself: how could she stand it? Ben told her that it was a great affliction to be sure; but could not be helped. That his mother was a poor woman, with sixteen children, and that he the youngest boy of all, was obliged to leave her to seek his livelihood, which he hoped he should find in Philadelphia, at his trade, which was that of a printer. On hearing that he was a printer, she was quite delighted and pressed him to come and set up in Burlington, for that she would be bound for it he would do mighty well there. Ben told her that it was a costly thing to set up printing; that it would take two hundred pounds, and he had not two hundred pence. Well then, said she, now that you have got no money, it will give me more pleasure to have you stay with me till you can get a good opportunity to go to Philadelphia. I feel for your poor mother, and I know it would give her such a pleasure if she knew you were here with me. Soon as Ben had enjoyed his beef-steaks, which he did in high style, having the double sauce of his own good appe- tite and her motherly welcome, he drew out his last dollar to pay the good old lady. But she told him to put it up, put it up, for she would not take a penny of it. Ben told her that he was young and able to work, and hoped to do well when he got into business, and therefore could not bear that she who was getting old and weak should entertain him for nothing. DR. FRANKLIN. 47 Well, said she, never mind that, child, never mind that. I shall never 7niss what little Hay out in entertaining you while you stay with m,e. So put up your money. However, while she was busied in putting away the dishes, he sli}Dped out and got a pint of ale for her: and it was all that he could prevail on her to accept. From the pleasure with which Ben ever afterwards spoke of this good old woman, and her kindness to him, a poor strange boj, I am persuaded as indeed I have always been, that there is nothing on which men reflect with so much com- placency as on doing or receivin-g offices of love from one another. Ben has not left us the name of this good old woman, nor the sect of christians to which she belonged. But it is proba- ble she was a Quaker. Most of the people about Burlington in those days were Quakers. And besides such kindness as her's seems to be more after the spirit of that wise people, who instead of wrangling about /m'M, which even devils pos- sess, give their chief care to that which is the endoi all faith, and which the poor devils know nothing about, viz ''-love and good works.^^ CHAPTER XIV. Ben now sat himself down to stay with this good old wo^ man till the following Tuesday; but still Philadelphia was constantly before him, and happening, in the impatience of his mind, to take a stroll along the river side, he saw a boat approaching with a number of passengers in it. Where are you bound ? said he. To Philadelphia, was the reply. His heart leaped for joy. Can't you take a passenger aboard? I'll help you to row. yes, answered they, and bore up to receive him. With all his heart he would have run back to his good old hostess to bid her farewell, and to thank her for her kindness to him, but the boat could not wait; and carrying, tortoise-like, his all upon his back, m he stepped and went on with them to Philadelphia, where, after a whole night of hard rowing, they arrived about eight o'clock- next morning, which happened to be Sunday. Soon as the boat struck the place of landing, which was E 48 JHE LIFE OF Market-street wharf, Ben put his hand into his pocket, and asked, what was the damage. The boatmen shook their heads, and said, oh no; he had nothing to pay, Thty could never take pay from a young fellow of his spirit^ who had so cheerfully assisted them to row all the way. As his own stock now consisted of but one Dutch dollar, and about a shilling's* worth in coppers, he would have been well content to ac- cept his passage on their own friendly terms; but seeing one of their crew who appeared to be old, and rather poorly dressed, he hauled out his coppers and gave them all to him. Having sliaken hands with these honest-hearted fellows, he leaped ashore and walked up Market-street in search of something to appease his appetite, which was now abun- dantly keen from twenty miles' rowing and a cold night's air. He had gone but a short distance before he met a child bearing in his arms that most welcome of all sights to a hungry man, a fine loaf of bread. Ben eagerly asked him where he had got it. The child, turning around, lifted his little arm and pointing up the street, with great simplicity and sweetness said, don^t you see that little housC'—'that little white house, way up yonder ? Ben said, yes. Well then, continued the child, thaf^s the baker^s house; there^s where my mammy sends me every morning to get bread for all we children, Ben blessed his sweet lips of innocence, and hastening to the house, boldly called for threepence worth of bread. The baker threw him down three large rolls. What, all this for three pence! asked Ben with surprise. Yes, all that for three pence, replied the baker with a fine yankee snap of the eye, all that for only three pence ! Then measuring Ben from head to foot, he said with a sly quiz- zing; sort of air, and pray now my little man where may you nave come from ? Here Ben felt his old panic, on the runaway servant score, returning strong upon him again. However, putting on a bold face, he promptly answered that he was from Boston. Plague on it replied the man of dough, and why did'nt you tell me that at first; I might so easily have cabbaged you out of one whole penny; for you know you could not have got all that bread in Yankee-town for less than a good four- pence ? Very cheap, said Ben, three large rolls for three- pence; quite dog cheap ! So taking them up, began to stow them away in his pockets ; but soon found it impossible for Page 49. ^^m m 5 w r^' ^^'^^'-'H'' " .ai^_j_jiia)^ R |||ia|M| ^^ fe"" ^S ^^^hH^^S ^^H r few ^^%;-v |tii ''^'Ulli tiip[^ MillinBEriiMwH ^^^ rWjI^^S H ft' '^ "'^ L' 1^^ .^M -J-B^S^g^^^ s ^^^^^^,«.,.^a^rf J ^ i'l Ml " ' i" " "1' r l^^^g^^^M ^^ l^^^^^^^^^^^BI P>. 49. DR. FRANKLIN. 49 lack of room — so placing a roll under each arm, and break- ing the thirdj^he began to eat as he walked along up Mai- ket-street. On the way he passed the house of that beauti- ful girl, Miss Deborah Read, who happening to be at the door, was so diverted at the droll figure he made, that she could not help laughing outright. And indeed no wonder. A stout fleshy boy, in his dirty working dress, and pockets all puckered out, with foul linen and stockings, and a loaf of bread under each arm, eating and gazing around him as he walked — no wonder she could not help laughing aloud at him as one of the greatest gawkies she had ever seen. Very little idea had she at that time that she was presently to be up to her eyes in love with this young gawky; and after many a deep sigh and heart-ache, was to marry him and to be made a great woman by him. And yet all this actually came to pass, as we shall presently see, and we hope greatly to the comfort of all virtuous young men, who though tRey may sometimes be laughed at for tlieir oddities; yet if, like Franklin, they will but stick to the main chance, i. e. Business and Education, they will assuredly, like him, overcome at the last, and render themselves the ad- miration of those who once despised them. But our youthful hero is in too interesting a part of the play for us to lose a moment's sight of him; so after this short moral we turn our eyes on him again, as there, loaded with his bundles and his bread, and eating and gazing and turning the corners of the streets, he goes on without indeed knowing where he is going. At length, however, just as he had finished his first roll, his reverie was broken up by finding himself on Market-street wharf, and close to the very boat m which he had come from Burlington. The sight of the silver stream, as it whirled in dimpling eddies around the wharf, awakened his thirst; so stepping into the boat he took a hearty draught, which, to his unvitiated palate, tasted sweeter than ever did mint-sling to any young drunkard. Close by him in the boat sat a poor woman with a little ragged girl leaning on her lap. He asked her if she had breakfasted. With a sallow smile of hunger hoping relief, she replied no, for that she had nothing to eat. Upon this he gave her both his other loaves. At sight of this welcome supply of food, the poor woman and her child gave him a look which he never afterwards forgot. Having given, as we have seen, a tythe of his nioney in gratitude to the pooi boatman, and two thirds of his bread E 2 50 thIPlife of in charity to this poor woman and her child, Ben skipped again upon the wharf, and with a heart light*^and gay with conscious duty, a second time took up Market-street, which was now getting to be full of well-dressed people all going the same way He cut in, and following the line of march, was thus insensibly led to a large Quaker meeting- house. Sans ceremonie, he pushed in and sat down with the rest, and looking around him soon felt the motions^ if not of a devout, yet of a pleasantly thoughtful spirit. It came to his recollection to hare heard that people must go abroad to see strange things. And here it seemed to be verified. TVIiat^ no pulpit ! Whoever saw a meeting-house before without a pulpit ? He could not for his life conceive where the preacher was to stand. But his attention was quickly turned from the meeting-house to the congregation, whose appearance, particularly that of the young females, delighted him exceedingly. Such simplicity of dress with such an air of purity and neatness! He had never seen any thing like it before, and yet all admirably suited to the gentle harmony of their looks. And then their eyes I for meekness and sweetness of expression, they looked like dove's eyes. With a deep sigh he wished that his brother James and many others in Boston were but gentle and good as these people appeared to be. Young as he was, he thought the world v/ould be a great deal the happier for it. As leaning back he indulged these soothing sentiments, with- out any sound of singing or preaching to disturb him, and tired nature's soft languors stealing over him too, he sunk in- sensibly into sleep. We are not informed that he was visjted duringhis slumber, by any of those benevolent spirits whoouce descended in the dreams of the youthful patriarch, as he slept in the pleasant plains of Bethel. But he tells us himself, that he was visited by one of that benevolent sect in whose place of worship he had been overtaken by sleep. Waked by some hand on his shoulder that gently shook him, he opened his eyes, and lol a female countenance about middle age and of enchanting sv/eetness, was smiling on him. Roused to a recollection of the impropriety he had been guilty of, he was too much confused to speak ; but his reddened cheeks told her what he felt. But he had nothing to fear. Gently shaking her head, though without a frown, and with a voice of music, she said to him ''^ My son, thee ought not to sleep m meeting.'^^ Then giving him the look of a mother as she went out, she bade him farewell. He followed her as well DR. FRANKLIN 51 as he could, and left the meeting-house much mortified at having been caught asleep in it; but deriving at the same time great pleasure from this circumstance, because it had furnished opportunity to the good Quaker ladj to give him that motherly look. He felt it sweetly melting along his soul as he walked. O how different^ thought he, that look from the looks which my brother and the council men of Boston gave me, though I was younger then and more an ob- ject of sympathy ! As he walked along the street, looking attentively in the face of every one he met, he saw a young Quaker with a fine countenance, whom he begged to tell him where a stranger might find a lodging. With a look and voice of gi'eat sweetness, the young Quaker said, they receive travel- lers here, but it is not a house that bears a good character; if thee will go with me, I will show thee a better one. This was the Crooked Billet, in Water-street. Directly after dinner, his drowsiness returning, he went to bed and slept, without waking till next morning. Having put himself in as decent a trim as he could, he waited on Mr. Bradford, the printer, who received him with great civility, and invited him to breakfast, but told him he was sorry he had no occasion for a journeyman. There is, however, continued he in a cheering manner, there is an- other printer here, of the name of Keimer, to whom if you wish it, I will introduce you. Perliaps he may want your services. Ben gratefully accepting the offer, away they went to Mr. Keimer's. But alas, poor man ! both he and his office put together, made no more than a miserable burlesque on printing. Only one press, and that old and damaged ! only one font of types, and that nearly worn out! and only one set of letter cases, and that occupied by himself ! and con- sequently no room for a journeyman. Here was a sad prospect for poor Ben — four hundred miles from home — not a dollar in his pocket — and no ap- pearance of any employment to get one. — But having, from his childhood, been accustomed to grapple with diffaculties and to overcome them, Ben saw nothing here but another tria.1 of his courage, and another opportunity for victory and triumph. As to Keimer, suspecting from his youthful appearance, that Ben could hardly understand any thin^ of the printing art, he slyly put a composing stick into his hand. Bea 52 lifE LIFE OF saw his drift, and stepping to the letter cases, filled the slick with such celerity and taste as struck Keimer with surprise, not without shame, that one so inferior in years should be so far his superior in professional skill. To complete this favourable impression, Ben modestly proposed to repair his old press. — This offer being accepted, Ben instantly fell to work, and presently accomplished his undertaking in such a workman-like style, thai Keimer could no longer restrain his feelings, but relaxing his rigid features into a smile of admiration, paid him several flattering compliments, and concluded with promising him, that though, for the present, he had no work on hand, yet he expected an abundance shortly, and then would be sure to send for him. In a few days Keimer was as good as his word; for having procured another set of letter cases, with a small pamphlet to print, he sent in all haste for Ben, and set him to work. CHAPTER XV. As Keimer is to make a considerable figure in the early part of Ben's life, it may gratify the reader to be made ac- quainted with him. From the account given of him by Ben, who had the best opportunity to know, it appears that he possessed but little either of the amiable or estimable in his composition. A man he was of but slender talents — quite ignorant of the world — a wretched workman — and worse than all yet, utterly destitute of religion, and therefore very uneven and unhappy in his temper, and abundantly capable of playing the knave whenever he thought it for his interest. Among other evidences of his folly, he miserably envied hi: brother printer, Bradford, as if the Almighty was not rich enough to maintain them both. He could not endure, that while working with him, Ben should stay at Bradford's; so he took him away, and having no house of his own, he put him to board with Mr. Read, father of the young lady who of late had laughed so heartily at him for eating his rolls along the street. But Miss Deborah did not long continue in this mind. For on seeing the favourable change in his dress, and marking also the wittiness of his conversation, and above all, his close application to business, and the great respect paid him on that account by her father, she DR. FRANKLIN. 53 felt a wonderful change in his favour, and in place of lier former sneers, conceived those tender sentiments for him, which, as we shall see hereafter, accompanied her through life. Ben now began to contract acquaintance with all such young persons in Philadelphia as were fond of reading, and spent his evenings with them very agreeably: at the same time he picked up money by his industry, and being quite frugal, lived so happy, that except for his parents, he seldom ever thought of Boston nor felt any wish to see it. An af- fair, however, turned up, which sent him home much sooner than he expected. His brother-in-law, a captain Holmes, of a trading sloop from Boston to Delaware, happening at Newcastle to hear that Ben was in Philadelphia, wrote to him that his father was all but distracted on account of his sudden elopement from home, and assured him that if he would but return, which he earnestly pressed him to do, every thing should be settled to his satisfaction. Ben immedkitely unswered his letter, thanked him for his advice, and stated his reasons for quitting Boston, with a force and clearness that so highly delighted captain Holmes, that he showed it to all his acquaintance at Newcastle, and among the rest to sir William Keith, governor of the province, with whom he happened to dine. The governor read it, and appeared sur- prised when he learnt his age. "• Tfliy^ this must be a young man of extraordinary talents, captain Ilulmes,^^ said the governor, ^^very extraordinary talents indeed, and ought to be encouraged ; tve have no printer in Philadelphia now iforfh a Jig, and if this young tnan icill but set up, there is no doubt of his success. For my part, I will give him all the public business, and render him every other service in my j^wer."^^ One day as Keimer and Ben were at work near the win- dow, they saw the governor and colonel French cross the street, and make directly for the printing-office. Keimer not doubting it was a visit to himself, hurried down stairs to meet them. The Governor taking no notice of Keimer, but eagerly inquiring for young Mr. Franklin, came up stairs, and with a condescension to which Ben had not been accustomed, in troduced himself to him — desired to become acquainted with him — and after obligingly reproaching him for not having made himself known when he first came to town, invited him to the tavern where he and colonel French were going to break a bottle of old Madeira. 54 ift: LIFE Of' If Ben was surprised, old Keimer was thunderstruck. Ben went, however, with the governor and the colonel to the ta- vern, where, while the Madeira was circulating in cheerful bumpers, the governor proposed to him to set up a printing- office, stating at the same time the great chances of success, and promising that both himself and colonel French would use their influence in procuring for him the public printing of both governments. As Ben appeared to doubt whether his father would assist him in this enterprize, sir William said that he would give the old gentleman a letter, in which he would represent the advantages of the scheme in a light that would, he'd be bound, determine him in his favour. It was thus concluded that Ben should return to Boston by nhe first vessel, with the governor's letter to good old Josias: in the mean time Ben was to continue with Keimer, from whom this project was to be kept a secret. The governor sent every now and then to invite Ben to dine with him, which he considered as a very great honour, especially as his excellency always received and conversed with him in the most familiar manner. In April, 1724, Ben embarked for Boston, where, after a fortnight passage, he arrived in safety. Having been ab- sent seven months from his relatives, who had never heard a syllable of him all that time, his sudden appearance threw the family into a scream of joy, and excepting his sour-faced brother James, the whole squad gave him a most hearty wel- come. After much embracing and kissing, and some tears shed on both sides, as is usual at such meetings, Ben kindly inquired after his brother James, and went to see him at his printing-office, not without hopes of making a favourable impression on him by his dress, which was handsome far beyond what he had ever worn in his brother's service; a complete suit of broad cloth, branding new — an elegant sil- ver watch and chain — and his purse crammed with nearly five pound sterling — all in silver dollars. But it would not all do to win over James. Nor indeed is it to be wondered at; for in losing Ben he had lost a most cheerful, obliging lad, whose rare genius and industry in writing, printing, and selling his pamphlets and papers, had brought a noble grist to his mill. Ben's parade therefore of his fine clothes, and watch, and silver dollars, only made things worse with James, serving hut to make him the more sensible of his loss; so after eye- •ng him from head to foot with a dark side -long look, he DR, FRANKLIN. 55 turned again to his work without saying a syllable to him. The behaviour of his own journeymen contributed still the more to anger poor James: for instead of taking part with him in his prejudices against Ben, they all appeared quite de- lighted with him; and breaking off from their work and gathering around him, with looks full of curiosity, they ask- ed him a world of questions. Philadelphia! said they, O dear! have you been all the way there to Philadelphia! Ben said, yes. Why Philadelphia must be a tarnal nation way off! Four hundreli miles, said Ben. At this they stared on him in silent wonder, for having been four hundred miles from Boston ! And so they have got a printing-office in Philadelphia! Two or three of them, said Ben. la! why that will starve us all here in Boston. Not at all, said Ben: their advertising <' lost pocket books^^ — " runaway servants^^ and '* stray cows^^ in Philadelphia, can no more starve you here in Boston, than the catfish of Delaware, by picking up a few soft-crabs there, can starve our catfish here in Boston harbour. The world's big enough for us all. Well, I wonder now if they have any such thing as mo- ney in Philadelphia? Ben thrust his hand into his pocket and brought up a whole fist full of dollars ! The dazzlirig silver struck them all speechless — ^gaping and gazing at him and each other. Poor fellows, they had never, at once, seen so much of that precious metal in Bos- ton; the money there being nothing but a poor paper proc. To keep up their stare, Ben drew his silver watch, which soon had to take the rounds among them, every one insist- ing to have a look at it. Then, to crown all, he gave them a shilling to drink his health; and after telling them what great things lay before them if they would but continue in- dustrious and prudent, and make themselves masters of their trade, he went back to the house. This visit to the office stung poor James to the quick; for when his mother spoke to him of a reconciliation with Ben, and said how happy she should be to see them like brothers again before she died, he flew into a passion and told her such a thing would never be, for that Ben had so insulted him before his men that he would never forgive nor forget 56 TJJE LIFE OF it as long as he lived. But Ben had the satisfaction to live to see that James was no prophet. For when James, many years after this, fell behind hand and got quite low in the world, Ben lent him money, and was a steady friend to him ana his family all the days of his life. .wHC^a Ow - CHAPTER XVI. But we have said nothing yet about the main object of Ben's sudden return to Boston, i. e. governor Keith's letter to his father, on the grand project oi setting him up as a printer in Philadelphia. The reader has been told that all the family, his brother James excepted, were greatly re- joiced to see Ben again. But among them all there was none whose heart felt half such joy as did that of his father. He had always doted on this young son, as one whose rare genius and unconquerable industry, if but conducted by prudence, would assuredly, one day, lead him to greatness. His sudden elope- ment, as we have seen, had greatly distressed the old man, especially as he was under the impression that he was gone to sea. And when he remembered how few that go out at his young and inexperienced a^e, ever return better than blackguards and vagabonds, hislieart sickened within him, and he was almost ready to wish he had never lived to feel the pangs of such bitter disappointment in a child so be- loved. He counted the days of Ben's absence; by nignt his sleep departed from his eyes for thinking of his son; and all day long whenever he heard a rapping at the door, his heart : '' wh( would leap with expectation: " who knows," he would say to himself, " but this may be my child?" And although he would feel disappointed when he saw it was not Ben who rapped, vet he was afraid, at times, to see him lest he should see him covered with the marks of dishonour. Who can tell what this anxious father felt when he saw his son return as he did. ^ Not in the mean apparel and sneaking looks of a drunkard, but in a dress far more genteel than he himself had ever been able to put on him; while his beloved cheeks were fresh with temperance, and his eyes bright with inno- cence and conscious well doing. Imagination dwells with pleasure on thf» tender scene that marked that meeting, where the withered cheeks of seventy and the florid blo(,m DR. FRANKLIN. 57 of seventeen met together in the eager embrace of parental affection and filial gratitude. '* God bless my sonP^ the sobbing sire he sigh'd. «« God bless my sireP^ that pious son replied. Soon as the happy father could recover his articulation, with great tenderness he said, **but how, my beloved boy, could you give me the pain to leave me as you did ?" " Why you know, my dear father," replied Ben, "that I could not live with my brother; nor would he let me live witli the other printers; and as I could not bear the thought of livin» on an aged father now that I was able to work for myselr, I determined to leave Boston and seek my fortune abroad. And knowing that if I but hinted my intentions you would prevent me, I thought I would leave you as I did." " But why, my son, did you keep me so long unhappy about your fate, and not write to me sooner ?" <* I knew, father, what a deep interest you took in my wel- fare, and therefore I resolved never to write to you until by my own industry and economy I had got myself into such a state, that I could write to you with pleasure. This state I did not attain till lately. And just as I was a going to write Co you, a strange affair took place that decided me to come and see you, rather than write to you." " Strange affair! what can that mean, my son ?" " Why, sir, the governor of Pennsylvania, sir William Keith — I dare say, father, you have often heard of governor Keith?" '• I may have heard of him, child — I'm not positive — but what of governor Keith r" ** Why he has taken a wonderful liking to me, father!" "Aye! has he so?" said the old man, with joy sparkling in his eyes. "Well I pray God you may be grateful for such favours, my son, and mak-e a good use of them!"^ " Yes, father, he has taken a great liking to me sure enough; he says I am the only one in Philadelphia who knows any thing about printing; and he says too, that if I will only come and set up in Philadelphia, he will make my fortune for me in a trice!!" Old Josias here shook his head; "No, no, Ben!" said he, " that will never do: that will never do: you are too young yet, child, for all that, a great deal too young." " So I told him, father, that I was too young. And I told him too that I was certain you would never give your cou sent to it" F 58 THE LIFE OF *' You were right tl\ere, Ben : no indeed, I could nevci give my consent to it, that's certain/' *•■ So I told the governor, fatlier,: but still he would have it there was a fine opening in Philadelphia, and that I would fill it so exactly, that nothing could be wanting to insure your approbation but a clear understanding of it. And to that end he has written you a letter." *' A letter, child! a letter from governor Keith to me!-' ** Yes, father, here it is.'' AS'ith great eagerness the old gentleman took it from Ben; and drawing his spectacles, read it over and over again with much eagerness. ^Yhen he was done he lifted his eyes to heaven, while in the motion of his lips and change of coun- tenance, Ben could clearly see that the soul of his lather was breathiuiT an ejaculation of praise to God on his account. Soon as his Te Dcum was finished, he turned to Ben with a countenance bright with holy joy, and said, *• Ben, I've cause to be happy; my son, I've cause to be happy indeed. how dirterently have things turned out with you! God's blessed name be praised for it, how difierently have they turned out to what I dreaded ! I was afraid you were gone a poor vagabond, on the seas ; but instead of that you had fixed yourself in one of the finest cities in the country. I was afraid to see you ; yes, my dear child, I was afraid to see you, lest I should see you clad in the mean garb of a poor sailor boy: but liere I behold vou clad in the dress of a gentleman! 1 trembled lest you had been degrading yourself inro the low company of the profiine and worthless: and lo! you have been all the time exalting yourself into the high so- ciety of great men and irovernors. And all this in so short a tiuie. and in a way most Honourable toyou?-self, and therefore most deliiiuful to me, I mean by your virtues and vour close attention to the duties of a nwst useful profession. Go on, my son, go on! and may God Almighty, who has given you wis"- dom to begin so glorious a course.grant you fortitude to per- severe in it!'' Ben tlianked his fiither for the continuance of his love and solicitude for him: and he told him moreover, that one princi- pal tiling that had stirred him up to act as he had done, was the joy which he knew he should be giving him thereby; as also the great trouble which he knew a contrary conduct would have brought upon him. Here his father tenilerlv embraced him, and said, "Blessed be God for giving me such a son! I have always, Ben, fed myself with hope> of DR. FRANKLIN. 59 freat things from you. And now I have the joj to say my opes were not in vain. Yes. glory to Got!. 1 trust my precious hopes of you were not in vain." Then^ after making a short f)ause, as from fullness of joy, he went on, "but as to this ettcr, my son; this same letter here from governor Keith; though nothing was ever more flattering to you, yet depend upon it, Ben, it will never do; at least not yet awhile. — The duties of the place are too numerous, child, and difficult for any but one who has had many more years of experience than you have had." " Well then, father, what's to be done, for I know that the governor is so very anxious to get me into this place, that' ne will hardly be said nay?" ** Why, my dear boy, we must still decline it, for all thatr: not only because from your very unripe age and inexperience,, it may involve you in ruin; but also because it actually is not in your power. It is true the governor, from. his letter,, appears to have the greatest friendship in the world for you^. but yet, it is not to be expected that he would advance funds to set you up. O no, my dear boy, that's entirely out of the question. The governor, though perhaps rich, has no. doubt too many poor friends and relations hanging on hira^ for you to expect any thing from that quarter. And as to myself, Ben, with all my love for you, it is not in my power to assist you in such an affair. My family you know, is very, large, and the profits of my trade but small, insomuch that at the end of the year there is nothing left. And indeed I never can be sufficiently thankful to God for that health and blessing which enables me to feed and clothe them every year so plentifully." Seeing Ben look rather serious, the old gentleman, in a livelier tone, resumed his speech, '* Yes, Ben, all this is very true; but yet let us not be disheartened. Although we have no funds now, yet a noble supply is at hand." " Where, father," said Ben, roused up, " where?" "Why, in your own virtues, Ben, in your own virtues^, my boy — There are the noblest funds that God can bestow on a young man. All other funds may easily be drained by our vices and leave us poor indeed. But the virtues are fountains tliat never fail: they are indeed the true riches and honours, only by other names. Only persevere, my son, in the virtues, as you have already so bravely begun, and the grand object is gained. By the time you reach twenty-one, for every friend that you now have, you wil 60 T^ LIFE OF have ten ; and for every dollar an hundred ; and witli these you will make thousands more. Thus, under God, you wiii have the ^lory to be the artificer of your own fame and for- tune: antl that will bring ten thousand times more honour and happiness, to you, Ben, than all the money that gover- nors and fathers could ever give you. " Ben's countenance brightened as his father uttered this; then heaving a deep sigh, as of strong hope that such great things might one day be realized, he said, '* Well father, God only knows what 1 am to come to; but this I know, that 1 feel in myself a determination to do my best." "I believe you do, my son, and I thank God most heartily that I have such good reason to believe you do. And when I consider, on the one hand, what a fine field for fame and fortune this new country presents to young men of talents and enterprise: and on the other hand, what wonders you, a poor unknown and unfriended boy have done in Philadel- phia, in only six months, I feel transported at the thought of what you may yet attain before my gray hairs descend to the grave. Who knows, Ben, for God is good, my son, who knows but that a fate like that of young Joseph, whom his brethren drove into Egypt, may be in reserve for you? And who knows but that old Jacob's joys may be mine ? that like him, after all my anxieties on your account, I may yet hear the name of my youngest son, my beloved Benjamin, coming up from the South, perfumed with praise for his great virtues and services to his country? Then when I hear the sound of his fame rising from that distant land, like the pleasant thunders of summer before refreshing showers, and remember how he used to stand a little prattling boy by my side, in his rosy cheeks and flaxen locks filling the candle moulds, or twisting the snow white cotton wicks with nis tender fingers, O how will such remembrance lighten up the dark evening of my days, and cause my setting sun to go down in joy!" He spoke this in tones so melting, that Ben, who was sit- ting by his fiither's side, fell with his face on his bosom, without saying a word. The fond parent, hearing him sob, tenderly embraced him, and with a voice broken with sighs, went on, ''Yes, my son, the measure of rny joys will then be full. I shall have nothing to detain me any longer in this vale of troubles, but shall gladly breathe out my life in praise to God for this w% last, his crowning act of goodness — foi this his blessing me in my son." DR. FRANKLIN. 61 After a moment's pause, the feelings of both being too deliciously aftected for speech, Ben gentlj raised his face from his father's bosom, and with his eyes yet red and wet with tears, tenderly lookino;at him, said, " I would to God, father, you would go and live in Philadelphia." '* Why so, my son?" <' Because, I don't want ever to part with you, father: and I am, you know, obliged to go back to Philadelphia im- mediately." '* Not immediately, my son, I cannot let you go from me immediately." " Father, I would never go from you, if I could help it; but I must be doing something to make good your fond hopes of me; and I can't stay here." *' Why not, my son?" <' Father, I can't stay with those who hate me; and you know that brother James hates me very much." "0! he does not hate you, 1 hope, my son." ''Yes, he does, father, indeed he does; because I only differed from him in opinion and ventured to reason with him, he kindled into passion and abused me even to blows, though I was in the right, as you told him afterwards. And because I told him I did not think he acted the part of a bro- ther by me in wishing to make me a slave so many years, he went about town and set all the printers against me, and thus drove me away from home, and from you, my father, whom I so much love. And just now, when I went to his office to see him, instead of running to meet me and rejoicino to see me returned safe and sound and so well dressed and a plenty of money in my pocket, he would not even speak to me, but looked as dark and angry as though he would have torn me to pieces. And yet he can turn up his eyes, and make long prayers and graces, and talk a great deal about Jesus Christ!" The old man here shook his head with a deep gi'oan, while Ben thus went on, " No, father, I can't stay here; I must be going back to Philadelphia and to my good friend governor Keith; for I long to be realizing all the great hopes that you have been forming of me. And should God but give me a good settlement in Philadelphia^ then you- will come and live with me. O say, my father, wont you come and live with me?" Ben spoke this, looking up to his father witli that joy of f2 62 Tift LIFE OF filial love sparkling in his youthful eyes which made liim look like all that we fancy of angels. The old man embraced him and said, " I will, my son, I will; but stay with me a little while, at the least three days, and then you may depart." Ben consenting to this, the old gentleman wrote ^ polite letter to governor Keith, thanking aim very heartily for that he, so great a man, should have paid such attentions to his poor boy: but at the same time begged his pardon for declining to do any thing for him, not only because he had very little in his power to do; but also because he thought him too young to be intrusted with the conduct of an enterprise that required much more experience than he possessed. CHAPTER XVII. Of the three days which Ben, as we have seen above, had consented to stay at home, he spent the chiefest part with his father, in his old candle manufactory. 'Tis true, this nappy sire, whose natural affection for Ben as a son, was now exalted into the highest respect for him as a youth of talents and virtues; and perhaps too, looking up to him as a young mountain oak, whose towering arms would soon pro- tect the parent tree, insisted that Ben should not stay in that dirty place, as he called it. But knowing that his father could not be spared from his daily labour, Ben insisted to be with him in the old shop, and to assist in his labours, re- minding his father how sweetly the time passes away when at work and conversing with those we love. His father at length consented: and those three days, now spent with Ben, were the happiest days he had spent for a long time. His aged bosom was now relieved from his six months' load of fears and anxieties about this beloved child; nor only so, but this beloved child, shining in a light of his own virtues, was now with him, and as a volunteer of filial love was raln- gling in his toils — eagerly lending his youthful strength to assist him in packing and boxing his candles and soap; while his sensible conversation, heightened all the time by the charm of that voice and tiiose eyes that had ever been so dear to him, touched his heart with a sweetness in DR. FRANKLIN. 63 expressible, and made the happy hours fly away as on angels' wings. On tlie afternoon of the third day, as they were returning from dinner, walking down the garden, at the foot of which the factory stood, the old gentleman lifting his eyes to the sun, suddenly heaved a deep sigh and put on a' melancholy look. " High, father!" said Ben, ''I see no cloud over the sun that we should fear a change of weather." " No, Ben, there is no cloud over the sun, but still his beams throw a cloud over my spirits. They put me in mind that I shall walk here to-morrow, but with no son by my side!" The idea was mournful: and more so by the tender look and plaintive tones in which it was conveyed. — It wrung the heart of Ben, who in silence glanced his eyes on his father. It was that tender glance of sorrowing love which quick- est reaches the heart and stirs up all its yearnings. The old gentleman felt the meaning of his son's looks. They seemed to say to him, " O my father^ must we part to-mor- row .?" " Yes, Ben, we part to-morrov/, and perhaps never to meet again!" After a short pause, with a sigh, he thus resumed his speech — •' Then, O my son, what a wretch were man with- out religion? Yes, Ben, without the hopes of immortality, how much better he had never been born? Without these, his lioblest capacities were but the greater curses. The more delightful his friendships the more dreadful the thought they may be extinguished for ever; and the gayer his pros- pects the deeper his gloom, that endless darkness may so quickly cover all. We were yesterday feeding fond hopes, my son; we were yesterday painting bright castles in the air: you were to be a great man and I a happy father. But alas! this is the last day, my child, that we may ever see each other again. And the sad reverse of all this may even now be at the door; when I, instead of hearing of my son's glory in Philadelphia, may hear that he is cold in his grave. And when you, returning — after years of virtuous toils, re- turning laden with riches and honours for your happy fathei to share in, may see nothing of that father but the tomb that covers his dust." Seeing the moisture in Ben's eyes, the old gentleman, with a voice rising to exultation, thus went on, " Yes, Ben*. 64 TjpE LIFE OF this may soon be the case with us, my child; the dark cur- tain of our separation soon may drop, and your cheeks or mine be flooded with sorrows. But thanks be to God, that curtain will rise again, and open to our view those scenes of happiness, one glance at which is sufficient to start the tear of transport into our eyes. Yes, Ben, religion assures us of all this; religion assures us that this life is but the morning of our existence — that there is a glorious eternity beyond — and that to the penitent, death is but the passage to that happy life where they shall soon meet again to part no more, but to congratulate their mutual felicities for ever Then, O my son, lay hold of religion, and secure an in- terest in those blessed hopes that contribute so much to the virtues and the joys of life." " Father," said Ben with a sigh, " I know that many peo- ple here in Boston think I never had any religion; or, that if I had I have apostatized from it." <' God forbid! But whence, my son, could these preju- dices have arisen.^" " Why, father, I have for some time past discovered that there is no effect without a cause. These prejudices have been the effect of my youthful errors. You remember fa- ther, the old story of the pork, don't you?" ''No, child; what is it, for I have forgotten it?" *' I thought so, father, I thought you had been so good as to forget it. But I have not, nor ever shall forget it." '' What is it, Ben?" " Why, father, when our pork, one fall, lay salted and ready for the barrel, 1 begged you to say grace over it all at once; adding that it would do as well and save a great deal of time.''^ " Pshaw, Ben, such a trifle as that, and in a child too, can- not be remembered against you now." " Yes, father, I am afraid it is. All are not so loving, and so forgetful of my errors as you. It was at the time in- serted in the Boston News Letter, and is now recollected to the discredit of my religion. And they have a prejudice against me on another account. While I. lived with you, father, you always took me to meeting with you; but when I left you and went to live with my brother James, I often neglected going to meeting; preferring to stay at home and read my books. " ''I am sorry to hear that, Ben; very sorrv that you could neglect the preachings of Christ." DR. FRANKLIN. 65 <' Famer, I never neglected them. I look on the preach- ing of Christ as the finest system of morality in the world; and his parables, such as ''The Prodigal Son — ''the Good Samaritan" — ^" the Lost Sheep," &c. as models of divine goodness. And if I could only hear a preacher take these for his texts, and paint them in those rich colours they are capable of, I would never stay from meeting. But now, father, when I go, instead of those benevolent preachings and parables which Christ so delighted in, I hardly ever hear any thing but lean, chaffy discourses about the Trinity, and Baptisms, and Elections, and Reprobations, and Final Perseverances, and Covenants, and a thousand other such things which do not strike my fancy as religion at all, because not in the least calculated, as I think, to sweeten and ennoble men's natures, and make them love and do good to one another." " There is too much truth in your remark, Ben; and I have often been sorry that our preachers lay such stress on these things, and do not stick closer to the preachings of Christ." " Stick closer to them, father! O no, to do them justice, sir, we must not charge them with not sticking to the text, for they never take Christ for their text, but some dark pas- sage out of the prophets or apostles, which will better suit their gloomy education. Or if they should, by some lucky hit, honour Christ for a text, they quickly give him the go-by and lug in Calvin or some other angry doctor; and then in place of the soft showers of Gospel pity on sinners, we have nothing but the dreadful thunderings of eternal hate, with the unavailing screams of little children in hell not a span long! Now, father, as I do not look on such preaching as this to be any ways pleasing to the Deity or profitable to man, I choose to stay at home and read my books; and this is the reason, I suppose, why my brother James and the council-men here of Boston think that 1 have no religion." " Your strictures on some of our ministers, my son, are in rather a strong style: but still there is too much truth in them to be denied. However, as to what your brother James and the council think of you, it is of little consequence, pro- vrded you but possess true religion." "Aye, True Religion, father, is another thing; and I should like to possess it. But as to such religion as theirs, I must confess, father, I never had and never wish to have it" 66 TgiE LIFE OF ^* But what do you mean bj their religion, my son?" " Why, I mean, father, a religion of gloomy forms and notions, that have no tendency to make men good and happy, either in themselves or to others." •' So then, my son, you make w«n's happiness the end of religion." " Certainly I do, father." <« Our catechisms, Ben, make God^s glory the end of re- ligion." '' That amounts to the same thing, father; as the framers of the catechisms, I suppose, placed God's glory in the hap- piness of man." " But why do you suppose that so readily^ Ben?" '' Because, father, all wise workmen place their glory in the perfection of their works. The gunsmith glories in his rifle, when she never misses her aim; the clockmaker glories in his clock when she tells the time exactly. They thus glory, because their works answer the ends for which they were made. Now God, who is wiser than all workmen, had, no doubt, his ends in making man. But certainly he could not have made him with a view of getting any thing from him, seeing man has nothing to give. And as God, from his own infinite riches, has a boundless power to give; and from his infinite benevolence, must have an equal delight in giving, I can see no end so likely for his making man as to make hira happy. I think, father, all this looks quite reasonable." '' Why, yes, to be sure, Ben, it does look very reasonable indeed." " Well then, father, since all wise workmen glory in their works when they answer the ends for which they designed them, God must glory in the happiness of man, that being the end for which he made him." ''This seems, indeed, Ben, to be perfectly agreeable to reason." " Yes, sir, not only to reason, but to nature too: for even nature, 1 tliink, father, in all her operations, clearly teaches that God must take an exceeding glory in our happiness; for what else could have led him to build for us such a noble world as this; adorned with so much beauty; stored with such treasures; peopled with so many fair creatures; and lighted up as it is with such gorgeous luminaries by day and by night ?" '' I am glad, my son, I touched on this subject of religion in the way I did; your mode of thinking and reasoning on DR. FRANKLIN. 67 it pleases me greatly. But now taking all this for granted, what is still your idea of the true religion.^" " Why, father, if God thus places his glory in the happi- ness of man, does it not follow that the most acceptable thing that man can do for God, or in other words, that the true religion of man consists in his so living, as to attain the highest possible perfection and happiness of his nature, that being the chief end and glory of the Deity in creating himr" '* Well, but how is this to be done ?" " Certainly, father, by imitating the Deity." " By imitating him, child ! but how are we to imitate him?" " In his goodness, father." " But why do you pitch on his goodness rather than on any other of his attributes?" " Because, father, this seems, evidently, the prince of all his other attributes, and greater than all." '* Take care child, that you do not blaspheme. How can one of God's attributes be greater than another, when all are infinite?" '' Why, father, must not that which moves be greater than that which is moved?" '* What am I to understand by that, Ben?" " I mean, father, that the power and wisdom of the Deity, though both unspeakably great, would probably stand still and do nothing for men, were they not moved to it by his goodness. His goodness then, which comes and puts his power and wisdom into motion, and thus fills heaven and earth with happiness, must be the greatest of all his attri- butes." ' ' I don't know what to say to that, Benj certainly his power and wisdom must be very great too." " Yes, father, they are very great indeed: but still they seem but subject to his greater benevolence which enlists them in its service and constantly gives them its own delightful work to do. For example, father, the wisdom and power of the Deity can do any thing, but his benevolence takes care that they shall do nothing but for good. The power and wisdom of the Deity could have made changes both in the earth and heavens widely different from their present state. They could, for instance, have placed the sun a great deal farther oft* or a great deal nearer to us. But then in the first case we should have been frozen to icicles, and in the second scorched to cinders. The power of the Deity could have 6S llfE LIFE OF given a tenfold force to the winds, but then no tree could nave stood on the land, and no ship could have sailed on the seas. The power of the Deitj could also have made changes as great in all other parts of nature; it could have made every fish as monstrous as a whale, every bird dreadful as the condor, every beast as vast as the elephant, and every tree as big as a mountain. But then it must strike every one that these changes would all have been utterly for the worse, ren dering these noble parts of nature comparatively useless to us. — I say the power of the Deity could have done all this, and might have so done but for his benevolence, which would not allow such discords, but has, on the contrary, established all things on a scale of the exactest harmony with the con- venience and happiness of man. Now, for example, father, the sun, though placed at an enormous distance from us, is placed at the very distance he should be for all the important purposes of light and heat; so that the earth and waters, neither frozen nor burnt, enjoy the temperature fittest for life and vegetation. Now the meadows are covered with grass; the fields with corn; the trees with leaves and fruits; present- ing a spectacle of universal beauty and plenty, feasting all senses and gladdening all hearts; while man, the favoured lord of al- , looking around him amidst the mingled singing of birds and skipping of beasts and leaping of fishes, is struck with wonder at the beauteous scenery, and gratefully ac- knowledges that benevolence is the darling attribute of the Deity." " I thank God, my son, for giving you wisdom to reason in this way. But what is still your inference from all this, as to true religion?" " Why, my dear father, my inference is still in confirma- tion of my first answer to your question relative to the true religion, that it consists in our imitating the Deity in his goodness. Every wise parent, wishing to allure his children to any particular virtue, is careful to set them the fairest examples of the same, as knowmgthat example is more pow- erful than precept Now since the Deity, throughout all his works, so invariably employs his great power and wis- dom as the ministers of his benevolence to make his crea- tures happy, what can this be for but an example to us; teaching that if we wish to please him — the true end of all religion — we must imitate him in his moral goodness, which if we Vould but all do as steadily as he does, we should re- cal the golden age, and convert this world into Paradise " DR. FRANKLIN. 69 ** All tliis looks very fair, Ben; but yet after all what are we to do without Faith ?" "Why, fatlier, as to Faith, I cannot say; not knowing much about it. But this I can say, that I am afraid of any substitutes to the moral character of the Deity. In short, sir, I don't love the fig-leaf." "Fig-leaf! I don't understand you, child; what do you mean by the fig-leaf?" " Why, father, we read in the Bible that soon as Adam had lost that true image of the Deity, his Moral Goodness, instead of striving to recover it again, he went and sewed fig-leaves together to cover himself with." " Stick to the point, child." " I am to the point, father. I mean to say that as Adam sought a vain fig-leaf covering, rather than the imitation of the Deity in moral goodness, so his posterity have ever since been fond of running after fig-leaf substitutes." " Aye! well 1 should be glad to hear you explain a little on that head, Ben." " Father, I don't pretend to explain a subject I don't un- derstand, but I find in Plutarch's Lives and the Heathen Antiquities, which I read in your old divinity library, and which no doubt give a true account of religion among tlie ancients, that when they were troubled on account of their crimes, they do not seem once to have thought of conciliating the Deity by reformation^ and by acts of benevolence and goodness to be like him. No, they appear to have been too much enamoured of lust, and pride, and revenge, to relish moral goodness; such lessons were too much against the grain. But still something must be done to appease the Deity. Well then, since they could not sum up courage enough to attempt it by imitating his goodness, they would try it by coaxing his vanity — they would build him grand temples; and make him mighty sacrifices; and rich oflferings. This I am told, father, was their fig-leaf." " Why this, I fear, Ben, is a true bill against the poor Heathens. " *' Well, I am sure, father, the Jews were equally fond ot the fig-leaf; as their own countrymen, the Prophets, are con- stantly charging them. Justice, Mercy, and Truth had, i^ seems, no charms for them. They must have fig-leaf substi- tutes, such as tythings of mint^ anise, and cummin, aiw' making 'long prayers in the streets,^ and deep groanin^s with * disfigured faces in the synagogues.'^ If they "Sut did G 70 itk LIFE OF all this, then surely they must be Abraham's children, even tliough they devoured widows' houses." Here good old Josias groaned. " Yes, father," continued Ben, *« and it were well if the rage for the fig-leaf stopped with the Jews and Heathens; but the Christians are just as fond of substitutes that may save them the labour of imitating the Deity in his moral goodness. It is true, the old Jewish hobbies, mint, anise, and cummin, are not the hobbies of Christians; but still, father, you are not to suppose that they are to be disheartened for all that. Oh no. They have got a hobby worth all of them put toge- ther — they have got Faith." Here good old 'Josias began to darken; and looking at Ben with great solemnity, said, *' I am afraid, my son, you do not treat this great article of our holy religion with sufficient reverence." "My dear father," replied Ben eagerly, «'I mean not the least reflection on Faith, but solely on those hypocrites who abuse it to countenance their vices and crimes." «' then, if that be your aim, go on, Ben, go on." *' Well, sir, as I was saying, not only the Jews and Hea- thens, but the Christians also have their fig-leaf substitutes for Moral Goodness, Because Christ has said that so great is the Divine Clemency, that if even the worst of men will but have faith in it so as to repent and amend their lives by the golden law of 'love and good works,^ they should be saved, many lazy Christians are fond of overlooking those excellent conditions ' Love and Good works,' which con- stitute the moral image of the Deity, and fix upon the word Faith for their salvation." " Well, but child, do you make no account of faith ?" " None, father, as a fig-leaf cloak of immorality." '' But is not faith a great virtue in itself, and a qualifica- tion for heaven?" '* I think not, sir; I look on faith but as a mean to beget that moral goodness, which, to me, appears to be the only qualification for Heaven." " I am astonished, child, to hear you say that faith is not a virtue in itself." " Why, father, the Bible says for me in a thousana places. The Bible s?ijsthdit faith withoict good works is " But does not the Bible, in a thousand places, say that without faith n@ man can please God?" DR. FRANKLIN. 71 *'Yes, father, and for the best reason in the world; for who can ever hope to please the Deity without his moral image? and who would ever put himself to the trouble to cultivate the virtues which form that image, unless he had a belief that thej were indispensible to the perfection and hap- piness of his nature ?" <-' So then, you look on faith as no virtue in itself, and good for nothing unless it exalt men to the likeness of God?" " Yes, sir, as good for nothing unless it exalt us to the likeness of God — nay, as worse; as utterly vile and hypo- critical." " And perhaps you view in the same light the Imputed Righteousness, and the Sacraments of Baptism and the Lord's Supper." " Yes, father, faith, imputed righteousness, sacraments,, prayers, sermons; all, all I consider as mere barren fig-leaves which will yield no good unless they ripen into the fruits of Benevolence and Good Works." " Well, Ben, 'tis well that you have taken a turn to the printing business; for I don't think, child, that if you had studied divinity, as your uncle Ben and myself once wished, you would ever have got a licence to preach." " No, father, I know that well enough; I know that many who think themselves mighty good Christians, are for getting to heaven on easier terms than imitating the Deity in his moral goodness. To them, faith and imputed righte- ousness, and sacraments, and sour looks, are very convenient things. With a good stock of these they can easily manage matters so as to make a little morality go a great way. But I am thinking they will have to back out of this error, other- wise they will make as bad a hand of their barren faith, as the poor Virginia negroes do of their boasted freedom. ^ " God's mercy, child, what do you mean by that?" " Why, father, I am told that the Virginia negroes, like our faith-mongers, fond of ease and glad of soft substitutes to hard duties, are continually sighing for freedom; ' if they had but freedom I if they had but freedom! how happy should they be ! They should not then be obliged to work any more. Freedom luoidd do every thing for them. Freedom would spread soft beds for them, and heap their tables with roast pigs, squealing out, 'come and eat me.'^ Freedom would give them fjie jackets, and rivers of grog, and mountains of se- gars and tobacco, without their sweating for it.^ Well, by and by, thev get their freedom; perhaps by running away 72 tM LIFE OF from their masters. And now see what great things has free- dom done for them. Why, as. it is out of the question to think of work now they a,Yefree, they must give themselves up like gentlemen, to visiting, sleeping, and pastime. In a little time the curses of hunger and nakedness drive theui to stealing and house-breaking, for which their backs are ploughed up at whipping-posts, or their necks snapped un- der the gallows! and all this because they must needs live easier than by honest labour, which would have crowned their days with character and comfort. So, father, it is, most exactly so it is, with too many of our Faith -mongers. They have not courage to practise those exalted virtues that would give them the moral likeness of the Deity. Oh no: they must get to heaven in some easier way. They have heard great things of faith. Faith, they are told, has done wonders for other people; why not for them? Accordingly they fall to work and after many a hard throe of fanaticism, they con- ceit they have got faith sure enough. And now they are happy. Like the poor Virginia negroes, they are clear of all moral working now: thank God they can get to heaven without it; yes, and may take some indulgences, by" the way, into the bargain. If, as jovial fellows, they should waste their time and family substance in drinking rum and smok- ing tobacco, where's the harm, mvt they sound believers? If they should, as merchants, sand their sugar, or water their molasses, what great matter is that? Don't they keep up family prayer? If, as men of honour, they should accept a challenge, and receive a shot in a duel, what of that? They liave only to send for a priest, and take the sacrament. Thus, fatiier, as freedom has proved the ruin of many a lazy Virginian negro, so I am afraid that such faith as this has made* many an hypocritical christian ten times more a child of the devil than he was before." Good old Josias, who, while Ben was speaking at this rate, had appeared much agitated, sometimes frowning, sometimes smiling, here replied, with a deep sigh, ''Yes, Ben, this is all too true to be denied: and a sad thing it is that mankind should be so ready, as you observe, to go to heaven in any other way than by imitating God in his moral likeness. But I rejoice in hope of you, my son, that painting this lamenta- ble depravity in such strong colours as you do, you will ever act on wiser and more magnanimous principles." " Father, I don't aftect to be better than other young men, vet I think I can safely say, tliat if I could get to heaven by DR. FRANKLLN. 7S playmg the liypocrlte I would not, wliile I have it in my choice to go thitlier by acquiring the virtues that would give me a resetnbhince to God. For to say nothing of the ex* ceeding honour of acquiring even the faintest resemblance of him, nor yet of the immense happiness which it must af- ford hereafter, I find that even here, and young as I am, the least step towards it, affords a greater pleasure than any thing else^ indeed I find that there is so much more pleasure in getting knowledge to resemble the Creator, than in living in ignorance to resemble brutes; so much more pleasure in BENEVOLENCE and DOING GOOD to rescmble him, than in hate and doing harm to resemble demons, that I hope I shall al- ways have wisdom and fortitude sufficient even for my own sake, to spend my life in getting all the useful knowledge, and in doing all the little good I possibly can." *' God Almighty confirm my son in the wise resolutions which his grace has enabled him thus early to form!" *' Yes, father, and besides all this, when I look towards futurity; when I consider the nature of that felicity which exists in heaven; that it is a felicity flowing from the smiles of the Deity on those excellent spirits whom his own ad- monitions have adorned with the virtues that resemble him« self; that the more perfect their virtues, the brighter will be his smiles upon them, with correspondent emanations of bliss that may, for aught we know, be for ever enlarged with their ever enlarging understandings and affections; I say, father, when I have it in my choice to attain to all this in a way so pleasant and honourable as that of imitating the Deity in WISDOM and goodness, should I not be worse than mad to decline it on such terms, and prefer substitutes that would tolerate me in ignorance and vice .^" *' Yes, child, I think you would be mad indeed." " Yes, father, especially when it is recollected, that if the Ignorant and vicious could, with all their pains, find out substitutes that would serve as passports to heaven, they could not rationally expect a hearty welcome there. For as the Deity delights in the wise and good, because they re- semble him in those qualities which render him so amiable And happy, and would render all his creatures so too; so he must proportionably abhor the stupid and vicious, because deformed with qualities diametrically opposite to his own, and tending to make both themselves and others most vile and miserable." '* This is awfully true, Ben; for the Bible tells us, that g2 74 T^ LIFE OF the tvicked are an abomination to the Lord; but thai the righteous are his delight.''^ ''" Yes, fiither, and this is the language not only of the Bible, which is, perhaps, the grand class book of the Deity, but it is also the language of his first or horn book, I mean REASON, which teaches, that if ' there be a God, and that there is all nature cries aloud through all her works, he must delight in virtue,' because most clearly conducive to the per- fection of mankind 5 which must be the chief aim and glory of the Deity in creating them. And for the same reason he must abhor vice, because tending to the disgrace and de- struction of his creatures. Hence, father, I think it follows as clearly as a demonstration in mathematics, that if it were possible for bad men, through faith, imputed righteousness, or any other leaf-covering, to get to Paradise, so far from meeting with any thing like cordiality from the Deity, they would be struck speecldess at sight of their horrible dissimi- larity to him. For while he delights above all things in giv- ing life, and the duellist glories in destroying it; while he delights in heaping his creatures with good things, and the gambler triumphs in stripping them; while he delights in seeing love and smiles among brethren, and the slanderer in promoting strifes and hatreds; while he delights in exalting the intellectual and moral faculties to the highest degree of heavenly wisdom and virtue, and the drunkard delights in polluting and degrading both below the brutes; what r:>rdl- ality can ever subsist between such opposite natures? Can intinite purity and benevolence behold such monsters ^vith complacency, or could they in his presence otherwise than be filled with intolerable pain and anguish, and fly away as weak-eved owls from the blaze of the meridian sun ?" " Well, Ben, as I said before, I am richly rewarded for Having drawn you into this conversation about religion; your language indeed is not always the language of the scrip- tures; neither do you rest your hopes, as I conld have wish- ed, on the Redeemer; but still your idea in placing our quali- fication for heaven in resembling God in moral goodness, is truly evangelical, and I hope you ivill one day become a great christian." " I thank you, father, for your good wishes; but I am afraid 1 shall never be the christian you wish me to be." " What, not a christian!" " No, father, at least not in the name; but in the nature I hope to become a christian. And now, father, as we part DR. FRANK4-IN. 75 to morrow, and there is a strong presentiment on my mind that it may be a long time before we meet again, I beg you to believe of me that I shall never lose sight of my great obligations to an active pursuit of knowledge and usefulness. This, if persevered in, will give me some humble resemblance of the great Author of my being in loving and doing all the good lean to mankind. And then, if I live, I hope, my dear father, I shall give you the joy to see realized some of the fond expectations you have formed of me. And if I should die, I shall die in hope of meeting you in some better world, where you will no more be alarmed for my welfare, nor I grieved to see you conflicting with age and labour and sor- row: but where we may see in each other all that we can conceive of what we call Angels, and in scenes of unde- served splendour, dwell with those enlightened and bene- volent spirits, whose conversation and perfect virtues, will for ever delight us. And where, to crown all, we shall perhaps, at times, be permitted to see that unutterable Being, whose disinterested goodness was the spring of all these felicities." Thus ended this curious dialogue, between one of the most amiable parents, and one of the most acute and sagacious youths that our country, or perhaps any other has ever pro- duced. CHAPTER XVIII. The three days of Ben's promised stay witn his father being expired, the next morning he embraced his parents and embirked a second time for Philadelphia, but with a much lighter heart than before, because he now left home with his parents' blessing, which they gave him the more willingly as from the dark sanctified frown on poor James' brow they saw in him no disposition towarrls reconciliation. The vessel happening to touch at Newport, Ben gladly took that opportunity to visit his favourite brother John, who received him with great joy. John was always of the mind that Ben would one day or other become a great man; "Ae was so vastly fond,^^ he said, " of his book.''^ And when he saw the elegant size that Ben's person had now attamed, and also his tine mind-illuminated face and ?6 T^ LIFE OF manly wit, he was so proud of him that he could not rest until he liad introduced him to all his friends. Among the rest was a gentleman of the name of Vernon, who was so pleased with Ben during an evening's visit at his brother's, that he gave him an order on a man in Pennsylvania for thirty pounds, which he begged he would collect for him. Ben readily accepted the order, not without being secretly pleased that nature had given him a face which this stranger had so readily credited w-ith thirty pounds. Caressed by his brother John and by his brother John's friends, Ben often thought that if he were called on to point out the time in his whole life that had been spent more pleasantly than the rest, he would, without hesitation, pitch on this his three days' visit to Newport. But alas ! he has soon brought to cry out with the poet, "The bri!(htest things beneath the sky, Yield but a glimmering light; V\^e should suspect some danger nighf Where we possess delight.'^ His thirty pound order from Vernon, was at first lanked among his dear honied delights enjoyed at Newport; but it soon presented, as we shall see, a roughsting. This however, was but a flea bite in comparison of that mortal wound he was within an ace of receiving from this same Newport trip. The story is this: Among a considerable cargo of live lum- ber which they took on board for Philadelphia, were three females, a couple of gay young damsels; and a grave old Quaker lady. Following the natural bent of his disposition, Ben paid great attention to the old Quaker. Fortunate was it for him that he did; for in consequence of it she took a mother- ly interest in his welfare that saved him from a very ugly scrape. Perceiving that he was getting rather too fond of the two young women above, she drew him aside one day, and with the looks and speech of a mother, said, " Young man, I am in pain for thee: thou hast no parent to watch over thy conduct, and thou seemest to be quite ignorant of the world and the snares to which youth is exposed. I pray thee rely upon what I tell thee. — These are women of bad character; 1 perceive it in all their actions. If thou dost not take care they will lead thee into danger!!" As he appeared at first not to think so ill of them as she did, the old lady related of them many things she had seen and heard, and which had escaped his attention, but which convmced him she was in the right. He thanked her foi such good advice, and promised to follow it. DR. FRANKLIN. 77 On their arrival at New-York the girls told him where they lived, and invited him to come and see them. Their ejes kindled such a glow along his youthful veins that he was on the point of melting into consent. But the motherly advice of his old quaker friend happily coming to his aid, revived his wavering virtue, and fixed him in the resolution, though much against the grain, not to go. It was a most blessed thing for him that he did not,- for the captain miss- ing a silver spoon and some other things from the cabin, and knowing these women to be prostitutes, procured a search warrant, and finding his goods in their possession, had them brought to the whipping-post. As God would have it, Ben happened to fall in with the constable and crowd who were taking them to whip. He would fain have run oft'. But there was a drawing of sym- pathy towards them which he could not resist: so on he went with the rest. He said afterwards that it was well he did: for when he beheld these poor devils tied up to the stake, and also their sweet faces distorted with terror and pain, and heard their piteous screams under the strokes of the cow- hide on their bleeding backs, he could not help melting into tears, at the same time saying to himself— now had I but yielded to the allurements of ^ these poor creatures^ and made myself an accessary to their crimes and sufferings^ ivhai would noiv be my feelings /" From the happy escape which he had thus made through the seasonable advice of the good old quaker lady he learn- ed that acts of this sort hold the first place on the list of charities: and entered it as a resolution on his journal that he would imitate it and do all in his power to open the eyes of all, but especially of the young, to a timely sense of the follies and dangers that beset them. How well he kept his promise, will, 'tis likely, gentle reader, be remembered by thousands when you and I are forgotten. CHAPTER XIX. On the arrival of the vessel at New- York, Ben went up to a tavern, and lo ! who should he first cast his eyes on there, but his old friend Collins, of Boston ! Collins had, it seems, been so charmed with Ben's account 78 Oflfe LIFE OF of Philadelphia, that he came to the determination to try his fortune there also; and learning that Ben was shortly to re- turn by the way of New- York, he had jumped into the first vessel, and was there before him, waiting his arrival. Great was the joy of Ben at the sight of his friend Collins, for it drew after it a train of the most pleasant recollections.— But who can describe his feelings, when flying to embrace that long esteemed youth, he beheld him now risen from his chair equally eager for the embrace, but alas! only able to make a staggering step or two before down he came sprawl- ing on the floor, drunk as a lord! To see a young man of his wit — his eloquence— his edu cation — his hitherto unstained character and high promise^ thus overwhelmed by a worse than brutal vice, would have been a sad sight to Ben, even though that young man had been an entire stranger. But oh! how tenfold sad to see such marks of ruinous dishonour on one so dear, and from whom ne had expected so much. Ben had just returned from assisting to put poor Collins to bed, when the captain of the vessel which had brought him to New-York, stepped up and in a very respectful manner put a note into his hand.— -Ben opened it, not without con- siderable agitation, and read as follows: — " G. Burnet's compliments await young Mr. Franklin — and should be glad of half an hour's chat with him over a glass of wine." " G. Burnet!" said Ben, "who can that be?" "Why, 'tis the governor," replied the captain with a smile. *' I have just been to see him, with some letters I brought for him from Boston. And when I told him what a world of books you have, he expressed a curiosity to see you, and begged I would return with you to his palace." Ben instantly set off with the captain, but not without a sigh as he cast a look back on the door of poor Collins' bed-room, to think what an honour tliat wretched young man had lost for the sake of two or three vile gulps of filthy grog. Th© governor's looks, at the approach of Ben, showed somewhat of disappointment. He liad, it seems, expected considerable entertainment from Ben's conversation. But Ais fresh and ruddy countenance showed him so much younget than he had counted on, that he gave up all his promised en- tertainment as a lost hope. He received Ben, however, with great politeness, and after pressing on him a glass of wine, Fa^t T9. DR. FRANKLIN. 79 took liim into an adjoining room, which was his library, coH' sisting of a large and well-chosen collection. Seeing the pleasure which sparkled in Ben's eyes as he surveyed so many elegant authors, and thought of the rich stores of knowledge which they^contained, the governor, with a smile of complacency, as on a young pupil of science, said to him, " Well, Mr, Franklin, I am told by the captain here, that you have a fine collection too." '*Only a trunk full, sir," said Ben. <' A trunk full!" replied the governor. "Why, what use can you have for so many books? Young people at your age have seldom read beyond the 10th chapter of Nehemiah." "I can't boast," replied Ben, "of having read any great deal beyond that myself; but still, I should be sorry if I could not get a trunk full of books to read every six months." At this, the governor regarding him with a look of surprise, said, •' You must then, tliough so young, be a scholar; perhaps a teacher of the languages." " No sir," answered Ben, " I know no language but my own." *' What, not Latin nor Greek!" " No sir, not a word of either." w. " Why, don't you think them necessary?" <« I don't set myself up as a judge. But I should not sup- pose them necessary." " Aye! well, 1 should like to hear your reasons." "Why, sir, I am not competent to give reasons that may satisfy a gentleman of your learning, but the following are file reasons with which I satisfy myself. I look on lan- guages, sir, merely as arbitrary sounds of characters, where- by men communicate their ideas to each other. Now, if I already possess a language which is capable of conveying more ideas than I shall ever acquire, were it not wiser in nie to improve my time in getting sense through that one language, than waste it in getting mere sounds through fifty languages, even if I could Team as many?" Here the governor paused a moment, though not without a little red on his cheeks, for having only a minute before put Ben and the 10th chapter of Nehemiah so close together. However, catching a new idea, he took another start " Well, but, my dear sir, you certainly differ from the (earned world, which is, you know, decidedly in favour of '.he languages." " I would not wish wantonly to diifer from the learned H 80 ^E LIFE OF world," said Ben, " especially when they maintain opinions that seem to be founded on truth. But when this is not the case, to differ from them I have ever thought my duty; and especially since I studied Locke." *' Locke!" cried the governor with surprise, " i/o?^ studied Locke .'" <'Yes, sir, I studied Locke on the Understanding three years ago, when I was thirteen." " You amaze me, sir. You studied Locke on the Under- standing at thirteen!" " Yes, sir, I did." " Well, and pray at what college did you study Locke at thirteen; for at Cambridge college in Old England, where I got my education, they never allowed the senior class to look at Locke till eighteen?" a Why, sir, it was my misfortune never to be at a college, nor even at a grammar school, except nine months when I was a child." Here the governor sprung from his seat, and staring at Ben, cried out, '' the devil! well, and where — where did you get your education, pray?" " At home, sir, in a tallow chandler's shop." "In a tallow chandler's shop!" screamed the governor. " Yes, sir; my father was a poor old tallow chandler, with sixteen children, and I the youngest of all. At eight he put me to school, but finding he could not spare the money from the rest of the children to keep me there, he took me home into the shop, where I assisted him by twisting the candle wicks and filling the moulds all day, and at night I read by myself. At twelve, my father bound me to my brother, a printer, in Boston, and with him I worked hard all day at the press and cases, and again read by myself at night." Here the governor, spanking his hands together, put up a loud whistle, while his eye-balls, wild with surprise, rolled about in their sockets as if in a mighty mind to hop out. *' Impossible, young man!" he exclaimed: " Impossible! you are only sounding my credulity. I can never believe one half of all this." Then turning to the captain, he said, " captain, you are an intelligent man, and from Boston; pray tell me can this young man here, be aiming at any thing but to quiz me?" "No, indeed, please your excellency," replied the cap- tain, " Mr. Franklin is not quizzing you. He is saying v,'hat is really true, for I am acquainted with his father and family " DR. FRANKLIN. 81 Th-e governor then turning to Ben said, more moderately, <* Well, my dear wonderful boy, I ask your pardon foi doubting your word; and now pray tell me, for I feel a stronger desire than ever to hear your objection to learning the dead languages." "' Why, sir, I object to it principally on account of the /shortness of human life. Taking them one with another, .' mm do not live above forty years. Plutarch, indeed, puts it only thirty-three. But say forty. Well, of this full ten years are lost in childhood, before any boy thinks of a Latin grammar. This brings the forty down to thirty. Now of such a moment as this, to spend five or six years in learning the dead languages, especially when all the best books in those languages are translated into ours, and besides, we already have more books on every subject than such short- lived creatures can ever acquire, seems very preposterous." " AVell, but what are you to do with their great poets, Virgil and Homer, for example; I suppose you would not think of translating Homer out of his rich native Greek into our pooi homespun English, would you ?" '' Why not, sir?" ♦ * " Why I should as soon think of transplanting a pine-ap pie from Jamaica to Boston. " " Well, sir, a skilful gardener, with his hot-house, can give us nearly as fine a pine-apple as any in Jamaica. And so Mr. Pope, with his fine imagination, has given us Homer, in English, with more of his beauties than ordinary scholars would find in him after forty years' study of the Greek. And besides, sir, if Homer was not translated, I am far from thinking it would be worth spending five or s^x years to learn to read him in his own language." " You differ from the critics, Mr. Franklin; for the critics all tell us that his beauties are inimitable." *' Yes, sir, and the naturalists tell us that thel?«auties ot the basilisk are inimitable too." " The basilisk, sir! Homer compared with the bnsilisk ! } really don't understand you, sir. " "Why, I mean, sir, that as the basilisk is the more to be dread^ for the beautiful skin that covers his poison, s^ Homer for the bright colourings he throws over bad characters and passions. Now, as I don't think the beauties of po^'try are comparable to those of philanthropy, nor a thousandth part so important to human happiness, I must confess > dread Homer, especially as the companion of youth. The \ ^juslp^ ^ 82 THE LIFE OF and gentle virtues are certainly the greatest charms and sweeteners of life. And I suppose, sir you would hardly think of sending jour son to Achilles to learn these." " I agree he has too much revenge in his composition." "^ Yes, sir, and when painted in the colours which Homer's glowing fancy lends, what jouthbnt must run the most immi- nent risk of catching a spark of bad lire from such a bhize as he throws on his pictures?" "Why this, though an uncommon view of the subject, is, I confess, an ingenious one, Mr. Franklin; but surely 'tis overstrained." •' Not at all, sir; we are told from good authority, that it was the reading of Homer that first put it into the head of Alexander the great to become a Hero: and after him of Charles the 12th. What millions of human beings have been slaughtered by these two great butchers is not known; but still probably not a tythe of what have perished in duels be- tween individuals from the pride and revenge nursed by read- ing Homer." '•Weil, sir," replied the governor, ''I never heard the prince of bards treated in this way before. You must cer- tainly be singular in your charges against Homer." " I ask your pardon, sir, I have the honour to think of Homer exactly as did the greatest philosopher of antiquity; I mean Plato, who strictly forbids the reading of Homer in his republic. And yet Plato was a heathen. I don't boast myself as a christian; and yet I am shocked at the incon- sistency of our Latin and Greek teachers (generally chris- tians and DIVINES too,) who can one day put Homer into the liands of their pupils, and in the midst of their recitations can stop them short to point out the divine beauties and sub- limities which the poet gives to his hero, in the bloody work of slaughtering the poor Trojans; and the next day take them to church to hear a discourse from Christ on the bless- edness of meekness and forgiveness. No wonder that hot-liver ed young men thus educated, should despise meekness and forgiveness, as mere cowards' virtues, and deem nothing so glorious as fighting duels, and blowing out brains." Here the governor came to a pause, like a gamester at his last trump. But perceiving Ben cast his eyes on a spiendid copy of Pope's works, he suddenly seized that as a Ji7ie op- portunity to turn the conversation. So stepping up, he placed his hand on his shoulder, and in a very familiar manner said, •« Well, Mr. Franklin, there's an author that 1 am sure DR. FRANKLIN. 85 you'll not quarrel with^ an author that I think you'll pro- nounce /oi«///e6'5. " *« Why, sir," replied Ben, '' I entertain a most exalted opinion of Popej but still, sir, I think he is not without his faults." " It would puzzle you, I suspect, Mr. Franklin, as keen a critic as you are, to point out one. " '* Well, sir," answered Ben, hastily turning to the place, " what do you think of this famous couplet of Mr. Pope's — "Immodest words admit of no defence, For want of decency is want of sense." *< I see no fault there. " " No, indeed !" replied Ben, " why now to my mind a man can ask no better excuse for any thing wrong he does, than his want of sense.^^ " Well, sir," said the governor, sensibly §taggered, " and how would you alter it?" " Why, sir, if 1 might presume to alter a line in this great Poet, I would do it in this way:— "Immodest words admit but this defence — That want of decency is want of sense." Here the governor caught Ben in his arms as> a delighted father would his son, calling out at the same time to the cap- tain, " How greatly am I obliged to you, sir, for bringing me to an acquaintance with this charming boy? 0! what a delightful thing it would be for us old fellows to converse with spri^htful youth if they were but all like him! — But the d — I of it is^ most parents are as blind as bats to the true dory and happiness of their children. Most parents never look higher for their sons than to see them delving like muck- worms for money; or hopping about like jay-birds, in fine feathers. Hence their conversation is generally no better than froth and nonsense." After several other handsome compliments on Ben, and the captain expressing a wish to be going, the governor shook hands with Ben, begging at the same time that he would for ever consider him as one of his fastest friends, and alsc never come to New- York without coming to see him. h2 84 TPIE LIFE OF CHAPTER XX. On returning to the tavern, he hastened into his chamber, where he found his drunken comrade, poor Collins, in a fine perspiration, and considerably sobered, owing to the refrige- rating effects of a pint of strong sage tea, with a tea-spoon- ful of saltpetre, which i3en, before he set out to the go- vernor's, had pressed on him as a remedy he had somewhere read, much in vogue among tlie London topers, to cool off after a rum fever. Collins appeared still to have enough of brandy in him for a frolic; but when Ben came to tell him of the amiable governor Burnet, in whose company, at his own palace, he had spent a most delightful evening; and also to remind him of the golden opportunity he had lost, of forming an acquaintance with that noble gentleman, poor Collins wept bitterly. Ben was exceedingly affected to see him in tears, and en- deavoured to comfort him. But he refused comfort. He said, "if this had been theirs/ time, he should not himself think much of it; but he candidly confessed, that for a long time he had been guilty of it, though till of late he had always kept it to himself, drinking in his chamber. But now he felt at times," he said, " an awful apprehension that he was a lost man. His cravings for liquor were so strong on the one hand, and on the other his powers of resistance so feeble, that it put him fearfully in mind of the dismal state of a poor wretch, within the fatal attraction of a whirlpool, whose re- sistless suction, in spite of all his feeble efforts, was hurrying him down to sure and speedy destruction." Collins, who was exceedingly eloquent on every subject, but especially on one so nearly affecting himself, went on deploring liis misfortune in strains so tender and pathetic, that Ben, whose eyes were fountains ever ready to flow at the voice of sorrow, could not refrain from weeping, which he did most unfeignedly for a long esteemed friend now going to ruin. He could bear, he said, to see the brightest plumed bird, charmed by the rattle-snake, descending into the hior- rid sepulchre of the monster's jaws. He could bear to see the richest laden Indiaman, dismasted and rudderless, drift- ing ashore on the merciless breakers; because made of dust, these things must at any rate return to dust again. But to see an immortal mind stopped in her first soarings, entangled and limed in the filth of so brutal a vice as drunkenness— DR. FRANKLIN 83 that was a sight he could not bear. And as a mother looking m her child that is filleted for the accursed Moloch, cannot otherwise than shed tears, so Ben, when he looked on poor Collins, could not but weep when he saw him the victim of destruction. However, as a good wit turns every thing to advantage, this sudden and distressing fall of poor Collins, set Ben to thinking: and the result of his thoughts noted down in his journal of that day, deserves the attention of all young men of this day; and even will as long as human nature en- dures. «' Wit," says he, " in young men, is dangerous, because apt to breed vanity, which, when disappointed, brings them down, and by depriving them of natural cheerfulness, drives them to the bottle for that which is artificial. And learning also is dangerous, when it is aimed at as an end and not a mean. A young man who aspires to be learned mere- ly for fame, is in danger; for, familiarity breeding contempt, creates an uneasy void that drives him to the bottle. Hence so many learned men with red noses. But when a man from a benevolent heart, seeks learning for the sublime pleasure of imitating the Deity in doing good, he is always made so happy in the spirit and pursuit of this godlike object, that he needs not the stimulus of brandy." This one hint, if duly reflected on by young men, would render the name of Franklin dear to them for ever. CHAPTER XXI. The next day, when they came to settle with the tavern- keeper, and Ben with his usual alacrity had paraded his dol- lars for payment, poor Collins hung back, pale and dumb- founded, as a truant school-boy at the call to recitation. The truth is, the fumes of his brandy having driven all the wit out of his noddle, had puffed it up with such infinite vanity, that he must needs turn in, red faced and silly as he was, to gamble with the cool-headed water-drinking sharpers of New- York. The reader hardly need be informed, that poor Collins' pistareens, which he had scraped together for this expedition, were to these light-fingered gentlemen as a fry of young herrings to the hungry dog-fish. 86 tM LIFE OF Ben was now placed in a most awkward predicament To pay off Collins' scores at New- York, and also his ex- f)enses on the road to Philadelphia, would drain him to the ast fiirthing. But how could he leave in distress a young friend with whom he had passed so many happy days and nights in the elegant pleasure of literature, and for whom he had contracted such an attachment! Ben could not bear the idea, especially as his young friend, if left in this sad condi- tion, might be driven to despair; so drawing his purse he paid off Collins' bill, which, from the quantity of liquor he had drank, was swelled to a serious amount; and taking him by the arm, set out with a heart much heavier than his purse, which indeed was now so empty that had it not been replen- ished at Bristol by the thirty pounds for which, as we have seen, Vernon gave him an order on a gentleman living there, who readily paid it, would never have cariied him and his drunken companion to Philadelphia. On their arrival Col- lins endeavoured to procure employment as a merchant's clerk, and paraded with great confidence his letters of re- commendation. But his breath betrayed him. And the merchants w^ould have nothing to say to him notwith- standing all his letters; he continued, therefore, to lodge and board with Ben at his expense. Nor was this all; for knowing that Ben had Vernon's money, he was continually craving loans of it, promising to pay as soon as he should get into business. By thus imposing on Ben's friendship, getting a little of him at one time, and a little at another, he had at last got so much of it, that when Ben, who had gone on lending without taking note, came to count Vernon's money, he could hardly find a dollar to count! It is not easy to describe the agitation of Ben's mind on making this discovery; nor the alternate chill and fever, that discoloured his cheeks, as he reflected on his own egregious folly in this affair. " What demon," said he to himself, as he bit his lip, '' could have put it into my head to tell Collins that I had Vernon's money! Didn't 1 know that a drunkard has no more reason in him than a hog; and can no better be satisfied, unless like him he is eternally pulling at his filthy swill? And have I indeed been all this time throwing away Vernon's money for brandy to addle the brain of this poor self-made brute? Well then, I am served exactly as I deserve, for thus making myself a pander to his vices. But now that the money is all gone, and I without a shilling to replace it, what's to be done? Vernon will, no DR. FRANKLIN. 87 doubt, soon learn that I have collected his money; and will of course be daily expecting to hear from me. But what can I write? To tell him that 1 have collected his money, but lent it to a poor, pennyless sot, will sound like a pretty story, to a man of business! And if I don't write to him, what will he think of me, and what will become of tliat high opinion he had formed of me, on which it appeared he would have trusted me with thousands.^ So you see, I have got myself into a pretty hobble. And worse than all yet, how shall 1 ever again lift up my booby face to my affectionate brother John, after having tluis basely stabbed him, through his friend, as also through the honour of our family! O my dear, dear old father; now I see your wisdom and my own folly! A thou- sand times did you tell me I was too young; too inexpe- rienced yet, to undertake by myself. — But no. It would not all do. For the life of you, you could not lead or drive such divine counsel into this conceited noddle of mine. I despised it as the weakness of old age^ and much too slow for me. I wanted to save time, and get three or four years ahead of other young men; and that tempted me to disobe dience. Well, I am justly punished for it! My bubble is broke. And now I see I shall be thrown back as long as if I had continued the apprentice of my brother James!!" young men! young men! you that with segars in your mouths, and faces flushed with libations of whiskey, can fancy yourselves clever fellow s^ and boast the long list of your dear friends, O think of the curses that Ben bestowed on his dear fiiend Collins, for bringing him in such a scrape; and learn that an ^dle, drinking rascal has no friends. If you think otherwise, it is only a proof that you don't even yet un derstand the meaning of the word. Friends indeed! you tidk of friends! What, you, who instead of nobly pressing on for VIRTUE and knowledge and wealth, to make your- selves an honour and blessing to your connexions, are con- stantly, by your drunken and gambling courses, making yourselves a disgrace and curse to them. And when, like that tool in the parable, your all is gone, then, instead of modestly going with him into the fields, to feed the swine, you have the impudence to quarter your rags and red noses on your dear friends, spunging and borrowing of them as long as they'll lend. And if at last, they should get wise enough to refuse such unconscionable leechers, as would suck every drop of their blood, instantly you can turn tail and abuse your deaj 88 THE LIFE OF friends as though thej were pick-pockets. — Witness now master Collins. Just as Ben was in the midst of his fever and pet, on dis- covering as aforesaid, the great injury which Collins had done him, who but that promising youth should come in, red faced and blowzy, and with extreme confidence, demand of him a couple of dollars. Ben, rather tartly, replied, that he had no more to spare. "Pshaw," answered Collins, "'tis only a brace of dollars I want, just to treat an old Boston acquaint- ance I fell in with at the tavern, and you know Vernon tipt you ' the shiners' t'other day to the tune of a round hun- dred." *' Yes," replied Ben, "but what with two dollars at one time, and two at another, you have taken nearly the whole." "Well, man, and what of that," rejoined Col- lins, swaggeringlyj '' suppose I had taken the whole; yes, and twice as much, sha'nt I get into fine business presently, some head clerk's place, or governor's secretary? And then you'll see how I'll tumble you in the yellow boys hand over hand, and pay you off these little beggarly items all at a dash." '•'Fair words, Mr. Collins,^^ answered Ben, " buffer no parsnips. And you have been so long talking at this rate, and yet doing nothing, that I really am afraid — " '^Afraid, the d 1," interrupted Collins, insultingly, '* afraid of what? But see here, Mr. Franklin, I came to you, not to preach to me, but to lend me a couple of dollars. And now all that you have to do is just to tell me, at a word, whether you can lend them or not." '<- Well then, at a word, I cannot," said Ben. '' Well then, you are an ungrateful fellow," retorted Collins. *' Ungrateful?" asked Ben, utterly astonished. " Yes, an ungrateful fellow," replied Collins. " You dare not deny, sir, that it was I who first took you out of the tallow pots and grease of your old fiither's candle shop in Boston, and made a man of you. And now after all, when I only ask you to lend me a couple of shabby dollars to treat a friend, you can refuse me! Well, keep your dol- lars to yourself and be d d for an ungrateful fellow as you arel" then wheeling on his heel he went off, blustering and swollen with passion, as though he had been most out- rageously ill-treated. Soon as Ben had recovered himselt a little from the stupefaction into which this tornado o* DR. FRANKLIN. 89 Collins had thrown him, he clapped his hands, and rolling up his eyes like one devoutly given, exclaimed, " O Ulysses, well called wise! You, though a heathen, could lash your sailors to the mast to keep them from going ashore to be made hogs of at the grog shops of Circe, while I, the son of an old presbyrerian christian, the son of his old age, and heir elect of all his wisdom, have been here now for weeks together, lending money to brutalize my own friend ! Would to heaven, I had been but half as wise as you, 1 should not have been so shamefully fleeced, and now so grossly insulted by this young swine, Collins. But what brain of man could have suspected this of him? After taking him out of the stye of a jug tavern in New- York, where he was up to the back in dirt and debt — after paying all his expenses to Philadel- phia, and here supporting him cheerfully, out of my hard and scanty earnings; — after submitting, for cheapness sake, to sleep in the same bed with him every night, scorched with fiis rum-fevered flesh, drenched in his nocturnal sweats, and poisoned with his filthy breath; and still worse, after lend- ing him nearly the whole of Vernon's money, and thereby brought my own silly nose to the grindstone, perhaps for many a doleful year, I should now at last be requited with all this abuse; d — ^n — d for an ungrateful fellow! ! Well, I don't know where all this is to end; but I will still hope for the best. I hope it will teach me this important lesson, never to have any thing to do with a sot again, as long as I live. But stop, though I refused him money to get drunk with, I still feel a friendship for this wretched young man, this Collins; and will still work to support him, while he stays with me. It is likely that now, that he can get no more money from me, he will take his departure; and then, if my senses remain, I think I will for ever hereafter shun, as I would a beast, the young man who drinks drams and grog.''^ From his going off" in such a pet, Ben had supposed at first, that Collins would not return again. But having no money nor friends in Philadelphia, the poor fellow came back at night, to his old roosting place with Ben, by whom he was received with the same good humour as if nothing had hap- pened. But though the injured may forgive, the injurer sel- dom does. Collins never looked straight at Ben after this. The recollection of the past kept him sore. And to be de- pendent on one M-hom, in the pride of former days, he had thought his inferior, rendered his condition so uneasy, that he longed for an opportunity to get out of it. Fortunately 90 tM life OF an opportunity soon oft'ered. The captain of a trader to th« West Indies, tailing in with him one day at a tavern, where he was spouting away at a most elegant rate, was so charmed with his vivacity and wit, which most young fools, half shaved, are apt to figure in, that he offered him the place of a private tutor in a rich family in Jamaica. Dame fortune, in her best humour, with all her cogged dice in the bargain, could not, as Collins himself thought, have thrown him a luckier hit. Young black eyed Creoles, with fourth proof spirit, in all its delicious modifications, of slings^ bumbo and punch, dancing before his delighted fancy, in such mazes of pleasurable pro- mise, that 'tis likely he would hardly have exchanged places with the grand Turk. With a countenance glowing with joy, he hastened to Ben to tell him the glorious news, and to take leave. After heartily congratulating him on his good fortune, Ben asked, if he would not want a little money to Jit him out. Collins thanked him, but said that the captain, who had engaged him, was such a noble-hearted fellow, that he had, of his own accord, advanced him three half joes to put him into what he called '^complete sailing trim,."^^ Though Ben had of late been so scurvily treated by Collins, as to think it very desirable to be quit of him; yet, when the time came, he found it no such easy matter for the heart to dissolve the ties of a long and once pleasant friendship. He nad passed with Collins many of his happiest hours, and *hese too, in the sweetest season of life, and amidst pleasures which best lift the soul from earth, and spring those unutter- able hopes she delights in. How then, without tears, could ke for the last time, feel the strong pressure of his hand, and catch the parting glance.^ On the other side, through watery eyes and broken accents, poor Collins sobbed out his last adieu, not without hearty thanks, for the many favors which Ben had done him, and solemn promises of %^Q^i\\\y writing to him, and remitting all his money. Charity would fain believe, that he hilly so intended; but alas! nor money, noi friend did Ben ever hear of afterwards. This elegant vic- tim of rum, was no doubt presented by the captain to the wealthy family in Jamaica. And being introduced, under the genial influence perhaps of a cheerful glass, 'tis likely' that with his advantages of education and elc-quence, he made such a figure in the eyes of those wealthy and hospitable .slanders, tliat they were in raptures with him, and fondly counted that they had got an elegant young schoolmaster, who was to make scholars and wits of the whole family. DR. FRANKLIN. 91 Perhaps too, their darling hope, a blooming daughter, was seen to heave the tender sigh, as blushing she darted the side-long glance upon him. But alas! the next day sees the elegant young schoolmaster chad drunk! and the amiable family all in the dumps again. 'Tis more than probable, that after having been alternately received and dismissed from a dozen wealthy families, he sunk at length, into tattered garments, and a grog-blossomed facej the mournful victim of intemperance. And now perhaps, after all the fair pros- pects of his youth, and all the fond hopes of his parents, poor Collins, untimely buried in a foreign church-yard, only- serves for the pious to point their children to his early tomb, and remind them how vain are talents and education with out the restraints of religion. CHAPTER XXII. Soon as Ben reached Philadelphia, as aforesaid, he waited on the governor, who received him with joy, eagerly call- ing out, ^'Well my dear boy, what success? What suc- cess .^" Ben, with a smile, drew his father's letter from his pocket. The governor snatched it, as if all impatient to see its contents, which he ran through with a devouring haste. When he was done, he shook his head and said, " it was to be sure a sensible, letter, a vastly sensible letter; but — bid, — it won'tdo," continued he to Ben, "no, it won't do; your father is too cautious, entirely too cautious, sir." Hereupon he fell into a brown study, witli his eyes nailed to the ground, as in a profound reverie. After a moment's pause, he suddenly looked up, and with a countenance bright as with some happy thought, he cried out, *' I've got it, my dear youn^ friend, I've got it exactly. Zounds! what signifies making two bites at a cherry? In for a penny, in for a pound, is my way. Since your father will do nothing for you, I'll do it all myself. A printer I want, and a printer I'll have, that's a clear case: and I am sure you are the lad that will suit me to a fraction. So give me a list of the articles you want from England, and I will send for them by the very next ship, and set you up at once: and all I shall expect of you, is that you'll pay me when you are able!!" Seeing the tear swelling in Ben's eye, the governor took him by tlie hand, and in a softened 93 THE LIFE OF tone said, " come, nothing of that my dear boy, nothing of that. A lad of your talents and merit, must not languish in tlie back ground for lack of a little money to bring you forward. So make me out, as I said, a list of such articles as you may want, and I'll send for them at once to London.— But stop ! would it not be better for you to go to London, and choose these things yourself? you could then, you know, be sure to have them all of the best quality. And besides, you could form an acquaintance with some clever fellows in the book Belling and stationary line, whose friendship might be worth a Jew's eye to you, in your business here. Ben, hardly able now to speak, thanked the governor as well as he could for so generous an offer. — " Well then," continued the governor, *«get yourself in readiness to go with the Annis. " The reader will please to be informed, that the Annis was, at that time, (1722) the only regular trader between London and Philadelphia^ and she made but one voyage in the year! Finding that the Annis was not to sail for several months yet, Ben prudently continued to do journey work for old Keimerj but often haunted with the ghost of Vernon's money which he had lent to Collins, and for fear of what would become of him if Vernon should be strict to mark his iniquities in that mad affair. But happily for him, Vernon made no demand. It appeared afterwards that this worthy man had not forgotten his money. But learning from a variety of quarters, that Ben was a perfect non-descript of industry and frugality, he concluded that as the money was not paid, Ben was probably under the hatches. He therefore, generously, let the matter lie over till a dis- tant day, when Ben, as we shall by and by see, paid him up fully, botli principal and interest, and thus recovered the high ground he formerly held in his friendship. Thanks be to God, who has given to inflexible honesty and industry, such power over the '^ heart stnngs,^^ as well as ''purse strings f^^ of mankind. DR. FRANKLIN. 9S CHAPTER XXIII. Bp:x was naturally comic in a high degree, and this plea- sant vein, greatly improved by his present golden prospects, betrayed him into many a frolic with Keimer, to whom he had prudently attached himself as a journeyman, until the Annis should sail. The reader will excuse Ben for these frolics when he comes to learn what were their aims; as also what an insufferable old creature this Keimer was. Silly as a BOOBY, yet vain as a jay, and garrulous as a pie, he could never rest but when in a stiff argument, and acting the orator, at which he looked on Cicero himself as but a boy to him. Here was a fine target for Ben's Socratic artillery, which he frequently played off on the old pomposo with great effect. By questions artfully put, he would obtain of him certain points, which Keimer readily granted, as seeing in them no sort of connexion with the matter in debate. But yet these points, when granted, like distant nets slyly hauling round a porpoise or sturgeon, would, by degrees, so completely cir- cumvent the silly fish, that with all his flouncing and fury he could never extricate himself, but rather got more deeply entangled. Often caught in this way, he became at last so afraid of Ben's questions^ that he would turn as mad when one of them was 'Spoked at him,^^ as a bull at sight of a scar- let cloak; and would not answer tlie simplest question with- out first asking, " well, and what would you make of that 9^'' He came at length to form so exalted an opinion of Ben's talents for refutation, that he seriously proposed to him one day that they should turn out together and preach up a New Religion! Keimer was to preach and make the converts, and Ben to answer and put to silence the gainsayers. He said a world of money might be made by it. On hearing the outlines of thiS new religion, Ben found great fault with it. This he did only that he might have an- other frolic with Keimer; but his frolics were praiseworthy, for they all " leaned to virtue's side." The truth is, he saw that Keimer was prodigiously a hypocrite. At every whip- stitch he could play the knave, and then for a pretence would read his Bible. But it was not the moral part of the Bible, the sweet precepts and parables of the Gospel that he read. No verily. Food so angelic was not at all to the tooth of his childish fanc;^, which delighted in nothing but the novel *nd curious. Like too. many of the saints now-a-days, he / 94 THE LIFE OF would rather read about the witch of Endor, than the good Samaritan, and hear a sermon on the brazen candlesticks than on the love of God. And then, O dear! who was Melchizedeck? Or where was the land of Nod? Or, was it in the shape of a serpent or a monkey that the devil tempted Eve? As he was one day poring over the pentateuch as busy after some nice game of this sort as a terrier on the track of a weazle, he came to that famous text where Moses sajs, " thou shalt not mar the corners of thy beard. " Aye ! tliis was the divinity for Keimer. It struck him like a new /light from the clouds: tiien rolling his eyes as from an appa- rition, he exclaimed, " miserable man that I am! and was I indeed forbidden to mar even the corners of my beard^and have I been all this time shaving myself as smooth as an eunuch 1 Fire and brimstone, how have you been boiling up for me, and I knew it not! Hell, deepest hell is my portion, that's a clear case, unless I reform. And reform I will if I live. Yes, my poor naked chin, if ever 1 but get another crop upon thee and I suffer it to be touched by the ungodly steel, then let my right hand forget her cunning." From that day he became as sliy of a razor as ever Sam- son was. His long black whiskers ^'ivhistled in the wind,'^'' And then to see how he would stand up before his glass and stroke them down, it would have reminded you of some an-- cient Druid, adjusting the sacred Misletoe. Ben could not bear that sight. Such shameless neglect of angel morality, and yet such fidgetting about a goatish beard! '' Heavens, sir," said he to Keimer, one day in the midst of a hot argument, " Who can think, with common sense, A smooth shaved face gives God oflence? Or that a whisker hatli a charm, Eternal justice to disarm?" He even proposed to hirn to get shaved. Keimer swore outright that he would never lose his beard. A stiff alter- cation ensued. But Keimer getting angry, Ben agreed at last to give up the beard. He said that, " as the beard at best was but an external, a mere excrescence, he would not insist on that as so very essential. But certainly sir," continued he, " there is one thing that is." Keimer wanted to know what that was. " Why sir," added Ben, *' this turning out and preaching up a New Religion, is, without doubt, avery serious affair, and ought not to be undertaken too hastily. Much time, DR. FRANKLIN. 93 sir, in my opinion at least, should be spent in making pre- paration, in which, fasting should certainly have a large share." Keimer, who was a great glutton, said he could never fast, Ben then insisted that if they were not to fast altogether, they ought, at any rate, to abstain from animal food, and live as the saints of old did, on vegetables and water, Keimer shook his head, and said that if he were to live on vegetables and water, he should soon die. Ben assured him that it was entirely a mistake. He had tried it often, he said, and could testify from his own expe- rience that he was never more healthy and cheerful than when he lived on vegetables alone. "Die from feeding on vege- tables, indeed I Why, sir, it contradicts reason; and con- ti'adicts all history, ancient and profane. There was Daniel, and his three young friends, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abe^- nego, who fed on a vegetable diet, of choice; did they languish and die of it? or rather did they not display a rouge of health and fire of genius, far beyond those silly youths who crammed on all the luxuries of the royal table? And that amiable Italian nobleman, Lewis Cornaro, who says of bread, that it was such a dainty to his palate, that he was almost afraid, at times, it was too good for him to eat; did he languish and die of this simple fare? On the contrary, did he not out-live three generations of gratified epicures; and after all, go ofi" in his second century, like a bird of Para- dise, singing the praises of Temperance and Virtue? And pray, sir," continued Ben, *' where's the wonder of all this? Must not the blood that is formed of vegetables be the purest in nature? And then, as the spirits depend on the blood, must not the spirits secreted from such blood be the purest too? And when this is the case with the blood and spirits, which are the very life of the man, must not that man enjoy the best chance for such healthy secretions and circulations as are most conducive to long and happy life?" While Ben argued at this rate, Keimer regarded him with a look which seemed to say, " Very true, sir; all this is very true; but still I cannot go it,^^ Ben, still unwilling to give up his point, thought he would make one more push at him. "What a pity it is," said he with a sigh, "that the blessings of so sublime a religion should be all lost to the world, merely for lack of a little fortitude on the part of its propagators." This was touching him on the right string; for Keimer i2 96 THE LIFE OF was a man of such vanity, that a little flattery would put him up to any thing. So after a few hems and hoi's, he said, he be- lieved he would, at any rate, make a trial of this new regimen. Having thus carried his point, Ben immediately engaged a poor old woman of the neighbourhood to become their cook^ and gave her off hand, written receipts for three and forty dishes^ not one of which contained a single atom of hsh, flesh, or fowl. For their first day's breakfiist on the new regimen, the old woman treated them with a terrene of oat- meal gruel. Keimer was particularly fond of his breakfast, at wliich a nice beef-stake with onion sauce was a standing dish. It was as good as a farce to Ben, to see with what an eye Keimer regarded the terrene, when entering the room, in place of his stake, hot, smoking, and savory, he beheld this pale, meagre-looking slop. ''What have you got there?" said he, with a visage grum, and scowling eye. " A dish of hasty pudding," replied Ben, with the smile of an innocent youth who had a keen appetite, with some- thing good to satisfy it — " a dish of nice hasty pudding, sir, made of oats." "Of oats!" retorted Keimer, with a voice raised to a scream. "Yes, sir, aa^s," rejoined Ben,-— "o«/s, that precious grain which gives such elegance and fire to our noblest of quadrupeds, the horse." Keimer growled out, that he was no horse to eat oats. " No matter for that," replied Ben, " 'tis equally good for men. " Keimer denied that any human being ever eat oats. "Aye!" said Ben, "and pray what's become of the Scotch ? Don't they live on oats; and yet, where will you find a people so ' bonny, blythe, and gay;' a nation of such wits and warriors." As there was no answering this, Keimer sat down to the terrene, and swallowed a few spoonfuls, but not without making as many wry faces as if it had been so much jalapj while Ben, all smile and chat, breakfasted most deliciously. At dinner, by Ben's order, the old woman paraded a trencher piled up with potatoes. Keimer's grumbling fit came on Iiim again. " He saw clear enough," he said, " that he was to be poisoned." "Poh, cheer up, man," replied Ben; " this is your right preacher's bread." DR. FRANKLIN 97 "Bread the d — 1!" replied Keimer, snarling. "Yes, bread, sir," continued Ben, pleasantly; "the bread of life^ sir; for where do you find such health and spirits, such bloom and beauty, as among the honest-hearted Irish, and yet for their breakfast, dinner, and supper, the fotato is their tetotum; i\\Q first, second, and third course." n this way, Ben and his old woman went on witli Keimer; daily ringing the changes on oat-meal gruel, roasted potatoes, boiled rice, and so on, through the whole family of roots and grains in all their various genders, moods, and tenses. Sometimes, like a restive mule, Keimer would kick up and show strong symptoms of flying the way. But then Ben would prick him up again with a touch of his ruling pas- sion, vanity; *' only think, Mr. Keimer," he would say, " only think what has been done by the founders of new religions : how they have enlightened the ignorant, polished the rude, civilized the savage, and made heroes of those who were little better than brutes. Think, sir, what Moses did among the stiff-necked Jews; what Mahomet did among the wild Arabs — and what you may do among these gentle drab-coated Pennsylvanians." This, like a spur in the flank of a jaded horse, gave Keimer a new start, and pushed him on afresh to his gruel breakfasts and potato dinners. Ben strove hard to keep him up to this gait. Often at table, and especially when he saw that Keimer was in good hu- mour and fed kindly, he would give a loose to fancy, and paint the advantages of their new regimen in the most glow- mg colours. " Aye, sir," he would say, letting drop at the same time his spoon, as in an ecstacy of his subject, while his pudding on the platter cooled — "aye, sir, now we are beginning to live like men going a preaching indeed. Let your epicures gormandize their fowl, fish, and flesh, with draughts of intoxicating liquors. Such gross, inflam- matory food may suit the brutal votaries of Mars and Venus. But our views, sir, are different altogether; we are going to teach wisdom and benevolent to mankind. This is a hea- venly work, sir, and our minds ought to be heavenly. Now, as the mind depends greatly on the body, and the body on the food, we should certainly select that which is of the most pure and refining quality. And this, sir, is exactly the food to our purpose. This mild potato, or this gentle pudding, is the tning to insure the light stomach, the cool liver, the clear head, and, above all, those celestial passions 98 THE LIFE OF which become a preacher that would moralize the world. And these celestial passions, sir, let me add, though I don't pretend to be a prophet, these celestial passions, sir, were you but to stick to this diet, would soon shine out in your coun- tenance with such apostolic majesty and grace, as would strike all beholders with reverence, and enable you to carry the world before you." Such was the style of Ben's rhetoric with old Keimer. But it could not all do. For though these harangues would sometimes make him fancy himself as big as Zoroaster or Confucius, and talk as if he should soon have the whole country running after him, and worshipping him for the Great Lama of the west; yet this divinity fit was too much against the grain to last long. Unfortunately for poor Kei- mer, the kitchen lay between him and his bishobprick: and both nature and habit had so wedded him to that swinish idol, that nothing could divorce him. So after having been led by Ben a « very d / of a life^^'^ as he called it, ^'for three months,^^ his flesh-pot appetites prevailed, and he swore, ''by his whiskers, he would suffer it no longer.''^ Accordingly he ordered a nice roast pig for dinner, and de- sired Ben to invite a young friend to dine with them. Ben did so: but neither himself nor his young friend were any thing the better for the pig. For before they could arrive, the pig being done, and his appetite beyond all restraint, Keimer nad fallen on it and devoured the whole. And there he sat panting and torpid as an Anaconda who had just swallowed a young buffaloe. But still his looks gave sign that the " Ministers of Grace^^ had not entirely deserted him. for at sight of Ben and his young friend, he blushed up to the eye lids, and in a glow of scarlet, which showed that he paid dear for his whistle, (gluttony) he apologized for disap- pointing them of their dinner. *' Indeed, the smell of the pig," he said, "was so sweet, and the nicely browned skin so inviting, especially to him who had been long starved^ that for the soul of him he (sould not resist the temptation to taste it — and then, O ! if Lucifer himself had been at the door, he must have gone on, let what would have been the :onsequences." He said too, "that for his part he was ,8 THE LIFE OF to be regarded. The sound of your hammer at five in tlie morning, or nine at night, heard bj a creditor, makes him easy six months longer; but if he see you at a billiard table, or hears your voice at a tavern, when you should be at work, he sends for his money next day; and demands it be- fore he can receive it in a lump. It shows, besides, that you are mindful of what you owe. It makes you appear a careful as well as an honest man; and that still increases your credit. Beware of thinking all your own, that you possess; and of living accordingly. It is a mistake that many people, who have credit, fall into. To prevent this, keep an exact account, for some time, both of your expenses and your income. If you take the pains at first to mention particu]y>rs, it will have this good effect:— you will discover how wonderfully small, trifling expenses mount up to large sums: and will soon discern, what might have been, and may for the future be saved, without occasioning any great inconvenience. Again: he, who sells upon credit, asks a price, for what he sells, equivalent to the principal and interest of his money, for the time he is to be kept out of it. Therefore, he who buys upon credit, pays interest for what he buys; and, he who pays ready money, might let that money out to use. So, that he who possesses any thing he has bought, pays interest for the use of it. Yet, in buying goods, it is best to pay ready money; be- cause, he who sells upon credit, expects to lose five per cent, by bad debts. Therefore, he cliarges, on all he sells upon credit, an advance that sliall make up that deficiency. Those who pay for wliat they buy upon credit, pay tlieii s]>are of this advance. He who pays ready money, escapes, or may escape thai charge. Ji penny sav*d is two-pence clear, A pin a da]fs a groat a year. In short, the way to wealth, if you desire it, is as plain as the way to market. It depends chiefly on two words: Industry and Frugality. Waste neither time nor 7noney; but make the best use of both. Without industry and fru- gality, nothing will do; but with them every thing. He who gets all he can, honestly, and saves all he gets, necessary ex- penses excepted, will certainly become rich; if that Being who DR. FRANKLIN. 159 governs the world, to whom all should look for a blessing on their honest endeavours, doth not, in his wise provi- dence, otherwise determine. AN OLD TRADESMAN. Every reader will be diverted with the following. IDLE CURIOSITY CURED. On his first trip, by land, to see his father in Boston, he was worried almost to death by the abominable inquisitive- ness of the New England tavern-keepers. Neither man nor beast could tvavel among them m com fort. No matter how wet or weary, how hungry or thirsty, the poor traveller might be, he was not to expect an atom of refreshment from these silly publicans until their most pestiferous curiosity was first gratified. And then Job him- self could not stand such questions as they would goad him with; such as, where he came from — and ivhere he might be a-going — and what religion he might be of — and if he was a married man — and so on. After having been prodigiously teazed in this way for several days, untd at last the bare sight of a public house almost threw him into an ague, he determined to try the following remedy at the very next tav- ern. Soon as he alighted from nis horse he desired the tavern keeper to collect his whole family, wife, children, and ser- vants, every soul of them; for that he had something vastly important to communicate. All being assembled and won- dering what he had to say, he thus addressed them. " My name is Benjamin Franklin. I am a printer by trade. I live, when at home, in Philadelphia. In Boston I have a father, a good old man who taught me, when I was a little boy, to read my book and say my prayers. I have, ever since, thought it my duty to visit and pay my respects to such a father; and I am on that errand to Boston now. This is all that I can at present recollect of myself that I think worth tell- ing you. But if you can think of any thing else that you wish to know about me, I beg you to out with it at once, that I may answer, and so give you opportunity to get me something to eat; for I long to be on my journey that I may return as soon as possible to my family and business, where I most of all delight to be." Forty thousand sermons against Idle CuRiosrrY could nardly have driven it so effectually out of New England as did this little squib of ridicule. 160 THE LIFE OF Tlie following jeu d'esprit is peculiarly in character with Dr. Franklin. It proves that his wit and his benevolence were equal to every emergence, and that if he carried the Old Testament language in his head, he carried the New Testament spirit in his heart. WIT AND PERSECUTION. The 'conversation turning, one day, on persecution, ?l doc- tor of divinity, distinguished for his wit, but, unfortunately, a little too much infected with that acrimony which is caught by reading books of religious controversy, took tlie part of persecution and contended that it was sometimes right to employ it. Franklin said, he could not think of any case wherein persecution was admissible among rational creatures. It might be very excusable in error to persecute, whose nature it was to see things wrong, and to get angry; but that for such a " divinity as truth," to persecute, was, in his opinion, a sin against the Holy Ghost, never to be forgiven. After using, in his facetious manner, a variety of arguments honourable to wit and philanthropy, and the clergyman still remaining unconvinced, Franklin called out to him with an air of great surprise, " Why, my dear sir, I am asto- nished that you plead thus for persecution when it is so dia- metrically opposite to your Bible.^^ The clergyman replied, that he did not know what doctor Franklin meant. He thought, he said, he knew something of his Bible, but he did not recollect any chapter in point. " No, sirP^ answered Franklin, still with the look and voice of surprise, ''not that memorable chapter concerning Abra- ham and the poor rnan ! Pray, sir, favour us with your Bible a minute or tivo^ " With all my heart," replied the clergyman, '* I should like to see that memorable chapterP^ The company manifested a solicitude for the issue of the pending controversy — the family Bible was brought and laid on the table by the side of doctor Franklin. '* Well, reve- rend sir," said he, looking at the preacher, as he took up the Bible, " shall I read this chapter?" „ "Certainly," replied the divine, settling himself in his chair to listen. — The eyes of all were fixed on Franklin^ when, opening the Bible and turning back the leaves as to find the |>lace, he thus audibly began:-— The twenty-seventh chapter of the first book of Moses, commonly called the book of Genesis. DR. FRANKLIN. 161 I, And it came to pass, after tliese things, that Abra- nam sat in t!ie door of his tent, about the going down of the sun. 2 And behold a man, bowed with age, coming from the way of the wilderness, leaning on a staffi S. And Abraham arose, and met him, and said unto him, turn in, I pray thee, and wash thy feet, and tarry all night, and thou shalt arise early in the morning and go on thy way. 4. But the man said, nay, for I will abide under this tree. 5. And Abraham pressed him greatly; so he turned, and they went into the tent; and Abraham baked unleavened bread, atid they did eat. 6. And when Abraham saw that the man blessed not God, he said unto him, wherefore dost thou not worship the most high God, Creator of heaven and earth. 7. And the man answered and said, I do not worship thy God, neither do I call upon his name; for I have made to myself a God, which abideth always in mine house, and pro- videth me all things. 8. And Abraham's zeal was kindled against the man, and he arose and fell upon him, and drove him forth with blows into the wilderness. 9. And at midnight God called unto Abraham, saying, where is the stranger? 10. And Abraham answered, and said, Lord, he would not worship thee, neither would he call upon thy name, therefore have I driven him out from before my face into the v/ilderness. II. And God said, have I borne with him these hundred and ninety and eight years, and nourished him and clothed him, notwithstanding his rebellion against me; and couldest not thou, that art thyself a sinner, bear with him one night? 12. And Abraham said, let not the anger of my Lord wax hot against his servant; lo, I have sinned: forgive me, I pray thee. 13. And he arose, and went forth into the wilderness, and sought diligently for the man and found him: 14. And returned with him to his tent; and when he had entreated him kindly, he sent him av/ayin the morning with gifts. 15. And God spake again unto Abraham, saying, for this thy sin, shall thy seed be afflicted four hundred years in a strange land: 162 THE LIFE OF 16. But fortlij repentance, will I deliver them; and the^ shall come forth with power, and with gladness of heart, and with much substance. That witty but splenetic old bachelor, Dean Swift, used to say, that " there was no dispute which a man of a tolera- bly good head and heart might not easily avoid falling into, or honourably get out of; and, therefore, as none but fools and rascals fought duels, the sooner such beasts cut each other's throats, the better for the community." This, no doubt, is very true, but still it is too much like striking with a war club, or tomahawk, to be allowed among christians. The fallowing impromptu on duelling, by Dr. Franklin, claims a far higher admiration. It is an arrow pointed with the diamond of wit, dipt in the oil of kindness, that wounds but to heal. THE FOLLY OF DUELLING. This most pusillanimous practice was one day made the theme of conversation in a large party in London, where Doctor Franklin dined. The philosophers and divines of the company joined unanimously to execrate it; and so many sensible and severe things were said against it, that everybody seemed willing to give it up to its father, the devil, except a young officer, whose ugly distortions showed plainly enough that he did not at all relish their strictures. Soon as they were done, he called aloud," well, gentlemen, you may preach as much as you please against duelling, but I'll never pocket an insult for all that. No, if any man affront me, I'll call him to an account, if I lose my life for it." The philosophers and divines looked at each other in si- lence, like fools who had shot their last bolt. Here Franklin took up the cudgels; and looking at the young officer with a smile, said, *' This, sir, puts me in mind of an affair that lately happened in a Philadelphia coffee- house." The young fellow, rather pertly, said he should like to hear what had lately happened in a Philadelphia coffee-nouse. " Why, sir," continued the doctor, "two gentlemen were sitting together in the coffee-house, when one said to the other, for heaven's sake, sir, sit further off, and don't poison me; you smell as bad as a pole-cat." "Sir," retorted the other, "what do you mean? Draw, and defend vourself." DR. FRANKLIN. 163 " 0, sir," quoth the first, ** I'll meet you in a moment, if you i-tisist on it; but let's see first how that's to mend tJu matter. If you kill me, I shall smell as bad as a pole-cat too. And if I kill you, you will only smell ten times worse,^'^ h\ short, that divine motto, " Homo sum, nil humani a me alienura puto." In English thus, A man I am, in man I lake a pari, And good of man is ever next my heart. has seldom been more justly applied than to Dr. Franklin. He seems to have been all eye, all ear, all touch, to every thing that affected human happiness. Did he, even at the early age of twenty-five, form an acquaintance with young persons fond of reading, but unable to purchase books? In- stantly he suggested the plan for obviating that great, great misfortune, by founding a Public Library; whereby, at a small expense in hand, and a much ^nailer paid annually, a subscriber might have his choice of books, on all subjects, whether of pleasure or profit. This Library, which was com- menced in 1731, by Franklin and only thirty-seven mem- bers, and no more than one hundred volumes, consisting of such little parcels of books as each subscriber possessed, is now, 1820, enlarged to six hundred members, and upwards of twenty thousand volumes. The great advantages arising from this library became so sensibly felt that others were soon founded; and they have now kindled up their salutary lights not only in several parts of the city, but in almost every county in the state. From the choicest books on Religion, Morals, History, Voyages, Travels, &c. thus brought home to their fire-sides and con staatly lying on their mantlepieces, the citizens derive ad- vantages incalculable. Their idle hours, formerly so dan- gerous, were now innocently filled up; solitude was cheered with a succession of new ideas; company enlivened by witty conversation, and labour itself sweetened by the thought of a beloved book at night. With their taste thus exalted to better pleasures^ the youth of all classes were saved from the brutalizing sensualities thav destroy character and health. Having their understandings enliglitened, they were led to greater virtues and usefulness. And being thus taught to enjoy life, they felt the strongest inducements to preserve it. Hence the astonishing prospe- rity of Philadelphia in industry and morals, population and wealth. 164 THE LIFE OF Tlie mother Library now displays its twenty thousand volumes, in an elegant building, on the corner of Fifth, and Chestnut. In a niche on the wall above the door is a fine marble likeness of Dr. Franklin at full length, presented by William Bingham, Esq. Again: — -Did Franklin catch a glimpse of those poor pusil- lanimoas creatures, who rather than live nobly independent in the pure aired country, by cultivating their own sweet vegetables, and raising fat j)oultry, will run into the sickly towns to sell whiskey and apples in the summer, and take their chance to starve and freeze in the winter.^ Did he, I Fay, catch a glimpse of these poor spiritless creatures with their children, shivering over small fires kindled by a little '• chari'y wood 9^'' Instantly his bowels of compassion were stirred within him. Although he was no friend to sucli lazy self-made paupers, nor to the miserable policy that winks at them, yet it was impossible for him to remain unconcerned at their sufferings. In a letter to one of his friends, he says, '» since we can get no more wood for the poor, w^e must try from that wood to get more warmth for them." He set him- self to examine the principles of the stoves generally in use. His genius, as usual, discovered such room for amendment, that he soon came out with a stove, which to this day, in honour of him, is called "the franklin stove," and Avherein one cord of charity oak would aftbrd as much heat and comfort to those poor people, as two cords in the old -way I Did he hear the shrill midnight cry of fire! and mark the deep distress of the citizens, as with tearful eyes they be- held the flames swallowing up their pleasant habitations and furniture } Instantly he set himself to call up all the energies of the public against tliis dire calamity, and to point them to the only adequate remedy. Mutual Insurance Com- panies. "il/«n," said he, in his calls to the citizens through his popular iie\yspaper, " 3Ian separate from man, is but a fee- ble creature; and like the filament of flax before the thread is formed, he is without strength, because without connexion. But UNION will make us strong, and enable us to do all things essential to our safety. The houses burnt every year are, compared with all the houses in the city, but few. Jind were all the housekeepers in the city, joined for mutual security, to pay a certain sum ; and ivere that sum put to interest, it would not only cover all the. losses by fir e^ but would actually DR. FRANKLIN. 165 bring in every year, clear profit on his money to each sub- scriber. Numbers of the citizens came into his scheme; and a large '' Mtiiual Insurance Company,^^ was immediately formed. 'n,e great benefits, foretold to flow from it, being soon -oialized, several others were presently set on foot: and now ^^m 1820,) there are, in Philadelphia, no fewer than forty engines, with eight thousand feet of hose, (strong leathern ^/ipes,) to convey the water from the pumps or hydrants to wic engines; whereby in less than two minutes they are in full play, pouring their watery cataracts on the flames. Hence, while for lack of one Franklin, one intelligent and r'lblic spirited philanthropist, many of our promising young towns are suddenly turned to ashes, and their hapless faruilies, driven out naked into the weather; the favoured citizens of Philadelphia, guarded by forty engines, and hundreds of well trained young firemen, seldom sufler any thing beyond a momentary pang from this most alarming element! CHAPTER XXXV. " To him who hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance,''^ The life of Dr. Franklin appears to have been one con- tinued exemplification of this most animating promise; for scarcely had he finished that noble work just mentioned, before he was called to another which acquired him a still higher reputation, I mean his wonderful discoveries in elec- tricity, and his application of them to the preservation of human life and property. The manner in which this honour was conferred on Dr. Franklin, is enough to convince all honest minds that there is a kind Providence over the ways of men, that often turns their ^'seeming evils into real goody Among the many benefits which he derived from the dan- gerous scenes of London, where he was so severely tried, and where he so gloriously triumphed, was his acquaintance with a Mr. Collinson, of that city. This gentleman had a soul of uncommon sensibility to the charms of virtue. His first interview with Franklin, was in Watts's printing-office. The sight of a youthful stranger, not yet out of his teens, p2 166 THE LIFE OF exhibiting such practical lessons of virtue to the deluded young PORTER DRINKERS of Lottdon, filled him with admira tion of his character. On getting acquainted with him, he was in pleasing doubt, whether most to esteem his heart or admire his head. Wlien Franklin left England, the generous CoUinson ac- companied him on board the ship, and at parting, the two friends exchanged canes, with promises of everlasting friend- ship and constant correspondence by letters. Soon as ail London had become filled with the aforesaid rage for elec- tricity, and electrical experiments, Collinson wrote the whole history of them to Franklin, with a compliment to his genius, and an earnest request that he would turn it to that subject, and accompanied all with the present of a small electrical instrument. Franklin's curiosity was excited. He imme- diately set to work; and presently made discoveries thatfa^ exceeded all that Collinson had promised himself. He dis- covered the power of metallic points to draw oft' the electrical matter — he discovered a positive and a negative state of electricity — he explained on electrical principles, the phe- nomena of the famous Leyden vial — he explained the phe- nomena of the aurora borealis, and of thunder-gusts — he showed the striking resemblance in many respects between electricity and lightning. 1st. in giving light. 2d. Tn c >lour of the light. Sd. In crooked direction. 4th. In swiftness of motion. 5th. In being conducted by metals. 6th., In cracking in exploding. 7th. In subsisting in water or ice. 8th. In rending the bodies it passeth through. 9th. In killing animals, loth. In melting metals. 11th. Firing inflammable substances. 12th. Emitting a sulphurous smell. lS*h. In being attracted by iron points. «' We do not, indeed,^' says he, *' know that this property is in lightning, but since electricity and lightning agree in so many other particulars, is it not probable that they agree also in this?" He resolved at any rate to make the experiment. But foreseeing what a blessing it would be to mankind, to disarm the lightnings of their pow^er to harm, he did not in the piti- a^^ ^^Si '■'''■'/■- /. ■'/3iiW;illllriiir''-ii'!i 1 ^^ai i lllll liilltFi l-^lHI -'V^ii^i Pag-c 167. DR. FRANKLIN. 167 ful spirit of ordinary inventors, cautiously conceal the dawn- ings of a discovery that promised so much glory to his name. On tlie contrary, and with a philanthropy that throws eter- nal loveliness over his character, he published his ideas, in- viting all the philosophers to make experiments on this im- portant subject, and even pointed the way, i. e. by insulated bars of iron raised to considerable heights in the air. Immediately, metallic bars, some of them forty feet high, were raised towards the heavens, by sundry philosophers, both in France and England. But God, as if pleased with such disinterested virtue, determined to reserve to Franklin the honour of confirming the truth of his own great theory. Its plan to accomplish this, was in that simplicity which chi acterizes all his inventions. I'o a common kite, made of silk rather than paper, be- »' ^.ise of the rain, he fixed a slender iron point. The string wuich he chose for his kite was of silk, because of the fond- ness of lightning for silk; and for the same reason, at the lower end of the string he tied a key. With this simple preparation, he went out on the commons back of Philadel- phia, as a thundergust was coming on, and raised his kite towards the clouds. The lightning soon found out his me- tallic rod, as it soared aloft on the wings of the kite, and greeted its polished point with a cordial kiss. With joy he beheld the loose fibres of his string raised by the fond salute of the celestial visitant. He hastened to clap his knuckle to the key, and behold^ a smart spark 1 liaving repeated a second, and a third time, he charged a phial with this strange visitor from the clouds, and found that it exploded gunpowder, set spirits of wine on tire, and performed in all respects as the electrical fluid. It is not easy to express the pleasure which this clear con- firmation of his theory must have given to our benevolent philosopher, \\ ho had already counted up some of the great services which he should thereby render to the world. He lost no time in communicating these discoveries to his friend Collinson in London, by whom they were read with unimaginable jo j^. Collinson instantly laid them before the Royal Society, not doubting but they would be printed among their papers, with the same enthusiasm which he had felt. But to his great mortification they were utterly re- jected. Upon this, Collinson went in high dudgeon and print- ed them himself, which was looked on as a very desperate kind of undertaking, especially as he chose for his book^ a 168 THE LIFE OF title that seemed to carrj a death warrant on its face, viz. '*New Experiments on Electricity, made at Philadel- phia, IN North America." Some ventured however to read the Experiments on Electricity made in North America, though with pretty nearly such motives as usual- ly lead people to see the learned pig, or to hear a woman preach. But the scoffers were soon turned into admirers. Discoveries so new and astonishing, presented in a manner so simple, struck every reader with admiration and plea- sure. The book soon crossed the British channel, and was translated into most of the languages of Europe. A copy i^of it, though miserably translated, had the fortune to fall into the hands of the celebrated Buifon, who immediately repeated the experiments and wit'i the most complete suc- cess. Lewis XV. hearing of these curious exhibitions, ex- pressed a wish to be a spectator of tliem. A course of evperiments was made before him and his court, to their ex- ceeding surprise and diversion, by Buffon and De Lor. The history of electricity has not recorded those experiments. But it is probable, that they were not of so comic a charac- ter as the following, wherewith Dr. Franklin would some- times astonish and delight his Philadelphia friends, during the intervals of his severer studies. I. In the presence of a large party at his house, he took up a pistol which he had beforehand charged with inflam- mable air, well stopped with a cork, and presented it to Miss Seaton, a celebrated belle in those days. She took it from the doctor, but could not help turning pale, as though some conjuration was brewing. '' Don^t be a/raid, madam,^^ said lie, '*/(??• I give you my ivord that there is not a grain of powder iyi it; and now turn it against any gentleman in the room that you are angry with^^^ With a sudden blush, she turned it towards a gentleman whom she soon after mar- ried. In the same instant, the doctor drev/ a charged rod near the mouth of the pistol, the electric spark rushed in, and set fire to the inflammable air; off went the pistol; out flew the cork, and striking her lover a smart shock in the face, fell down on the floor, to the exceeding terror at first, but afterwards, to the equal diversion of the young lady and the whole company. This he called the magic pistol. II. At another time, in a large party at his house, all eager, as usual, to see some of his electrical curiosities, ne took from the drawer a number of little dogs, made of the pith of elder, with straw for feet and tails, and set them on DR. FRANKLIN. 169 the table. All eyes were fixed onliim. " Well^ Miss EHza,'^^ said he, addressing the elegant Miss E. Sitgreaves, '^ can you set these little dogs a dancing .^" " A^o indeed^ I can'^t,,^'' replied she. " Well,^^ replied he, ^' if I had such a pair of eyes as you have, I think I could do it, " She blushed. " Hoio- ever, let us see," continued he, ''- if we caji't do something. "^"^ He then took a large tumbler from the table, which he had previously charged with the electric fluid, and clapped the tumbler over the dogs; whereupon they instantly fell to skipping and jumping up the sides of the tumbler, as if they were half mad to get out of it This he called "the DANCING DOGS." III. During samething like a levee, at his house, one night, a couple of ladies who had been at London and Paris, were speaking in rapturous terms of the splendours of those royal courts, and of the diamond stars which they had seen, glit- tering witli more than solar lustre on the breasts of the Prince of Wales and the Dauphin. At length one of the fair orators, as if wrought up to a perfect adoration of the wondrous stars which she had been so elegantly depicting, turned to the doctor, and smartly asked him if he would not like mightily to have such a star. " To be sure, madam,^^ replied he with his usual gallantry, ** and suppose we order one?-^ She looked surprised. '^ Boy,^^ continued he, *' bring me down one of my electrical jars, and put it on the sideboard.''^ While the servant was gone, the doctor took a plate of tin, and cutting it into a dozen angles, like a star, poised it on a wire projecting from his prime conductor. " Well now, ladies, put out the candles, and you shall see a star not inferior to that of the prince of Wales.''^ The can- dles vv^ere put out, and a turn or two of the jar being made, the lightning flew to the plate of tin, and appeared at the extremities of its angles, in a blaze of light beautiful as the morning star. This he called "the electric star." IV. On his sideboard was placed an electrical jar, con- cealed behind a large picture of a man dressed in purple and fine linen. At a short distance stood a little brass pillar, in front of which was the picture of a poor man lying down ragged and wan as Lazarus. From the ceiling, and reach- ing down to the sideboard, was suspended by a fine thread, the picture of a boy, with a face benevolent and beautiful as a youthful cherub. " Well, now, gentlemen, do you know u'lio these are? — This is the proud, unfeeling Dives: that, the poor dying Lazarus; and here is a beautiful boy, that .70 THE LIFE OF for hicmamty^s sake^ we will call the son of Dives. iVoiv gentlemen^ can any of you make this lovely child the minister of Dives'' bounty to poor Lazarus F" They all confessed their inability; regarding him at the same time with an eye of expectation. Without being no- ticed by his company, he charged the jar behind the picture of Dives with electric fluid from his prime conductor. In- stantly, the beauteous youth flew to it, and getting charged flew to the brass pillar behind Lazarus, which possessed no electricity, and imparted to it his whole load. He then flew back to the jar of Dives, and receiving a second supply, has- tened to poor Lazarus and emptied himself again. And thus it went on to the astonishment of the spectators, alter- nately receiving and imparting until it had established a balance between them, and then, as if satisfied, it came to a pause. Seeing their surprise, the doctor thus went on, " Well, now, gentleman, here is a fine lesson for us all. This elec- tric fluid, which you saw animating that youth, came down from heaven to teach us that men were as assuredly de- signed to be helpmates to men, as were the two eyes, the two feet, or the two hands, to assist one another. And if all who are overcharged with this world's riches would but imitate this good little electrical angel, and impart of their superabundance to the empty and the poor, they would, no doubt, even in this world, find a much higher pleasure than in hoarding it up for ungrateful heirs, or spending it on vanity." This he called " Dives and Lazarus." But it were an endless task to enumerate all the rare and beautiful phenomena, wherewith he would surprise and de- light the vast circles of friends and citizens, whose curiosity was so pressing, that, as he saySy it ahnost wore him out. Sometimes, in order to sliow them the force of electricity he would turn his wires against a pack of cards, or a quire of paper, and the subtle fluid would instantly dart through, leaving a beautiful perforation like the puncture of a large needle. Sometimes, to show the wondrous qualities of electricity, he would let "them see it darting, like a diamond bead, through a long cylinder of water, not hurt, like other fires, by that element. Sometimes he would place a young lady, generally the handsomest of the company, on his electrical stool; then by slily touching her dress with his magic wand, he would so DR. FRANKLIN. 171 nil her lovely frame with the electric fluid, that, on the ap- proach of any young gentleman to kiss her, a spark from her ruby lips would suddenly drive him frightened and stao-- gering back. This was called the '' magic kiss." "" Sometimes he would fix figures of horses cut in paper, on wires nicely poised, so as to move in circles round his prime conductor, then, from his magic wand, he would dash on t!iem a stream of mimic lightning, which, potent as the whips and spurs of Newmarket, would set tliem all in full speed, bending and buckling with glorious emulation in the beautiful contest, to the great amusement of the spectators. The public named this the ''electrical horse race." Sometimes he would suspend, near the ceiling, a larP-e flock of finely picked cotton, or place on a distant table.^i paper of gunpowder; then from his wires, artfully directed, he would send a flash of lightning, instantly exploding the powder, and wrapping the cotton into a blaze. Sometimes he would take the model of a double-geared water mill, turning two pair of stones, and placing it near his prime conductor, direct a stream of electric fire against the large wheel, setting it in motion, and with it the whole machinery of his mill, to the equal surprise and pleasure of the beholdei-s, ' Sometimes he would take the figures of the sun, moon, and earth, cut in papers, and fix them on wires, nicely balanced. Then, by the force of the electric fluid, he would set them a-going in most harmonious style — the earth re- volving round her own axis,- the moon round the earth; and both round the sun; all exactly according to the course which the hand of the Creator had prescribed to these mighty orbs. For the sake of those who have never considered this wonderful attraction of lightning to iron rods, I beg leave to relate the following very extraordinary and daring experi- ments of Dr. Franklin. * ' In a large chamber, which he kept for his electrical appa- ratus and experiments, he suspended a number of bells, all connected by wires, and communicating, through the gable end ot the house, with the large lightning rods that de- scended along the chimney to the ground. His aim in this contrivance was, that he might know whenever a lightning cloud passed over his house in the night; and also what freight of electrical fluid it carried about with it. For, as it seldom passes, without paying a loving visit to his rod, sa 172 THE LIFE OF it always told, with great honesty, tlie amount of its in- flammable cargo, especially if it was ample; in which case, it was always sure to set the bells a ringing at a terrible rate And besides these, he had numbers of men and women of the Lilliputian stature, cut in paper, and so artfully at- tached to the clappers, that as soon as the bells began to ring, the men and women began to dance also, and all of tlieni more and more merrily, according as this extraordinary kind of music played up more briskly. But though, for the amusement of his friends, Franklin would sometimes set his bells and dolls to ringing and dancing, by his electricity, yet his main object was, to invite the lightnings to be the bell ringers, and dancing masters to his puppets, that, as before observed, he might become better acquaittted with the nature of lightning, and thus extend his electrical ex- periments and knowledge. But it must be owned, that when the lightnings were drawn dov/n for this purpose among the bells and v/ires ot his chamber, the entertainment was almost too terrible to be agreeable to any but pliilosophers. The elegant J. Dickinson, Esq. informed me, that he was at Dr. Franklin's one evening, with a large party, when a dreadful cloud began to rise, with distant thunder and lightning. The ladies, panic struck, as usual, were all in a prodigious bustle for their bonnets, to get home. The doc- tor entreated them not to be frightened; for that they were in the safest house in Philadelphia; and indeed, jokingly off'ered to underwrite their lives at the low premium of a groat a head. When the storm was near its worst, he invited his com- pany up into his large chamber. A glimmering light faintly showed them his electrical apparatus of globes, cylinders, bells, wires, and the Lord knows what, conveying to those of the superstitious sort, a strong idea of a magic cell, or a naunted castle, at least. Presently a dreadful clap of tlmn- dei' shook the house over their heads, the chamber was filled with vivid lightnings, darting like fiery serpents, crackling and hissing along the wire all around them, while the strong smell of sulphur, together with the screams of the poor la- dies, and the ringing of the bells, completed the terrible- ness of the scene, inspiring a fearful sense of the invisible world. " But all these things^ gentlemen,^^ he would say, smiling all the time on his crowding and gaping friends, as a parent \ DR. FRANKLIN. IT'S on Ills children, whom he saw surprised at small matters, " all these things are mere nothings ; the childish sportings^ of an art bid yet in its cradle. Electricity, gentlemen, is of the terrible family of lightning, that most powerful of the works of God on this globe, and the chosen instrument of most of his operations here below. It is the electric fluid, (passing from a full cloud to an empty one,) that makes liis voice, and that, as tlie scripture says, a terrible voice, even the THUNDER, to terHfy the guilty, and to increase in the virtuous a becoming reverence of the Creator. For if the electric fluid passing from a small jar, cause so loud a crack, why should we wonder at tlie dreadful peals of tluin- der tliat are occasioned, when thousands and myriads of acres of clouds are throwing oft' their electric fluid in rivers of living fires, sufficient to blow up the globe itself, if the Almighty were but to let loose his hold on these furious agents. And this electric fluid is that same lightning which, as David says, shines out from one end of Heaven to another, and that so instantaneously, that were all the men, women, and children, on earth, jouiing hands, to form a ring round this great globe, an electric shock given to the first person in that ring, would so suddenly reach the last, that they themselves would probably be at a loss to determine which of them received it first. " Thus the electric fluid, in the form of lightning, serves also in the hand of heaven as the red rod to restrain the vicious. Does the benevolent governor of the world seek to impress a salutary awe on the gambler, the drunkard, and such immoral characters, whose lives are in constant oppo- sition to their own and the happiness of others ? He but speaks to his ready ministers, the lightnings. Quickly, from the sultry cloud, coming up with muttering thunder, black and terrible as nature's approaching pall, the fright- ening flash bursts forth, rending the trees and houses over their heads; killing their flocks and herds; and filling the air with smoking sulpluir, a strong memento of that dismal place to which their evil practices are leading them. And when, to unthinking mortals, he sees fit to read instruction on a wider scale, he only needs but beckon to the electric FLUID. Straightway this subtle servant of his power rushes forth, clad in various forms of terror, sometimes as the roar- ing whirlwind, unroofing the palaces of kings, and desolat- ing the forests in its course. Sometimes witli dreadful stride it rushes forth upon the 'howling wilderness of waves,' in 174 THE LIFE OF sliiipe oF the funnelleil water-spout, witli hideous roiir and foam, \\hirliugthe tViglitened billows to the clouds, or dash- uvr them back with thunderino- crash into their dismal ^ulphs; while the hearts of the seamen, looking on, sink witli terror at the sight, and even sharks and sea-monsters i\y for refuge to their oo7,j caverns. '' Sometimes, with tlie bolder aim of tlie earthquake, it strikes both sea and land at once, sending the frightened globe bellowing and trembling along her orbit, sadlj pon- tlering the coming day, when the measure of sin being hi led up, she sliall be wrapt in these same electric fires, perhaps, and lose her place for ever among the starry train." But thougli the experiments above mentioned are highly cu- rious; and also Dr. Franklin's reflections on them abuntlantly philosopliical and correct, for what I know, yet the world should learn that the gratification of public curiosity formed but a very small part of his many and grand discoveries in electricity. For soon as he had ascertained that lightning was tlwi same thing with the electric fluid, and like it, so passionately fond of iron that it would forsake every thing else in its course, to run along upon that beloved metal, he conceived the plan of putting this discovery to those beneft- cent uses for which alone he thought the power of discovery was given to man, and which alone can consecrate it to the divine Giver. " The GRAND j)ructical iise,^^ says the learned Mr. Immi- son, who, though a Scotch monarchist himself, had the ex- traordinary virtue to be a profound admirer of our republi- can American, — " the grand practical use which Dr. Frank- lin made of this discovery was to secure houses and ships from being damaged by lightning; a thing of vast conse- ([uence in all parts of the world, but more especially in North America, where thundergusts are more frequent and their effects, in that dry air, more dreadful than they are ever known to be with us. This great end he accomplished by the cheap, and seemingly trifling, apparatus of a pointed metallic rod, fixed higher than any part of the building, and communicating with the ground, or rather the nearest water. This rod the lightning is sure to seize upon preferably to any other part of the building, unless it be very large; in which case, rods may be erected at each extremity; by which means this dangerous power is safely conducted to the earth, and dissipated without doing any harm to the edifice." Had any thing more been necessary to convince the world DR. FRANKLIN. 173 of the value of lio;htningrods to buildings, it was abundantly furnished by several very terrible instances of destruction which took place about this time in several parts of America, for no other reason upon earth, as every one must admit who reads the account, but the want of lightning rods. There, for example, was the affair of the new church, in the town of Newberry, New-England. This stately build- ing was adorned on its north esd with an elegant steeple or tower of wood, running up in a fine square, seventy feet from the ground to the bell, and thence went off in a taper spire of wood, likewise seventy feet higher, to the weather- cock. Near the bell was fixed an iron hammer to strike the hours; and from the tail of the hammer, a wire went down through a small gimblet hole in the floor that the bell stood upon, and through a second floor in like manner; then horizontally under the plaistered ceiling of that floor to a plaistered wall, then down that wall to a clock which stood about twenty feet below the bell. Now come, gentlemen, you who have no faith in lightning rods — you who think it blasphemy to talk of warding oS God Almighty's lightning I — as if it were not just as pleasing to him to see you warding off the lightning by steel rods, as warding off the ague and fever by Jesuit's bark; come, 1 say, and see how very visibly he approbates our works of wisdom, which make us like himseli. You have read the structure of this steeple — the top, a seventy feet spire without any rod — then a rod that went down zigzag, abi'Ut thirty feet; then a plaistered brick and stone wall without any rod, to the ground. A dreadful cloud came over the steeple. At the first flash, away went the whole of thv^. seventy foot wooden spire, scattered all over the church yard in splinters fit to boil the preacher's tea kettle. The lightning then found the iron wire which it instantly seized on, quitting all things else for that, and darting along with it in so close an embrace, as barely to widen a little the gimblet holes through which it passed. It then followed the wire m all its meanders, whether perpendicular or hori- zontal — never turning either to the right or to the left, to hurt the building, but passed through it the whole length of the wire, which was about thirty feet, as harmlessly as a lamb. But soon as its dear chain was ended, it assumed the furious lion again; attacking the building with the most destructive rage, dashing its foundation stones to a great distance, and in other respects damaging it dreadfully. a 2 176 THE LIFE OF Now what can be more reasonable than doctor Franklin'a remarks on this very remarkable occurrence ? " I. That lightning, in its passage through a building, will leave wood, brick, or stone, to pass as far as it can in metal; and not enter those again, till the metal conductor ceases. "II. The quantity of lightning that passed through this steeple must have been very great, by its effects on the lofty spire, &.C., and yet great as this quantity was, it was con ducted by a small wire without the least damage to the building as far as the wire extended. *'III. Hence it seems probable, that if even such a small wire had been extended from the top of the steeple to the earth, before the storm, no damage would have been done by that stroke of lightning. " A fate exactly similar to this attended the great Dutch church, of New York, in 1750. As far as the wire was ex tended, which was from the top ol the steeple, to within a few feet of the earth, the lightning closely accompanied it, passing with it through small holes in the floors, without do- ing the least damage. But the instant it quitted the wire, it commenced its ravages on the building. The summer of 1760 was dreadfully hot in Pennsylvania; and the thunder gusts frequent and terrible. Several ships" at the wharves were struck and greatly injured. One of them in particular, a very large ship, had her mainmast torn to pieces, and her captain and three seamen killed. Ot houses, both in town and country, many were struck; and some of them, as barns with large quantities of hay, and warehouses with hemp, were set on fire and destroyed to the great detriment and terror, both of the unfortunate sulierers and their neighbours. These things, though melancholy in themselves, were not without their good effects. They served to place in the strongest point of view, the admirable efficacy of the newly invented lightning rods. For, while buildings destitute of tliem, were often struck, and sometimes with great loss ot lives and property, those houses that had them, were hardly ever known to be hurt, though the neighbours who saw the dismal clouds when they bursted, with such hideous peals of thunder and streams of lightning, were sickened with horrid apprehension that all was lost. And even the house keepers themselves, when recovered from their terrors and Caintings, would fly shrieking from chamber to chamber, DR. FRANKLIN 177 amidst the clouds of sulphur to see who were dead. But Dehold, to the delicious wonder of themselves and congratu- lating friends, all were safe. But still the cry was, certainly the house was struck J the house was surely struck.' let us ex- amine the conductors. The conductors were resorted to and examined, and be- hold! the wondrous laws imposed of God on the most pow- erful of his creatures! The furious lightnings had fallen on the houses in torrents of fire, threatening a wide destruction. But the iron rods, faithful to their trust, had arrested the impending bolts, and borne them in safety to the ground. But it was found that the cataracts of lightning had proved too powerful for the rodsj in some instances melting them in two at their slenderest parts, and in "thers entirely con- suming them into smoke. But though these guardian rods had perished in their conflict with the rude lightnings, jet they had succeeded in parrying the dreadful stroke with perfect safety to the buildings and their terrified inhabitants; thus impressing all men with joy and thankfulness, that God had given such complete victory over one of the most terrible ^of all our natural enemies. In short, to use the handsome language of president Adams, *' nothing perhaps that ever occurred on earth, could have better tended to confer universal celebrity on man, than did these lightning rods of doctor Franklin's. The idea was certainly one of the most sublime ever suggested ■ . tie human imagination. That mortal man should thus be i^^ught to disarm the clouds of heaven, and almost snatch from his hand ' the sceptre and the rodP " The ancients would, no doubt, have enrolled among their gods, the author of so wonderful an invention. Indeed the reputation which Franklin acquired by it, not only in Ame- rica, but in Europe also, far transcended all conception. His lightning rods, or as the French called them, his ''para- tonerres,^^ erected their heads, not only on the temples of God and the palaces of kings, but also on the masts of ships and the habitations of ordinary citizens. The sight of them every where reminded the gazing world of the name and character of their inventor, who was tnought of by the multi- tude as some great magician dwelling in the fairy lands of North America, and to whom God had given controul over the elements of nature. And equally wonderful was the change produced by them in the state of general comfort. The millions, who had hitherto 178 THE LIFE OF trembled at the cloud rising in the heat of summer, cuud now look on it with pleasing awe as it rose dark and solemn, with all its muttering thunders. And even amidst the min- gled flash and crash of the earth shaking tornado, the very women and children, if they had but Franklin paratonerres to their chimnies, would sit perfectly composed, silently adoring God for teaching such great salvation to men. But the pleasure which doctor Franklin found in these plaudits of an honest world was not without an alloy. Though the end of his labours had been to do good 5 yet he soon discovered that there were some who sickened at hi& success. Alas! " Among the sons of men, how few are known Who dare be just to merit, not their own." Certain invidious scribblers, in London and Paris, began to decry his well-earned glory, by pretending that it was all due to the Abbe NoUet, to doctor Gilbert, or some other wonderful Frenchman or Englishman, as the real father of electricity. Franklin took no notice of all this impotent malice; nor indeed was it necessary; for soon as it dared to present its brazen front in print, it was attacked by the first- rate philosophers of Europe, who nobly taking the part of Franklin, soon showed, to the general satisfaction, that whatever others may have dreamed about the late wonder- ful discoveries in electricity, they were all due, under God, to the great American philosopher, who for these, and many other important discoveries, had a good right to share with Newton in the following bold compliment. \l " Nature and nature's works lay hid in night, God said, let Franklin be, and all was light " CHAPTER XXXVI. A CURIOUS demonstration of Dr. Franklin's philosophy of lightning. About thirty -four years after this date, when Doctor Franklin, by his opposition to Lord North's mea- sures, had become very unpopular, George III. was per- suaded to pull down the sharp points of that '* hoary REBEL," and set up the blunts of an impudent quack, be- cause, forsooth, he was a loyal subject! Scarcely were the sharps taken down from the palace, to which, during thirty DR. FRANKLIN. 179 four years, they had been an excellent safeguard, before a dismal cloud rose upon the city, black as midnight, and when right over the palace discharged a cataract of electric fluid, with horrid glare and thunder, stunning all ears, blinding all eyes, and suffocating every sense with the smell of sulphur. The famous hlunt conductors presented no point to catch the bolt, which, dashing at the stately edifice, tore away all its gable end, marring the best apartments, and killing several of the king's servants. Shortly arrived the packet from New York, with news of a far more dreadful thunder-clap which had bursted on poor George in America — the capture of his grand Canada army! which Lord North had promised him should soon bring the rebels to their marrow bones. The next day the following pasquinade made its appearance in the newspapers: * W^hile you, great George, intent to hunt, Your sharp Conductors change to blunt, The nation's out of joint; Franklin a wiser course pursues. And all your thunder fearless views. By sticking to the POINT." 1 cannot quit this subject without observing, that from Dr Franklin's experiments it appears, that death by lightning, must be the easiest of all deaths. "In September, 1752," says he, "six young Germans, apparently doubting the truth of the reported force of elec- tricity, came to me to see," as they said, "if there wa.s any thing in it. Having desired them to stand up side by side, I laid one end of my discharging rod on the head of the first; this laid his hand on the head of the second, that on the head of the third, and so on to the last, who held in his hand the chain that was attached to the lightning globe. On being asked if they were ready, they answered yes, and boldly desired that I would give them a thumper; I then gave them a shock; whereat they all dropped down together. When they got up, they declared that they had not felt any stroke; and wondered how they came to fall. Nor did any of them h^ar the crack, or see the light of it." He tells another story equally curious. "A young wo- man, afflicted with symptoms of a palsy in the foot, came to receive an electrical shock. Heedlessly stooping too near the prime conductor, she received a smart stroke in the forehead, of which she fell like one perfectly lifeless on the floor. In- stantly she got up again complaining of nothing, and won- 180 THE LIFE OF dering much why she fell, for that nothing of the sort had ever happened to her before." Nay, he also tells us of himself, that by accident, he received a shock which in an instant brouj^ht him to the floor, vi^ithout giving him time to see, hear, or feel any thing of the matter.' Hence he concludes, and I think with good reason, that all who dread the idea of pain in dying, would do well to pray, if it be God's will, to die of coelataction, as the an- cients called it, or a touch from heaven. It is worthy of remark, that persons thus knocked down, do not stagger, or fall lengthwise, but as if deprived instan taneously of strength and firmness, they sink down at once, doubled or folded together, or as we say, " all in a heap.^^ Dr. Franklin seldom suffered any thing to escape him. From the power of lightning to dissolve the hardest metals, he caught an idea favourable to cooking and matrimony. First, an old dunghill cock killed in the morning by a shock from his electrical jar, by dinner was become so tender that both the doctor and several of his literary friends pronounced it equal to a young pheasant. Second, an old bachelor thought to be far gone in a consumption, had hardly received more than a couple of dozen smart shocks of electricity, before he turned into courting with great spirit, and present- ly got himself a wife. If electrical jars could be had cheap, this discovery con- cerning the old dunghill cock might prove a good hint to those gentlemen in the tavern-keeping line, who are so very frugal that they will not keep up a coop full of young poultry, fat and fine, and always ready for the traveller, but prefer giving him the pain, long after his arrival at their door, to hear the lean tenants of the dunghill flying and squalling from the pursuit of the barking dogs and noisy servants. And as to the experiment on the other kind of old capon, the grunting wheazing old bachelor, it clearly points to the wish often expressed by Dr. Franklin, viz. " that the legisla- ture ivould order an electrical machine, large enough to kill a turkey cock at least, to he placed in every parish, at the cost Key 4 arid for the benefit of all the old bachelors of the same* " DR. FRANKLIN. 181 CHAPTER XXXVII. 1 HAVE been told that Dr. Franklin on his death bed often returned thanks to God for having so kindly cast his lot of life in the very time when of all others he would have chosen to live for the great purposes of usefulness and pleasure. And so indeed it appears; for scarcely had he matured, as above, his most useful discoveries in electricity, before a new door was opened to him for another noble charity to his country Some there are who for a good work begun by themselves will do every thing; but for the same work begun by others will do nothing; and yet will call themselves christians. Franklin lived to set the example of a better Christianity. A notable instance of this occurred about this time, 1754. A Dr. Thomas Bond, having noticed a number of families so extremely poor, as to be in imminent danger not only of suffering grievously in case of sickness, but of actually pe- rishing for want of wholesome food and medicine, generously undertook, by subscription, to build a hospital for these suf- ferers. Meeting with but little encouragement, and knowing Dr. Franklin's influence and public spirit, he applied to him for assistance. Perfectly indifferent who got the praise, provided he but shared the pleasure of founding so god-like an institution, Franklin entered very heartily into the plan with Dr. Bond, and inserted in his newspaper, a series of es- says, " on the great duty of charity to the sick and miserahle^'^^ which made such an impression on the public mind, that the noble sum of twelve thousand dollars was quickly sub- scribed. With this the trustees bought a lot, and finished one wing of their hospital, for immediate use. On the foundation stone is to be seen the following inscription by Dr. Franklin: *'In the year of Christ MDCCLV, George the Second, happily reigning, 'For he sought the HAPPINESS OF HIS PEOPLE,) Philadelphia ^owm/iing", (For its inhabitants were public spirited^ This Building By the bounty of the Government And of many private persons Was piously founded For the relief of the sick and miserable. MAY THE GOD OF MERCIES BLESS THE UNDERTAKING!" 182 THE LIFE OF Never did benevolence put up an ejaculation more fer- vent. And never was one more signally answered. Indeed the blessings of heaven have been so signally showered on this excellent charity, that it now forms one of brightest orna- ments of the fairest city in America, presenting to the delighted eye of humanity a noble front, of elevation and extent far beyond that of Solomon's temple, even a royal range of buildings, two and three stories high, two hundred and seventy-eight feet long, and forty wide, containing about one hundred and thirty spacious well-aired rooms, for the accommodation of the sick, wounded, and lunatic of every description; affectionately waited on by skilful physicians and active nurses; comforted by refreshing baths both hot and cold; and abundantly supplied with the best loaf bread, nice vegetables, fresh meats, soups, wines and medicines. And while other parts of the city have been very sickly; and especially in the summer of 1793, when no fewer than 4000 persons perished of the 3'ellow fever, Lot a single case of disease occurred in this hospital. The destroying angel as he passed along, smelt the odT)ur of that precious grace (charity) which embalmed the building, and let fall his avenging sword. Gentlemen travellers falling sick in Philadelphia, will please be informed of this famous hospital, that if they wish excellent physicians, experienced nurses, pleasant chambers, pure air, and sweet retirement, they may here have all those of the first quality at half price; and even that a donation to the Institution, i CHAPTER XXXVIII. Dr. Franklin, about this time, 1756, commenced his po- litical career. When we see some peerless Childers, (whose figure almost f)roves the divinity of matter, and who in matchless speed eaves the stormy winds behind him,) bending under the weight of a miller's bag, or tugging at the hames of some drunken carman, how can we otherwise than mourn such a prostitution of excellences; so how can we but mourn, when we see such a man as Franklin, born for those divine arts «vhich widen our empire over nature, and multiply a thou- DR. FRANKLIN. 183 sand-fold the comforts of life, wasting his precious time in combattins the unreasonable claims of selfish and wicked man? This, for a portion of his eventful life, was the sad destiny of Dr. Franklin. Scarcely had he passed his firsjt forty years in his favourite philosophical labours, equally useful to the world, and delightful to himself, when he was at once stop- ped short — stopped by the voice of public gratitude. The wise and virtuous people of Pennsylvania, chiefly quakers, who estimate a man, not by the fineness of his coat, but the usefulness of his life, w^ere not to overlook such a man as Franklin. His astonishing industry, and his many valuable inventions, had long made him the favourite theme of their talk. But it was not for approbation so general and hearty, to be satisfied with mere talk. What shall be done for the man whom the people delighteth to honour ? was the question in every circle. God, they said, has lighted up this candle for our use, it must not be hid under a bushel. Let it be placed on the great candlestick of the na- tion, the LEGisLATURffi. So stroug, indeed, was the public feel- ing in his favour, that: from several of the wards, deputations were appointed to wait upon him, to beg he would serve the city as their representative in the house of burgesses. The sight of his name in the papers, as a candidate at tne next election, to serve the city of Philadelphia, gave a gene- ral joy. Among his opponents were several of the weal- thiest citizens, who had long served as representatives, and whose numerous friends could not bear the idea of their bein^ turned out. Great exertions were made on both sidesj and the polls were uncommonly crowded. But when the con- test came to issue, it was found that the Philadelphia printer, and son of the good old psalm-singing Boston tallow-chan- dler, carried the day with great ease.. O ye simple ones, how long will you love simplicity I you, I mean, who can once a year look sweetly on your constitu- ents, and once a year invite them to barbacues, and make them drunk w^ith whiskey, thus ignobly begging those votes which you feel you have not the sense to deserve, O learn from this your great countryman, wherein consists the true art of electioneering; not in ignoble tricks like these, to court the little, but in high qualifications, like Dr. Frank- lin's, to be courted by the great. The exalted expectations formed of him by the public were not disappointed. Heartily a lover of man and the R 184 THE LIFE OF friend of equal rights, he had scarcely taken liis seat in the legislature before he had to turn the torrent of his honest indignation against the proprietaries and their creatures the Governors. Tlie reader will please here be reminded that in the year 1680, that great good man, William Penn, a quaker, v,as paid off a large claim against Charles II. of England, by a grant of lands in North America. To make the best of a bad bargain, honest William gathered together a caravan of liis poor persecuted brethren, and taking ship came over to North America. The good angel that guided the steps of pious Jacob as he sojourned from Padan-aram to the land Uz, seeking a rest, guided Penn and his gentle followers to the mouth of the Delaware bay. He followed the stately flood in all its wanderings among the green marshes and forests of the new found world, until he reached the pleasant spot where now Philadelphia stands. The majestic grove that shaded the extended level on tlie western bank, bordered on the back by the beautiful serpentine river called by the natives, the Schuylkill, struck his eye as a fine site for his future city. Abhorring the idea of killing his fellow men, the poor na- tives, and taking away their lands, he sent around among them the Calumet, or pipe of peace^ inviting them to " a FRIENDLY TALK." Painted in red ochre, and decked in all tlie savage pomp of wild skins and feathers, the kings of the soil with ail their simple tribes assembled themselves to- gether. Tlie meeting was in the summer of 1681, under the trees near the margin of tlie great river. The scene was lovely to the eye of humanity. The red and white men from different continents were seen to meet, not as enemies for mutual slaughter, but as brothers for loving commerce. The shores were covered with British merchandize. The eyes of the simple children of nature sparkled on those rich wares, the like of which they had never seen before. Penn gave them every thing. He gave them precious axes to master the forests; and still more magic guns to master the wolves and panthers He gave them warm clothes for defence against the cold, and plough-shares and hoes for plentiful harvests. In return they gave him that large tract of land in their country, which, in honour of this good man, has been called Pennsylvania. Instantly the an-ed forests began to resound with the strokes of axes and the crash of falling trees. And the corner stone was laid of DR. FRANKLIN. 185 the new city, which, with great propriety, was named of Penn, Philadelphia, or the city of brotherly love. Having thus laid the foundation of this colony in justice to the poor natives, and in generosity to his own followers in the great cheapness of his lands, in perfect liberty of conscience, and in the exceeding moderation of his govern- ment, this wise statesman then looked to God for his bless- ings. Nor did he look in vain. The fame of *'Penn Co- LoxY," resounded throughout Great Britain. An immense emigration were quickly on their way to Pennsylvania. The young city grew apace, and farms and fair buildings in tlie country, spread in every direction with a rapidity une- qualled in history. But alas! when honest William fell asleep, there rose after him a race of heirs ^' ivlio knew not Joseph ;''^ who not content, like him, with modest drab, and simple dinners, and aspiring to the true happiness of imitating God in godlike loves and deeds, basely prostituted their hearts to carnal lusts and pride. The worship of these gods, though contemptible, is costly; and to these wet-quuker successors of the good William Penn, nothing promised such a swelling revenue as a bold rise in the price of their lands. And in this pitiful kind of management they soon gave the Pennsylvanians to under- stand that like Rehoboam of old, " their little fingers ivere heavier than their father'' s loins.^^ I have not been able to procure any thing like certainty as to the sum that good William Penn gave to the natives for the vast tract of land he purchased of them. But that he hardly gave at the rate of a hatchet for what is now a noble farm, may be very fairly inferred. In 1754, which was seventy years later than the first purchase, the house of Penn bought of the Indians seven millions of acres lying within the royal grant. And what do you suppose they gave for it? what do you suppose they gave for seven millions of acres of rich, heavy timbered Pennsylvania land.? why not quite two thousand dollars! not three cents the hundred acres ! And what do you sup- pose they immediately asked for it ? why fifteen pounds ten shillings.' near fifty thousand cents per hundred acres! And yet with such a bank of millions in hand they were not willing to bear their part of the taxes for public good ! I Like the starched Pharisees of old, they could throw heavy weights on other men*s shoulders, but not sufl'er a ^y to light on theirs They could smile when they saw the 186 THE LIFE OF officer going round with his ink horn and pen, noting down the poor man's paddock, but if he but looked at their princely manors and parks they would make the whole co- lony ling with it. Grown beyond calculation rich by the sales and rents of their lands in America, they scorned the country of their illustrious predecessor, and went over to London, where they mimicked the pride and pageantry of princes. Thinking they did the obscure Pennsylvanians honour enough to govern them by proxy^ they vvashed their hands of the poor colony government, and sent them over depu- ties. These hirelings, to augment their salaries, soon com- menced a course of oppressions on the people, whom they treated with great insolence. It were too great an honour to those wretches to set the people of the present day to reading their insolent messages to the legislature. They were always, however, very pro- perly chastised by Dr. Franklin; sometimes in the columns of his own popular newspaper, and sometimes in the assem- bly. Not, indeed, by long and eloquent orations, for which he either had no talent, or declined it, preferring the pithy and pungent anecdote or story^ which was always so admi- rably appropriate, and withal so keen in wit and truth, that like a flash from his own lightning rods, it never failed to dbmolish the fairest fabric of sophistry, and cause even its greatest admirers to blush that they had been so fascinated by its false glare. In 1756, he was appointed deputy post-master general for the British colonies. It is asserted that in his hands, the post-office in America yielded annually thrice as much as did that of Ireland. An extraordinary proof of our passion for reading and writing beyond the Irish. Perhaps it was owing to this that we saved our liberties, while they lost theirs. Several of the middle colonies suffering much at this lime from Indian depredations on their frontiers, it was agreed among them to send commissioners to Albany to devise means for mutual defence. Dr. Franklin, commissioner on the part of Pennsylvania, had the honour to draw up a plan, which was thought excellent. Knowing the colonists to be the best marksmen in the world, and supposing it infinitely safer that the defence of their own firesides should be en- trusted to them than to British hirelings, he had with his ^;sual sagacity recommended that muskets and powder should be put into their hands. DR. FRANKLIN. 187 But when nis pl-^n was presented to the king and coun- cil for ratification, it was indignantly rejected. It was thought by some that hardly could Satan and his black jani- saries have been more seriously offended, had a cargo of Bibles and hymn books been recommended for their pande- monium. The truth is, the British ministry had for a long time de- pressed the unfortunate Americans into mere hewers of wood and drawers of water^ by making them bring all their rich produce of tobaccos, furs, &c. to English ports, and there give them the meanest prices; sometimes a penny, and even half a penny a pound for their brightest tobacco, which they would the next hour sell to the Dutch merchants for two shillings a pound. To preserve such a trade as this, as lord Howe ingenuously confessed, from going into any other channel, was a grand object to the ministry. But this they could not long count on, if the Americans were furnished with muskets, cannon, and powder. They therefore, very prudently, determined to leave Dr. Franklin's excellent marksmen out of the question, and confide to their own creatures the protection of a country whose trade could so well repay them for it. But their folly in preferring such troops was soon made evident, as Franklin had predicted. In the spring of 1755, two thousand veterans, the elite of the British military, were sent over to drive the French from the Ohio. One half that number of Virginia riflemen would have done the busi- ne.>j completely. But such was the ministerial jealousy of the American riflemen, and so great their dread to embody and arm that kind of troops, that they permitted no more than three companies to join the army. And even these were so ludicrously scrimped up by governor Dinwiddie, in jackets scarcely reaching to their waists, that they be- came a mere laughing stock of the British army, who never called them by any other name than the " Virginia short RUMPS." Many believed that this was done purposely^ that by being thus constantly laughed at, they might be cowed thereby, and be led to think meanly of themselves, as quite an inferior sort of beings to the mighty English. But blessed be God whose providence always takes part with the oppressed. A few short weeks only elapsed when this motley army was led, by an incautious commander, into a fatal ambuscade of the French and Indians — general Brad- dock, at the head of his 2000 British veterans, and young R 2 188 THE LIFE OF Geoige Washington at the head of his two hundred <' TTr- ginia short rumps. ''^ Then was displayed the soundness of Dr. Franklin's judgment, in the wide difference, as to self- possession and hard fighting, between these two kind of troops. The conceited Englishmen behaved no better than wild TURKiEsj while the despised " Virginia short rumps'''^ fought like lions, and had the glory of saving the wreck of tlie British army. This sad defeat had like to have ruined doctor Franklin, by whose credit with the Pennsylvanians, colonel Dunbar of tlie rear guard of his army, had been furnished with fifty wagons, which were all burnt on the retreat. His es- cape from this danger was owing to the generosity of gover- nor Shirley, who learning that Franklin had incurred this debt on account of the British government, undertook to discharge it. Seeing no end to the vexation and expense brought on the colony by those selfish beings, the proprietaries, the assembly came at length, to the resolution to petition the king to abolish the proprietary government, and take i^ao, colony under his own care. Doctor Franklin was appointed to the honour of presenting this petition to his majesty George II. and sailed for England, June, 1757. Learning at last that by obstinately contending for too much, they might possibly lose all, the proprietaries signi- fied to doctor Franklin a willingness that their land should be taxed. After the completion of this important business, Franklin remained at the court of Great Britain as agent for the pro- vince of Pennsylvania. The extensive knowledge which he possessed of fne situation of the colonies and the regard which he always manifested for their interests, occasioned his ap- pointment to the same office by the colonies of Massachusetts, Maryland and Georgia. He had now an opportunity of visiting those illustrious Englislnnen, whom his useful writings and discoveries had strongly bound to him, though they had never seen his lace. The high opinion which they had formed of him at a dis- tance, was greatly increased by a personal acquaintance. Such vastness of mind with such sweetness of spirit and simplicity of manners, formed a spectacle as rare as it was lovely. And as a proof that superior sense and superior benevolence will always prevail against prejudice, he was DR. FRANKLIN. 189 now courted by those learned societies who formerly affect- ed to deride his discoveries in philosophy and electricity. The Royal Society of London, which had at first refused his performances admission into its transactions, now deemed it an honour to class him among its fellows. The universities of St. Andrews, of Edinburgh, and Oxford, conferred on him the degree of doctor of laws; and the most distinguished philosophers of Europe sought his correspondence. In read- ing his letters to those great men, we are at a loss which most to admire, the majesty of his sense, or the simplicity of his style. While in England, which was from July, 1757, to July, '62, he suggested to the British ministry the duty of dispossessing the French of that great country on the north of our colonies called Canada. To this end, he published his famous Canada pamphlet, exhibiting in strong colours the many mischiefs and murders committed on his countrymen, even in times of peace, by the Indians in French pay. This little tract served to rouse the British nation to the pitch he desired. An army of English regulars and New-England militia were sent under the command of general Wolfe, who pre- sently succeeded in driving the French out of a fine country, of which, by their cruelties, they had rendered themselves utterly unwortliy. About this time the celebrated doctor CuUen, of Scotland, made some curious discoveries in the art of producing cold by evaporation. Hoping that the genius of Franklin might throw some lights on this dawning science, a friend of doc- tor Cullen's wrote a statement of the facts to Franklin. The American philosopher, though now immersed in politi- cal pursuits, took a little leisure to repeat doctor Cullen's experiments on cold, which he so improved as easily to pro- duce ICE in the dog days. But it was one of those dis- coveries, which, as he says, he never valued, because it was too expensive to be of general utility. About the autumn of 1761, he rendered himself prodi- giously popular among the ladies in London, by completing that sweet toned little instrument of music, the Harmonica. I have been told that his fame at court on this account, so awakened the recollection of George III. that he caused it to be signified to Dr. Franklin, that he felt a disposition to "f?o something for him.^^ Our philosopher replied, that he wanted nothing for himself, but — that, he had a son in America, The king took the hints and immediately made 190 THE LIFE OF out a commission of " Governor of his colony of New Jersey, for his beloved subject, Temple Franklin, Esq.''^ On such Bmall things are the fortunes of men sometimes founded I Doctor Franklin was now become so great a favourite that the people of all classes seemed to take a pride in talk- ing of him, and his sayings, insomuch tliat not a word of the brilliant sort could fall from his lips but it was sure to be caught up instantly and re-echoed through every circle, from proud St. James to humble St. Giles. The following im- promptu made a great noise in London about this time. One evening in a large party at his friend Vaughan's he was, laughingly, challenged by a very beautiful girl, a Miss Gun, to make her a couplet of verses extempore. Well, madam, replied he, with great gallantry, since every body is oftering a tribute to your graces, let me tender the following: " Cupid now to ensure his fun, Quits his bow and takes to gun." This handsome play on her name instantly suffused the cheeks of Miss Gun with celestial roses, making her look much more like an angel than before. I mention this merely to show what an extraordinary mind that man must have possessed, who with such equal ease, could play the Newton or the Chesterjield, and charm alike the lightnings and the ladies. In the summer of 1762, he took leave of tiis friends in England to return to his native country. On his voyage he discovered in oil or grease thrown on the water, a property, which few people ever dreamt of. When we learn of gold that it may by beating, be expanded into a leaf of such in- credible fineness, that a guinea might in that way be made to cover Solomon's temple, or deck Noah's ark, we are filled with wonder of such a metal. Doctor Franklin tells us of equal wonders in oil. He informs us, that a wine glass full of pure oil poured on a mill pond, will presently spread over it, with a film inconceivably thinner than a cob- web, and so adhesive that the winds shall not excite it to mad-caps and breakers. Hence, he infers, that oil might be made a mean of saving ships during a violent storm at sea. In this voyage he made also another discovery, which ought to be known to all going by sea, viz. that if persons perishing of thirst on a voyage, would but bathe half a dozen times a day in the sea water, which they easily might, by using their empty water casks as bathing tubs, they would obtain great relief from their thirst, and live several DR. FRANKLIN. 101 days longer; thence enjoying a better chance for their lives, by getting into port, or falling in with some friendly sail. On liis^arrival in Philadelphia doctor Franklin was wel- comed with marks of the most flattering respect by the citi- zens universally — handsome addressee and dinners were given him by literary societies and clubs — and the assembly, in the most public manner voted him their thanks for *' the great honour and services he had rendered the country in general during his residence in England ; and especially to the province of Pennsylvania." And they accompanied their thanks with a present of five thousand pounds. Ye blind parents who can think hard of laying out a few dollars for books and education of your children, O think of this, and learn a course of conduct more to your own credit and to their temporal and eternal welfare. In a few weeks after his return to Philadelphia there oc- curred in that neighbourhood an affair that serves to show the popularity of doctor Franklin in a very strong light. In consequence of a number of murders committed on the frontiers by some villanous Indians, about a hundred and twenty young men of Dauphin county, christians in ncnne but perfect savages in nature, bound themselves by a horrid oath to exterminate a little tribe of about twenty tame In ■ dians, who lived very harmlessly among the whites in York county. Mounted on horses, and with rifles and tomahawks in their hands, they set off* very deliberately on this hellish errand towards the settlements of the poor Indians. The old men, women, and children, in the cabins, soon fell wel- tering in their blood. The rest, who were at work, getting notice, fled to Lancaster, and were lodged in the jail as in a place of security. The blood thirsty whites broke open the jail and butchered every soul. All smeared with innocent blood, and furious as demons, they then pushed off" for Philadel- phia, to massacre the feeble remains of a friendly tribe who had fled into that city for protection. The governor issued his proclamation. The rioters paid no regard to it, but moved on rapidly, w^ell armed, and determined to cut their way to the hated Indians over the bodies of all who should oppose them. They are now on this side of Gcrmantown, only one hour's march from Philadelphia. The inhabitants are all in terror. The governor quits his palace, and for safety flies to the house of doctor Franklin. He, calm as he was wont to be amidst the lightnings as they darted around him on his rods, went out to meet the rioters. We sincerely 192 THE LIFE OF regiet that we cannot give the speech which he made on this memorable occasion. It must have been impressive in a most extraordinary degree; for on hearing it they instantly abandoned their hellish design and returned peaceably to their homes I CHAPTER XXXIX Had the fatal sisters, even now, put forth their shears and clipped his thread, yet would not the friend of man *' have fallen without hisfame.'^^ Admiring posterity would still have written on his tomb, Here lies the GREAT FRANKLIN. But though great now, he is destined to be much greater still. A crisis is approaching that is to call forth all hia talents, and to convince even the most unthinking, that in the dark day of trouble the ^'wise shall shine forth like the frmamentP By the crisis here mentioned, I mean the events leading to the American revolution. The British cabinet, as if entire strangers to that divine philosophy which commands its disciples to be " no respecters of persons,^^ allowed themselves in the most fatal policy of sparing the British subjects in England at the expense of the British subjects in America. After having drained much money from them in a variety of unconstitutional ways, they came at length to the resolution of taxing the colonies ivith- out their consent. This dark design was hinted in 1754, by the minister, to governor Shirley, of the Massachusetts-Bay colony. The governor, well knowing his extraordinary penetration and judgment, broke this ministerial plan to Dr. Franklin; re- questing his opinion of it. Dr. Franklin answered this question of the governor, by urging an '-''immediate union of the colonies with great Britain^ by allovnng them repre- sentatives in parliaments^'' as the only thing that could pre- vent those ceaseless encroachments on the one side, and those bitter animosities on the other, which, hefeared, would one day prove the ruin of both countries. As to the minis- terial plan of taxing the colonies by act of parliamc^nt, where they have no representation, he assured the governor that it would prove utterly abominable. '' His majesty, sir," said DR. FRANKLIN. 19S he to the governor, *'has no subjects in all his wide do- minions, who more heartily love him than do his American subjects. Nor do there exist on earth, the Englishmen who hold more dear the glory of old England than they do. But the same spirit ot their gallant forefathers, which makes them ready to lay down their lives and fortunes, in a con- stitutional way, for their king and country, will for ever secure them from being slaves. We exult, sir, in the recol- lection, that of all the governments on earth, that of Great Britain has long been the freest^ and that more blood has been shed for freedom's sake in England in one week, than on the whole continent for fifty years. Now, on the bright face of that government, the first and fairest feature is this, that no king can touch a penny belonging to the poorest sub- ject, without his own consent, by his representative in par- liament. For, if, say they, ' a king can at pleasure take our moiiey, he can take every thing else; since with that he can easily hire soldiers to rob, and then murder us if we but open our lips against him.'' As Americans glory in being Englishmen on the western side of the Atlantic, they very naturally claim the common right of Englishmen, not to be taxed without their own consent, by their representatives in parliament. But the British ministry, though they obsti- nately refuse to the Americans the sacred rights of repre- sentation, yet as wickedly insist on the right of taxation ; and accordingly have brought into parliament the famous stamp act bill, whereby no business that requires a record on paper, as deeds, bonds, wills, marriages, ^-c. can be legally done but on paper that has received the royal stamp. >iow, sir, you well know that the same minister who proposes this most iniquitous and unconstitutional act, would not dare propose to any the most drunken tavern-keeper in England, a fartliing tax on a pot of his ale without the consent of his representative in parliament; and yet, without being allowed a hearing in parliament, three millions of free-born Ameri- cans, sons of Englishmen, are to be taxed at the pleasure of a distant minister! Not, honoured sir, that the Americans care a fig for the pence imposed on this bit of stamp paper, but for the principle. For they well know that if parlia- ment claim a right to take from us a penny in the pound, there is no line drawn to bound that right; and what shall hinder their calling whenever they please for the other nineteen shillings and eleven pence? And besides, sir, where is the necessity for this most degrading measure ? 194 THE LIFE OF Have not the Americans ever shown themselves the warmest friends of their king and country? Have thej not, in aU cases of danger, most readily voted both their men and mo ney to the full extent of their means, and sometimes fai beyond ? '< And in addition to all this, are they not daily paying large monies in secret taxes to Great Britain ? " I. We are not permitted to trade tvith foreign nations! All the difference in the price of what we could buy cheaper from them, but must buy dearer from Britain, is a clear tax to Britain. *'n. We are obliged to carry our produce to Britain! All that it sells for less there than it would in any other market, is a clear tax to Britain. '* ni. All the manufactures that we could make, but are forbidden and must buy of British merchants, is a clear tax to Britain. '' And what /rcc6orn Englishman can, without indignation, think of being so daringly defrauded of his birthright^ that if he wants a pipe of good wine, he cannot go to the island of Madeira and get it on easy exchange for his bread stuff, and return at once to his home and business? but must go a thousand miles farther from his family, even to Great Bri- tain, and there run the gauntlet, through so many ruinous charges, as to bring his wine up to almost double what it ought to have cost? And all this most flagrant injustice done to the whole people of the colonies, just to enrich half a dozen British merchants engaged in the Portugal wine trade ! " A similar outrage on another of the dearest rights of Englishmen, i. e. ' to make the most that they honestly can of their property,^ is committed on the British subjects in America, for the sake of favouring a few hatters and nail makers in England. No country on the globe, furnishes better iron or better beaver than does North America. But the Americans must not make a hob-nail or a felt' hat for them- selves. No; they must send all their iron and fur to England for the hatters and nail makers there; who may give them their own price for the raw materials, and ask their own price for the manufactures. '' All that a wise government wishes, is, that the people should be numerous and wealthy enough to fight the battles of their country, and to pay the taxes. But they care not so much whether the fighting be done by John or Thomas, or the tax paid by William or Charles. DR. FRANKLIN. 195 <* What imports it to the government, whether a mer~ chant, a smith, or a hatter, grows rich in Old England or New England ? And if, through increase of the people, two smiths are wanted for one employed before, why may not the new smith be allowed to live and thrive in the 7iew country, as well as the old in the old? In short, why should the countenance of a state ho: partially afforded to its people, unless it be most in favour of those who have most merit ?" The whig papers in London soon got this letter, and laid it before the public. Among a high-minded people like the British, who pride themselves in their love of liberty and their perfect scorn of foul play^ such sentiments could not be read M'ithout the liveliest emotions. And though some, the ministerial junto for example, with the merchants and manufacturers, did not ike such plain truths, yet the nation in general gave him great credit both for his singular honesty and abilitiesj and the name of Dr. Franklin became very dear to thousands of the most enlightened and virtuous patriots of Britain. But the pleasure of admiration was dashed with fear, that the minister would suffer no good to be done to the nation by all this divine counsel, merely because the giver was not an Englishman. The lights, however, which Dr. Franklin had thrown on this great subject, were pressed upon the minister with such courage by numbers of honest English writers, that he pru- dently delayed ordering the collection of the tax until he could get further information. It was not long before an opportunity was oft'ered him to obtain this information in a way highly complimentary to Dr. Franklin, i. e. by summoning him, then in London as colony agent from Pennsylvania, February 2, 1766, to appear before the Bar of the British House of Commons, to ansiver certain questions, SfC, The next day, accompanied by Mr. Strahan, afterwards member of parliament, with several illustrious Englishmen, his warm friends, he went to the house. The concourse was immense. To see Dr. Franklin — the American, whose phi- losophical discoveries and political writings had filled the world with his name, excited universal curiosity. The gal- leries were filled with ladies of the first distinction, and every seat below was occupied by the members from the house of lords. At ten o'clock he appeared at the bar be- fore the eager waiting crowd. The profoundest silence en- sued. All eyes were fixed on him^ and, from their deep S 196 THE LIFE OF regard, it appeared, that though they beheld no stars nor garters glittering on his breast, no burning velvets nor flaming diamonds adorning his person, yet they were not disappointed. They beheld a spectacle still more inter- esting and novel. — The spectacle of a man whose simple dress evinced that he asked no aid of the tailor and silk- worm to recommend him, but stood solely on the majesty of his mind. The hour for examination being come, and the attendant officer beckoning him thereto, he arose — "And in his rising seemed a pillar of state — deep on his brow engraven deliberation sat and public care. His looks drew audience and attention still as night, or summer's noontide air." Who can paint the looks of the minister, as with darkly scowling eye-balls, he beheld this terror of aristocracy! or who can paint the noble lordlings, as lost in equal stare, they gazed and gazed at the wondrous American, forgetting the while, " /o quiz,^^ as they were wont, '"his homespun coat and simple shoe-strings.'^^ But never did the mind-illumined looks of man shine more divinely bright than did those, that day, of the gene- rous Barry, the godlike Chatham, and the high-minded Dunning, when tliey beheld the noble form of Franklin. Though born in North America, he shines before their eyes as a true born son of Britain — the luminous and brave inter- preter of her SACRED constitution, and the wise politician who seeks to exalt her glory, lasting as the skies, on the broad base of impartial justice to all her children. With eyes sparkling with esteem unutterable, they hail him as a bro- ther^ and breathe the ardent wish that in the impending ex- amination he may succeed in diverting the minister from that unconstitutional course which may involve the ruin both of England and America. The moment for trial being come, and the minister giving the signal to begin, the speaker thus commenced: — Q. What is your name and place of abode ^ A. Franklin, of Philadelphia. Here followed nearly three hundred questions and ansiverSy which were once read with exceeding interest by men, wo- men, and children in America. But as they turn altogetlier on that great quarrel wliich the British ministry formerly excited in this country; and which God, to his endless glory, was pleased to put asleep in our favour near half a century ago, then let all these questions and answers lie asleep with DR. FRANKLIN. 19? it. However, it is but justice to Dr. Franklin to observe, that when we consider these questions, what a wide range they take both of the British and American relations and in- terests — together with the luminous, prompt, and deci^ve manner in which thej were solved, we are lost in astonish- ment at the extent of his information and tlie powers of his mind, and are almost tempted to believe that the answers, and not the questions must have been studied with the nicest discrimination of circumstances. Charles Fox, an honest Englishman, and an excellent judge in these matters, being asked his opinion of Dr. Franklin and the ministers in the late examination, replied, in his strong way, '^Dwarfs, sir, mere dwarfs in the hand of a giant .'" Edmund Burke used to say, that this examination of Dr. Franklin before the ministers, always put him in mind of a " Master examined before a parcel of school-boys,^^ But though his abilities on this occasion excited the admi- ration of generous enemies, wliile his more partial friends set no bounds to their praise, yet it would appear from the following that all afforded him but little pleasure. In a letter to a friend in Philadelphia, he has these remarkable words: "You have, no doubt, heard that I have been ex- amined before the House of Commons in this country. And it is probable you have also been told that I did not entirely disappoint the expectations of my friends, nor be- tray the cause of truth. This, to be sure, gives me some pleasure; and, indeed it is the only thing that does; for, as to any good being done by my honest statement to minis- ters, of what 1 firmly believe to be the best interests of the two countries, 'tis all, I fear, a lost hope. The people of this country are too proud, and too much despise the poor Americans, to allow tliem the common rights of Englishmen, that is, a representation in parliament. And until (his be done, I apprehend that no taxes laid by parliament, will ever be collected, but such as must be stained with blood. How lamentable it is that two people, sprung frrom the same origin, speaking the same language, governed by the same laws, and worshipping at the same altar of God, and cajDa- ble, by a wise use of tlie extraordinary means he has now put into their hands, of becoming the greatest nation on earth, should be stopped short and perhaps reduced to in- significance by a civil war, kindled by ministers obstinately contending for what they cannot but know to be utterly un • 198 THE LIFE OF constitutional and eternally inadmissible among the /ree-5om S071S of Englishmen, But I suppose the repeal will not now be agreed to, from what I think a mistaken opinion, that the lionour and dignity of government are better sup- ported by persisting in a wrong measure, once entered into, than by rectifying an error as soon as it is discovered." Differently, however, from the apprehensions of Franklin, the stamp act was repealed, and even in the course of the same year! But though so little expected by him, yet was this event ascribed, in a great measure, to Dr. Franklin. His famous examination, printed in a shilling pamphlet, had been dis- tributed by myriads tliroughout Britain and America. In America it served to brighten up the old land tnarks of their rights a^ free-born sons of Englishmen^ and to quicken their sensibilities to ministerial frauds. In England, it served to show the ignorance of the ministers; the im])olicy of their measures towards America; and the utter inexpe- diency of the stamp act. The stamp act of course fell to the ground. The reader, if a good man, exults, no doubt, in this as a most fortunate event, and already hails this re- moval of strife, as a certain prelude to that return of love between the mother country and her colonies, which will make them both, glorious and happy. He may hope it, but alas! he is never to see the accomplishment of that good hope. Death is whetting his scythe; and civil wars and slaughters are now just as near at hand as though the stamp act had never been repealed. For a pamphlet in some popu- lar style that should unrip the black budget of ministerial injustice and lay naked to view the causes of the coming war; that unnatural war that is to sever England and her colonies for ever! Brighter than a thousand sermons it would illustrate to politicians that " the Lord is King^^ — that the sole end of his government, is to glorify himself in the happiness of his creatures — that thereunto he hath established his throne in justice — the eternal justice of men *' doing unto others as they would that others should do unto them,^^ and that none, however great, shall ever violate this blessed order with impunity. The British ministry are des- tined to illustrate this. They are fond of power — to pre • serve this, they must continue in place — in order thereunto they must please the merchants and manufacturers — to ac- complish this they must favour their trade and lighten their taxes. And how is Uiis to be done ? why, by a little pecca- DR. FRANKLIN. 199 dilld ot INJUSTICE. They have only to sweat the « convicts on their American plantations,^^ — the rascals live a great way oft', and have no representative in parliament to make a noise about it. Accordingly, soon as the Americans were supposed to have gotten a little over their fever about the stamp act, the minister, lord North, of famous memory, de- termined to try them again. However it was but a small affair now— only a three penny excise on the pound of tea. Wlien Dr. Franklin, our ARGUS, then in London, dis- covered the designs of minister North, he exerted himself to point that purblind gentleman to the horrible gulf that was yawning at his feet. He wrote letters to several mem- bers of parliament, his friends; and he published a number of luminous pieces in the patriotic gazettes, all admirably calculated to rouse the friends of the nation to a sense of the impending dangers. In three letters to the honourable Mr. W. Strahan, he has, in the extract, these remarkable words: — '' London, November, 1768. ''Dear Sir, * '' With respect to the present dispute between Great Bri- tain and the colonies, there is nothing I wish for more than to see it amicably settled. But Providence brings about its own ends by its own means; and if it intends the downfall of a nation, that nation will be so blinded by its pride and other passions as not to see its danger, or how its fall may be prevented. " The friends of the ministry say that this tax is but a trifle ; granted. But who does not see what will be the con- sequence of submitting to it ? Is it not the more danger- ous for being a trifle ? Is it not in this way that the devil himself most effectually works our ruin ? If he can but prevail on a poor thoughtless youth to shake hands with in- nocence, and to steal, lie is abundantly satisfied. To get the hoy^shand in, is all he wants. And lie would as leave the simpleton should begin with stealing a halter as a horse. For he well knows that if he but begins with the one he is sure to end with the other. Just so the minister, angling for American liberty, artfully covers his hook with this delicate bait. But the truth is, I have talked and written so much and so long on the subject of this unhappy quarrel, that my acquaintance are weary of hearing, and the public of read- ing, any more of it; which begins to make me weary of s2 200 THE LIFE OF talking and writing; especially as I do not find that I have gained any point in either country, except that of rendering myself suspected, by my im partial it_y, in England of being too much an dmerican^ and in America of being too much an Englishman. However, as in reply to your polite ques- tion, '' what is to be done to settle this alarming dispute ?^^ I have often told you what I think the minister oi^^^A/ to do: I now go a step farther, and tell you what 1 fear he will do. " 1 apprehend he will, ere long, attempt to enforce tliis obnoxious tax, whatever may be the consequences.' — I ap prehend that in the mean time, the colonies will continue to be treated with contempt, and the redress of their grievances be neglected — that, this will inflame matters still more in that country — that, further rash measures there, may create more resentments here — that, their assemblies will be at- tempted to be dissolved — that, more troops will be sent to oppress them — that, to justify these measures of govern- ment, your newspapers will revile them as miscreants, rogues, dastards, and rebels — that, this will alienate the minds of the people here from them, and theirs from you — that, pos- sibly too, some of theif warm patriots may be distracted enough to do some mad act which will cause them to be sent for hither — and that government may be indiscreet enough to hang them for it— that mutual provocations will thus go on to complete the separation, and instead of that cordial affection which so long existed, and which is so ne- cessary to the glory and happiness of both countries, an im- placable malice, dishonourable and destructive to both, may take place. I liope, however, that this may all prove fcdse prophecy, and that you and I may live to see as sincere a friendship established between our countries, as has so many years subsisted between W. Strahan, Esq. and his truly affectionate old friend, B. FRAxNKLlN." But notwithstanding his prayer to the contrary, every body recollects how, exactly as Dr. Franklin had predicted, the minister continued to blunder and blunder on with his face constantly towards war — how nothing was trumpeted by the ministerial party, like the ingratitude and baseness of the Americans — how certain newspapers perpetually vilified them as miscreants, rascals and rebels — how the public mind was so set against them that even the shoe-blacks, as Mr. Wilkes said, talked of the colonies as their plantations, and •>f the people there as if they had been their overseers and DR. FRANKLIN. 201 negroes — ^how the minister determined at last, to enforce the tea-tax — how, on hearing the news of this, as of the stamp act, tlie jankees muffled their drums, and played the dead march — how they took the sacrament never to submit to it — how the minister, to test their valour, sent three sliips la den with this three-penny tea — ^how the yankees, dressed like Mohawks, boarded their ships and destroyed their car- goes— ^how the minister, waxing more in wrath, sent more soldiers to quell the rebels — how the rebels insulted the sol- diers — how the soldiers fired on the rebels — ^liow the port of Boston was shut by royal proclamation — how, in spite of the royal proclamation, the colonies would trade with her and send monies to her relief — how the lords and commons pe- titioned the king that, any rebel opposing the officers of his sacred majesty, should be instantly hung up without judge or jury — how the king thanked his noble lords and commons, and was graciously pleased to decree that all rebels thus of- fending should be thus hung up without judge or jury — how that, notwithstanding this gracious decree, when his majes- ty's troops attempted to destroy the rebel stores at Concord, the rebels attacked and killed them, without any regard to his majesty's decree. This unpardonable sin against the " Lord's anointed," which happened on the 19th of April 1775, served as the double bolt- ing and barring of the door against all hope of peace. Through- out America, it struck but one deep and awful sentiment, <'/Ae sword is drawn, and we must now throw the scabbard awayy In May, the news got to England, where it excited emotions that beggar all description. They somewhat, how- ever, resembled the effects of the trumpet of the great angel spoken of in the Revelations, that sounded '-^wo! wo ! wo! to the inhabitants^'' of America, and proclaimed the pouring forth oi fire and sword. But, reserving this tragedy for the next chapter, we will conclude the present with the follow- ing anecdote. It will show at least, that doctor Franklin left no stone unturned to carry his pointy and that where logic failed he had recourse to wit. THE CAT AND EAGLE. A FABLE, BY DOCTOR FRANKLIN. Lord Spencer was a great admirer of Dr. Franklin, and never missed sending him a card when he intended a quorum of learned ones at his table. The last time that our philo- 202 THE LIFE OF sopner enjoyed this honour, was in 1775, just before he was driven from England bv lord North. Tlie conversation taking a turn on fables, lord Spencer observed, that it had certain- ly been a very lucky tiling, especially for the youxg, that this mode of instruction had ever been hit on, as there was a something in it wonderfully calculated to touch a favourite string with them, L e. novelty and surprise. They would listen, he said, to a fox, when they would not to a father, and they would be more apt to remember any thing good told them by an owl or a crow, than by an uncle or an aunt. But I am afraid, continued his lordship, that the age of fables is past. JEsop and Phoedrus among the ancients, and Fontaine and Gay among the moderns, have given us so many fine speeches from the birds and beasts, that I suspect their budgets are pretty nearlj'' exhausted. The company concluded with his lordship, except Frank- lin, who was silent. *' Well, doctor," said lord Spencer, "what is your opinion on this subject.^" " Why, my lord," replied Franklin, " I cannot say that I have the honour to think with you in this affair. The birds and beasts have indeed said a great many wise things; but it is likely they will say a great many more yet before tliey are done. Nature, I am thinking, is not quite so easily ex- hausted as your lordship seems to imagine." Lord Spencer, evidently confused, but still with that countenance of pleasure which characterizes great souls, when they meet superior genius, exclaimed — "Well, roc- tor, suppose you give us a feble? I know you are good at an impromptu." The company all seconded tiie motion. Frank- lin thanked them for the compliment, but begged to be ex- cused. They would hear no excuses. They knew, they said, he could go it, and insisted he should gratify them. Finding all resistance ineffectual, he drew his pencil, and after scribbling a few minutes, reached it to Spencer, saying — "Well, my lord|^ since you will have it so, here's a something fresh from the brain, but I'm afraid you'll not find ^sopin it." " Read it, doctor, read it I" was the cry of the noble lord and his friends. Ip a mood, spriteful and pleasant, Frank- lin thus began — "Once upon a time — hem I — as an Eagle in the full pride of his pinions, soared over a humble farm- yard, darting his fiery eyes around in search of a pig, a iamb, or some such pretty tit-bit, what should he behold but DR. FRANKLIN. 203 plump young rabbit, as he thought, squatted among the weeds. Down at once upon him, he pounced like thunder, and bearing him aloft in his talons, thus chuckled to himself with joy — Zounds, what a lucky dog I am! such a nice rab- bit here, this morning, for my breakfast! " His joy was but momentary j for the supposed rabbit nappened to be a stout cat, who, spitting and squalling with rage, instantly stuck his teeth and nails, like any fury, into the eagle's thighs, making the blood and feathers fly at a dreadful rate. "Hold! hold! /or mercy's sake^ hold! cried the eagle, his winj^s shivering in the air with very torment. '* Villian! retorted the cat, with a tiger-like growl, dare you talk of mercy after treating me thus, who never injured you?" O, God bless you, Mr. Cat, is that you.? rejoined the ea- gle, mighty complaisant; 'pon honour, I did not intend, sir. 1 thought it was only a rabbit I had got hold of— and you know we are all fond of rabbits. Do you suppose, my dear sir, that if I had but dreamt it was you, I would ever iiave touched the hair of your head.? No, indeed: I am not such a fool as all that comes to. And now, my dear Mr. Cat, come let's be good friends again, and I'll let you go with all my heart. " Yes, you'll let me go, scoundrel, will you — here from the clouds— to break every bone in my skin! — No, villain, carry me back, and put me down exactly where you found me, or I'll tear the throat out of you in a moment. *' Without a word of reply, the eagle stooped at once from his giddy height, and sailing humbly down, with great complaisance restored the cat to his simple farm-yard, there to sleep, or hunt his rats and mice at pleasure." A solemn silence ensued. At length, with a deep pro- phetic sigh, lord Spencer thus replied: '' JihJ Br. Franklin I seethe drift of your fable; and my fears have already made the application. God grants that Britain may not prove the ea^le, and America the cat." This fable paraphrased in the Whig papers of that day, concludes in this way: Thus Britain thought in seventy-six, Her talons in a hare to fix ; But in the scuffle it was found, The bird received a dangerous wound, Which, though pretending oft to hide, Still rankles in his Royal side." 204 THE LIFE OF CHAPTER XL. Doctor Franklin now began to find his situation in Lon don extremely unpleasant. For twelve years, like heaven's own minister of peace, he had pressed the olive-branqh on the British ministry^ and yet after all, their war- hawks could hardly tolerate the sight of him. They even went se far as to call him ''• the hoary headed villain, who first stirred up the Americans to rehelliony As soon as he could obtain his passports he left England. His old friend, Strahan, advised him to continue in that country, for that America would soon be filled with tunuilt and bloodshed. He replied, *' iVb, sir, where liberty is, there is my count ry.^^ Unbounded was the joy of the Americans on the return of so great a patriot and statesman. The day following he was elected by the legislature of Pennsylvania, a member of Congress. The following letters, in extract, to his con- stant friend, and the friend of science and liberty, the cele- brated doctor Priestley, will show how full his hands were ^Philadelphia, July 7, 1775. " Dear Friend, / *' Britain has begun to burn our sea, port towns; secure, 1 suppose, that loe shall never be able to return the outrage in kind. She may doubtless destroy them all. But is this the way to recover our friendship and trade? She must certainly be distracted 5 for no tradesman out of Bedlam ever thought of increasing the number of his customers by knocking them on the head 5 or of enabling them to pay their debts, by burn- ing their houses. "^ My time was never more fully employed. I breakfast before six. At six I hasten to the committee of safety, for putting the province in a state of defence. At nine I go to Congress, which sits till after four. It will scarcely be credited m Britain, that men can be as diligent with us, from zeal for the public good, as with you, for thousands per annum. Such 's the difference between uncorrupted new states, and cor- rupted old ones. *' Great frugality and great industry are now become fashionable here: gentlemen, who used to entertain with two or three courses, oride themselves now in treating with sim DR. FRANKLIN. S05 pie beef and pudding. Bj these means, and the stoppage of our consumptive trade with Britain, we shall be better able to pay our voluntary taxes for the support of our troops. Our savings in the article of trade, amount to near five millions of sterling per annum. — Yours, most aifectionatelv, B. FRANKLIN. In another letter to the same, dated October Sd, he says: ''Tell our dear good friend, doctor Price, who sometimes has his doubts and despondencies about our firmness, that America is determined and unanimous: a very few tories and placemen excepted, who will probably soon export them- selves. Britain, at the expense of three millions has killed in this campaign, one hundred and fifty yankees ! which is 20,000 pounds sterling a head; and at Bunker's hill she gain- ed half a mile of ground! During the same time she lost, at one place, near one thousand men, and we have had a good sixty thousand children born in America. From these data, with the help of his mathematical head, lord North will easily calculate the time and expense necessary to kill us all, anS conquer our whole territory. — I am yours, B. FRANKLIN." In another letter to the same, and of the same date, he says: "Britain still goes on to goad and exasperate. She de- spises us too much; and seems to forget the Italian proverb, that ' there is no little enemy. ' I am persuaded the body of the British people are our friends; but your lying gazettes may soon make them our enemies — and I see clearly that we are on the high road to mutual enmity, hatred, and detestation. A separation will of course be inevitable. It is a million of pities so fair a plan, as we have hitherto been engaged in for in- creasing strength and empire with public felicity, should be destroyed by the mangling hands of a few blundering ministers. It will not be destroyed: God will protf.ci AND PROSPER it: you will only exclude youselves from any share of it. We hear that more ships and troops are coming out. We know you may do us a great deal of mischief, but we are determined to hear it patiently; but if you flatter yourselves with beating us into submission, you know neitheor the people nor the country. I am ever your's, most affectionately, B. FRANKLIN. 206 THE LIFE OF This letter of Doctor Franklin's is the first thing I have seen that utters a whisper about Independence. It was, however, a prophetical whisper, and soon found its accom- plishment in the source that Franklin predicted — the bar- barity OF Britain. To see war waged against them bj a power whom they had always gloried in as their Mother Country — to see it waged because as the children of En- glishmen, they had only asked for the common rights of Englishmen — to see it waged with a savageness unknown among civilized nations, and all the powers of earth and hell, as it were, stirred up against them — the Indians with their bloody tomahawks and scalping knives — the negroes witli their mid- night hoes and axes — the merciless flames let loose on their midwinter towns — with prisons, chains, and starvation of tlieir worthiest citizens. " Such miserable specimens,^^ as Franklin termed them, " of the British govermnent,^^ produced every where in the colonies a disposition to detest and avoid it as a complication of robbery, murder, famine, fire and pestilence. On the 7th of June, resolutions respecting independence, were moved and seconded in Congress. Doctor Franklin threw all the weight of his wisdom and character into the scale in favour of independence. '* Independence," said he, ^^will cut the Gordian knot at once, and give us freedom. " I. Freedom fro^n the oppressive kings, and endless ivars, and mad politics, and forced religion of an unreasonable and cruel government. *' II. Freedom to choose a fair, and cheap, and reasonable government of our own. *' III. Freedom to live in friendship with all nations; and '* IV. Freedom to trade with all.^^ On the 4th of July, the Independence of the United States firas declared. Immediately on the finishing of .this great work, doctor Franklin, with a committee of the first talents in Congress, prepared a number of very masterly addresses to the courts of Europe, informing what the United States had done; assigning their reasons for so doing; and tender- ing in the most aff*ectionate terms, the friendship and trade of the young nation. The potentates of Europe were, gene- rally, well pleased to hear that a new star had risen in the west, and talked freely of opening their treasures and pre- senting their gifts of friendship, &c. But the European power that seemed most to rejoice in this event was the French. In August, doctor Franklin DR. FRANKLIN 207 \vas appointed by Congress to visit the French court, for the purpose of forming an alliance with that powerful people. It was his friend, Doctor R. Rush, who first announced to him the choice which Congress had made, adding, at the same time, his hearty congratulations on that account *' Why, doctor," replied he with a smile, ** I am now, like un old broom, worn down to the stump in my country's ser- vice — near seventy years old. But such as I am, she must, I suppose, have the last of me." Like the brave Dutch repub- licans, each with his wallet of herrings on his back, when they went forth to negotiate with the proud Dons, so did doc- tor Franklin set out to court the great French nation, with no provisions for his journey, but a few hogsheads of tobacco. He was received in France, however, with a most hearty welcome, not only as an envoy from a brave people fighting for their rights, but also as the famed American plulosopher, who by his parafonerres (lightning rods) had disarmed the clouds of their lightnings, and who, it was hoped, would re- duce the colossal povv^er of Great Britain. He had not been long in Paris, before the attention of all the courts of Europe was attached to him, by a publication, wherein he demonstrated, that, the young, healthy, and sturdy republic of America, with her simple manners, labori- ous habits, and millions of fresh land and produce, would he a much safer borrower of money, tlutn the old, profligate, and debt-burthened government of Britain. The Dutch and French courts, in particular, read his arguments with such attention, that they soon began to make him loans. To the Fiench cabinet he pointed out, "the inevitable destruc- tion OF their fleets, colonies, and commerce, in case OF A re-union of BRITAIN AND AMERICA." Thcrc Wanted but a grain to turn the trembling balance in favour of Ame- rica. But it was the \\\\\ of Heaven to withhold that grain a eood long while. And Franklin had the mortification to find, that although tlie French were an exceedingly polite people; constantly eulogizing General Washington and THE Brave Bostonians, on every little victory; and also for their tobacco, very thriftily smuggling all the fire arms and ammunition they could into the United States, yet they had no notion of coming out manfully at once upon the British lion, until they should first see the American Eagle lay the monster on his back. Dr. Franklin, of course, was permitted to rest on his oars, at Passv, in the neighbourhood SOS THE LIFE OF of Paris. His characteristic philanthropy, however, could not allow him to be idle at a court, whose pride and extra vagance were so horribly irreconcileable with his ideas of the true use of riches, i. e. Independence for ourselves, and Beneficence to others. And he presently came out in the Paris Gazette with the following master piece of Wit and Economics. To the Editors of the Paris Journal. Gentlemen, I was the other evening in a grand company, where the new lamp of Messrs. Quinquet and Lange was introduced, and much admired for its splendour; buta general inquiry was made, whether the oil it consumed, was not in proportion to the light it aftbrded; in which case there would be no saving in the use of it. No one present could satisfy us on that point; whicli all agreed ought to be known, it being a very desirable thing to lessen, if possible, the expense of lighting our apartments, when every other article of family expense was so much augmented. I was pleased to see this general concern for economy; for I love economy exceedingly. 1 went home, and to bed, three or four hours after mid- night, with my head full of the subject. An accidental sud* den noise awaked me about six in the morning, when 1 was surprised to find my room filled with liglit; and I imagined, at first, that a number of these lamps had been brought into it ; but rubbing my eyes, I perceived the liglit came in at my windows. I got up, and looked out to see what might be the occasion of it, when I saw the sun just rising above the horizon, whence he poured his rays plentifully into my chamber, my domestic having negligently omitted, the pre- ceding evening, to close the shutters. I looked at my watch, which goes very well, and found that it was but six o'clock; and still thinking it something extraordinary that the sun should rise so early, I looked in- to the almanack; where I found it to be the hour given for its rising on that day. Your readers, who, with me, have never seen any signs of sunshine before noon, and seldom regard the astronomical part of the almanack, will be as much astonished as I was, when they hear of his rising so early; and especially when I assure them that he gives light as soon as he rises. I am certain of the fact. J saw it with my own eyes. Anro- imhnce, that takes cognizance of, guards, and guides, and may favour particular persons, there is no motive to wor- ship a DEITY, to fear his displeasure, or to pray for his protection. I will not enter into any discussion of your principles, though you seem to desire it. At present I shall only give yau my opinion, that though your reasonings are subtile, and may prevail with some readers, you will not succeed so as to change the general sentiments of mankind on that subject; and the consequence of printing this piece will be, a great deal of odium drawn upon yourself, mischief to you, and no benefit to others. He that spits against the wind, spits in his own face. But were you to succeed, do you imagine any good wou-ld be done by it ? You yourself may find it easy to live a virtuous life, without the assist- ance afforded by religion; you having a clear perception of the disadvantages of vice, and possessing a strength of reso- lution sufficient to enable you to resist common temptations. But think how great a portion of mankind consists of weak and ignorant men and women, and of inexperienced incon- siderate youth of both sexes, who have need of the motives of religion to restrain them from vice, to support their vir- tue, and retain them in the practice of it till it becomes ha- bitual, which is the great points of its security. And, perhaps, you are indebted to her original, that is, to your religious education, for the habits of virtue upon which you now justly value yourself. You might easily display your excellent talents of reasoning upon less hazardous objects, and thereby obtain a r^^k with our most distinguisned authors. For among us it is not necessary, as among the Hottentots, that a youth, to be raised into the company of men, should prove his manhood by beating tiis motner. I would advise you, therefore, not to attempt unchainmg the tiger, but to burn this piece before it is seen by any other person — whereby you will save yourself a great deal of mor- tification from the enemies it may raise against you, and, perhaps, a good deal of regret and repentance. If men are so wicked with religion, wnat would they be without it? 1 DR. FRANKLIN. 227 intend this letter itself as a proof of my friendship, and therefore add no professions to it, but subscribe myself simply yours. B. FRANKLIN." For tlie following, I owe many thanks to the honourable Mr. Rufus King. After having answered my question on that subject, as before stated, viz. that he considered Dr. Franklin ^<'very muck a chrhiian in pradice^^'' he added with a fine smile, as if happy that he possessed an anecdote so honourable to the religious character of his illustrious friend, and the friend of mankind — ^^now, sir, IHl tell you an anecdote of Dr. Frank- lin.''^ The Convention of '88, of which Dr. Franklin and myself were members, had been engaged several weeks in framing the present Constitution, and had done nothing. Dr. Franklin came in one morning, and rising in his place, called the attention of the house. — ''We have been here, Mr. Speaker," said he, (George Washington was in the chair,) '« a long time, trying to act on this important sub- ject, and have done nothing; and in place of a speedy and successful close of our business, we see nothing but dark clouds of difficulty and embarrassment gathering before us. It is high time for us, Mr. Speaker, to call in the direction of a wisdom above our own. — (The countenance of Wash- ington caught a briglitness at these words, as he leaned for- \yard in deepest gaze on Dr. Franklin.) Yes, sir, it is high time for us to call in the direction of a wisdom above our own. Our fathers before us, the wise and good men of an- cient times, acted in this way. Aware of the difficulties and perils that attend all human enterprize, they never engaged in any thing of importance without having implored the guidance and blessing of heaven. The scriptures are full of encouragements to such practice. They every where assert a particular providence over all his works. They assure us that the very hairs of our head are all numbered 5 and that not even a sparrow but is continually under the eye of his parental care. This, Mr. Speaker, is the language o\ the gospel, wliich I most implicitly believe; and which^pro mises the guidance of divine wisdom to all ivho ask it. We have not asked it; and that may be the reason why we have been so long in the dark. I therefore move, Mr. Speaker, that it be made a rule to open the business of this house, every morning, icith prayer.'''' The following also will show Dr. Franklin's firm belief 228 THE LIFE OF in that very precious article of the rel^^ioaof Christ — a par- ticular PROVIDENCE. To William Strahan, Esq. London France^ August 19th, 1784. Dear Old Friend, You " fairly acknowledge that the late war terminated quite contrary to your expectation." Your expectation was ill founded; for you would not believe your old friend, who told you repeatedly, that, by those measures, England would lose her colonies, as Epictetus warned in vain his master, that he would break his leg. You believed rather the tales you heard of our poltroonery, and impotence of body and mind. Don't you remember the story you told me of the Scotch sergeant, who met with a party of forty American soldiers, and, though alone, disarmed tliem all, and brought them in prisoners! A story almost as improbable as that of the Irishman, who pretended to have alone taken and brought in five of the enemy, by surrounding them. And yet, my friend, sensible and judicious as you are, but partaking of the general infatuation, you seem to believe it. The word general puts me in mind of a general, your general Clark, who had the folly to say, in my hearing, at sir John Pringle's, that with a thousand British grenadiers, he would undertake to go from one end of America to the other, and geld all the males. It is plain, he took us for a species of animals very little superior to brutes. The parliament, too, believed the stories of another foolish general, I forget his name, that the Yankees never felt hold. Yankee was un- derstood to be a sort of Yahoo, and the parliament did not tliink the petitions of such creatures were fit to be received and read in so wise an assembly. What was the consequence of this monstrous pride and insolence! You first sent smah armies to subdue us, believing them more than sufilcient, but soon found yourselves obliged to send greater; these, whenever they ventured out of sight of their ships, were either obliged to scamper, or were beaten and taken pri- soners. An American planter, who had never seen Europe, was chosen by us to command our troops, and continued during the whole war. This man sent home to you, one after another, five of your best generals, bafiled, their heads bare of laurels, disgraced even in the opinion of their em- ployers. Your contempt of our understandings, in com- parison with your own, appeared to be not much better J DR. FRANKLIN. 229 founded than that of our courage, if we may judge bj tliis circumstance, that in whatever court of Europe a Yankee negotiator appeared, the wise British minister was routed, — put in a passion, — picked a quarrel with your friends, — and was sent home with a flea in his ear. But after all, my dear friend, do not imagine that I am vain enougli to ascribe our success to any superiority in any of those points. t am too well acquainted with all the springs and levers of our machine, not to see that our human means were une- qual to our undertaking, and that, if it had not been for the justice of our cause, and the consequent interposition of Providence, in which we had faith, we must have been ruined. If I had ever before been an Atheist, I should now have been convinced of the being and government of a Deity! It is HE who "abases the proud, and exalts the humble." May we never forget liis goodness to us, and may our future conduct manifest our gratitude! B. FRANKLIN. Now, can any honest man, after this, entertain a doubt that Dr. Franklin was indeed, ''in practice very much a christian.''^ I am aware that some good men have been offended, and I may add, grieved too, that Dr. Franklin should ever have spoken slightingly of faith, &c. But these gentlemen may rest assured, that Dr. Franklin did this only to keep people from laying such stress on faith, &c. as to neglect what is infinitely more important, even Love and Good Works. And in this grand view, do not the holy apostles, and even Christ himself treat these things in the same way ? Every where speaking of ''faith and baptism and long prayers,^^ when attempted to be put in place of love and good works, as mere " beggarly elements,'''' and even " damning hypocri- sies,^'' However, let honest men read the following letter on the subject, by Dr. Franklin himself. While it serves to remove their doubts and prejudices, it may go to prove that if he had errors in religion, the}? were not the errors of the heart, nor likely to do any harm in the world; but con- trariwise, to make us all much better christians, and happier men, tlian we are. The letter is in answer to one from an illustrious foreigner; who, on a trip to Philadelphia, made Dr. Franklin a visit. I'he doctor, for some malady, advised him to try electricity; and actually gave him several shocks. He had not long 230 THE LIFE OF been gone, before he wrote Dr. Franklin a most flattering- account of the effects of his electricity— begi!;ecl him to be assured he should never forget such kindness — -and con- cluded with praying that they might both have grace to live a life of Faith, that if they were never to meet again ih this world, they might at last meet in heaven. DR. FRANKLIN'S ANSWER. Philadelphia, June 6, 1753. Sir, I received your kind letter of the 2d instant, and am glad that you increase in strength; I hope you will continue mending till you recover your former health. As to the kindness you mention, the only thanks I desire is, that you would always be equally ready to serve any other person that may need your assistance, and so let good offices go round, ybr mankind are all of a family. For my own part, when I am employed in serving others, I do not look upon myself as conferring favours, but as pay- ing debts. In my travels, and since my settlement, I have received much kindness from men, to whom 1 shall never have any opportunity of making the least direct return — and numberless mercies from God, who is infinitely above being benefitted by our services. The kindness from men, I can, therefore, only return on their fellow men, and I can only show my gratitude for those mercies from God, by a readi- ness to help his other children, and my brethren. For I do not think that thanks and compliments, though repeated weekly, can discharge our real obligations to each other, and much less those to our Creator. You will see in this, my notion of good works; that I am far from expecting, as you suppose, to merit heaven by them. By heaven, we under- stand a state of happiness; infinite in degree, and eternal in duration. I can do nothing to deserve such rewards. He that, for giving a draught of water to a tliirsty person, should expect to be paid with a good plantation, woald be modest in his demands, compared with those who think they deserve heaven for the little good they do on earth. Even the mixed imperfect pleasures we enjoy in this world, are rather from God's goodness, than our merit; how much more such hap- ,)iness as heaven. For my part, I have not the vanity to think I deserve it, the folly to expect it, nor the ambition to desire it; but content myself in submitting to the will and disposal of that God who made me — who has hitherto pre- DR. FRANKLIN. 231 served and blessed me — and in whose fatherly goodness I maj well confide, that he will never make me miserable — and that even the afflictions I may at any time suffer shall tend to my benefit. The faith you mention has, doubtless, its use in the world, I do not desire to see it diminished. But I wish it were more productive of good works than I have generally seen it,T mean real good works; works ot kindness, charity, mercy, and public spirit; not holiday keeping, sermon reading or hear- ing, performing church ceremonies, or making long prayers, filled with flatteries and compliments, despised even by wise men, and much less capable of pleasing the Deity. The worship of God is a chity; the hearing and reading of sermons may be useful; but if men rest in hearing and praying, as too many do, it is as if a tree should value itself on being watered and putting forth leaves, though it never produced any fruit Your great master thought much less of these outward ap- pearances and professions than many of his modern disciples. He preferred the doers of the word to the mere hearers^ the son that seemingly refused to obey his father, and yet performed his comm.ands, to him thsLt prof ess ed his readiness, but neglected the work; the heretical but charitable Samari- tan, to the uncharitable though orthodox priest and sanctified Levite: and those who gave food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, raiment to the naked, entertainment to the stranger, and relief to the sick, though they never heard of his name, he declares they shall in the last day be accepted, when those who cry Lord, Lord, who value themselves on their faith, though great enough to perform miracles, but have neglected good works, shall be rejected. He professed he came ^^not to call the right eous^biit sinners to repentance,'"^ which implied his modest opinion, that there were some in his time so good, that they needed not to hear even him for improvement^ but now-a-days, v/e have scarce a little parson that docs not think it the duty of every man within his reach, to think exactly as he does, and that all dissenters offend God. I wish to such more humility, and to you health and happi- ness, being Vour friend and servant, B. FRANKLIN. What but the spirit of immortal love, which, not content with doing much good in life, fondly looks beyond, and feasts on the happiness that others are to derive from us long 2S2 THE LIFE OF after we have ceased to live on earthy what, I ask, but that love, could have dictated DR. FRANKLIN'S WILL. *' TVIien thou makest afeast^ call not thy rich neighbours : lest they also bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee. '^ But when thou makest a feast, call the poor ; and thou shall be blessed. For they cannot recompense thee, for thou shall be recompensed at the resurrection of the just. '''^ Luke, xiv. Sentiments divinely sublime! — Who, without emotions in- describable, can read them! And yet if they were lost from the Bible, they might be found again in the Will of Benja- min Franklin. While many others " rise early, and late take rest, and eat the bread of labour and care,^^ that they may " die rich''^ — leaving their massy treasures, some scanty legacies ex- cepted, to corrupt a few proud relatives, doctor Franklin acted as though the above text, the true sublime of wisdom and bcn&volence, was before him. After having bequeathed his books, a most voluminous and valuable collection, partly to his family, and partly to the Boston and Philadelphia philosophical societies; and, after having divided a handsome competence among his children, and grand children, he goes on as follows: "I. Having owed my first instructions in literature to the free grammar schools in Boston, I give one hundred pounds sterling to the free schools in that town, to be laid out in silver medals as honorary rewards for the encouragement of scholarship in those schools. '* II. All the debts to my post-office establishment, which 1 held many years, I leave to the Philadelphia hospital. "III. Having always been of opinion, that in democrati- cal governments, there ought to be no offices of great profit, I have long determined to give a part of my public salary to public uses; and being chiefly indebted to Massachusetts, my native state, and Pennsylvania, my adopted state, for lucrative employments, I feel it my duty to remember them; and having from long observation, and my own early expe- rience, discovered that the best objects for assistance are indi- gent young persons, and the best modes of assistance, a plain education, a good trade, and a little money to set them up: and having been set up m business, while a poor bo}^, in Phdadelphia, by kind loans of money from two friends there, DR. FRANKLIN. 253 which was the foundation of my fortune and all the useful- ness that the world ascribed to me, I feel a wish to be use- ful, after my death, to others, in the loans of money ; I therefore devote, from the savings of my salaries, the follow- ing sums, to the following persons and uses: "1. To the inhabitants of Boston and Philadelphia, one thousand pounds sterling to each city, to be let out by the oldest divines of different churches, on ?i five per cent, interest and good security^ to indigent young tradesmen, not bache- lors^ (as they have not deserved much from their country and the feebler sex,) but married men. '' 2. No borrower to have more than sixty pounds sterling, nor less than fifteen. " 3. And in order to serve as many as possible in their turn, as well as to make the payment of the principal bor- rowed more easy, each borrower shall be obliged to pay, with the yearly interest, one tenth part of the principal j which sums of principal and interest, so paid, shall be again lent out to fresh borrowers. B. FRANKLIN." In a late Boston paper, the friends of humanity have read with much pleasure that doctor Franklin's legacy to the in- digent young married tradesmen of that town, of ^4444 44 cents, is now increased to SI 0,902 28 cents, after having been the means of setting up 206 poor young men^ besides 75 others, who are now in the use of the capital. CHAPTER XLIV. Tlie Death of Doctor Franklin, One cannot read the biography of this great man without being put in mind of those sweet though simple strains of the bard of Zion. " Happy the man, whose tender care Relieves the poor distrest; When he's with troubles compass'd round, The Lord shall give hiin rest. " If, he in languishing estate, Oppress'd with sickness, lie, The Lord shall easy make his bed, And inward strength supply." 234 THE LIFE OF The latter end of" doctor Fraiiklii affords glorious proof that nothing so softens the bed of sickness, and brightens the gloom ot the grave, as a life spent in works of love to mankind. See George Washington, who bj an active and disinter- ested benevolence, was called "The Father of his Coun- try." See Martha Washington, who by domestic virtues, and extensive charities, obtained to herselit' the high character of '' THE Mother to the Poor." — Both of these found the last bed spread as it were with rosesj and the last enemy converted into a friend. Such is the lot of all who lovej '' not In ivord^ but in deed and in triith.^^ The friends of doctor Franklin never entered his chamber without being struck with this precious text, " Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace P Though laid on the bed whence he is to rise no more, he shows no sign of dejection or defeat. On the contrary, he appears like an aged warrior reposing himself after glorious victory; while his looks beaming with benevolence, express an air pure and serene as the Heaven to which he is going. Death, which most sick people are so unwilling to mention^ was to him a favourite topic, and the sublime conversations of Socrates on that great subject, were heard a second time, from the lips of our American Franklin, pregnant with '* immortality and eternal lif\'^^ No wonder then that with such views doctor Franklin should have been so cheerful on his dying bed; so self-possessed and calm, even under the tortures of the gravel, which was wearing him down to the grave. " Don'^t go away,'''' said he to the Rev. Dr. Colline, of the Swedes' church, Philadelphia, who, as a friend, was much with him in his last illness, and at sight of his agonies and cold sweats under the fits of the gravel, would take up his hat to retire — " O no! donH go away^'' he would say, " don''t go aivay. These pains will soon be over. They are for my good. And besides, what are the pains of a moment in comparison of the pleasures of eternity." Blest with an excellent constitution, well nursed by na- ture's three great physicians, temperance, exercise, and cheerfulness, he was hardly ever sick until after his seventy- sixth year. Tlie gout and gravel then attacked him with great severity. He bore their excruciating tortures as be- came one who habitually felt that he was as he said, in the hands of an infinitely wise and benevolent being, who did all things right. DR. FRANKLLX. ' £.15 His physician, the celebrated Dr. Jones, published the following account of his last illness. " The stone, had for the last twelve months confined him chiefly to his bed; and during the extreme painful paroxysms, ne was obliged to take large doses of laudanum to mitigate nis tortures — still in the intervals of pain, he not only amused himself with reading and conversing with his family, and his friends who visited him, but was often employed in doing business of a public as well as private nature, with various persons who waited on him for that purpose, and in every instance displayed, not only that readiness of doing good, which was the distinguishing characteristic of his life, but the fullest possession of his uncommon mental abilities; and not unfrequently indulged himself in those flashes of wit and enter- taining anecdotes, which were the delightof all who heard him. " About sixteen days before his death, he was seized with a pain in his left breast, which increased till it became ex- tremely acute, attended with a cough and laborious breath- ing. During this state, when the severity of his pains some- times drew forth a groan, he would observe, that, '' he was afraid he did not bear them as he ought — acknowledged his grateful sense of the many blessings he had received froin the Supreme Being, who had raised him from small and low beginnings to such high rank and consideration among men — and made no doubt but his present afflictions were kindly intended to wean him from a world, in ivhich he was no longer Jit to act the part assigned him. In this frame of body and mind he continued till five days before his death, when an imposthumation in his lungs, suddenly burst, and discharged a great quantity of matter, which he continued to throw up while he had strength", but, as that failed, the organs of respiration became gradually oppressed — a calm lethargic state succeeded — and, on the 7th of April, 1790, about ele- ven o'clock at night he quietly expired, closing a long and useful life of eighty-four years and three months.''^ Come holy calm of the soul! Expressive silence eome! and meditating tlie mighty talents of the dead, and their con- stant application to the glory of the giver, let us ascend with him on the wings of that blessed promise, ^^ Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord! even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours and their works do follow the?n.^^ Tliat Franklin is now enjoying that rest which " remain^ eth f&r the people of God^^ — ^and that while many a blood- stained monster, who made great noise in the world, is fol X 2 236 THE LIFE OF lowed by the cries of thousands of widows and orplians, Franklin dying in the Lord, and followed by the blessings of thousands, fed, clothed, educated, and enriched by his charities, is in glory, may be fairly inferred from the fol- lowing most valuable anecdote of him. Naturalists tell us, that so great is the paternal care of God, that every climate affords the food and physic best suited to the necessaries of its population. What gratitude is due to that goodness, which foreseeing the dangers impending over this country from British injustice, sent us two such piotec- I tors as Franklin and Washington.'* The first, (the forerun- ner of the second,) like the lightning of Heaven, to expose the approaching tempest; and the second, like the rock of the ocean, to meet that tempest in all its fury, and dash it back on its proud assailants? And how astonishing too, and al- most unexampled that goodness, which with talents of v/is- dom and fortitude to establish our republic, combined the cardinal virtues of justice, industry, and economy that alone can render our republic immortal? Hoping that our youth may be persuaded to love and imi- tate the virtues of the men whose great names they have been accustomed, from the cradle, to lisp with veneration, I have long coveted to set these virtues before them. The grey haired men of other days, have given me their aid. The following I obtained from the Rev. Dr. Helmut!], of the German church, Philadelphia. Hearing that this learned and pious divine possessed a valuable anecdote of doctor Franklin, I immediately waited on him. '* Yes, sir,"' said he, " I have indeed a valuable anecdote of doctor Franklin, v, hich I would tell you with great pleasure; but as I do not speak English very well, I wish you would call on David Ritter, at the sign of the Golden Lamb, in Front street; he will tell it to you better I hastened to Mr Ritter, and told him my errand. He seemed mightily pleased at it, and said, <* Yes, I will tell yeu all 1 know of it. You must understand then, sir, first of all, that I always had a prodigious opinion of doctor Franklin, as the iisefuhst man we ever liad among us, \)yj a long way; and so hearing that he was sick, 1 thought I would go and see him. As I rapped at the door, who should come and open it but old Sarah Humphries. I was right glad to see her, for I had known her a long time. She was of the people called Friends; and a mighty good sort of body she was too. The great people set a heap of store hy her, for she was famous throughout the town for nursing and DR. FRAxNKLIN". 237 tending on the sick. Indeed, many of them, I believe, hardly thought they could sicken, and die right if they had not old Sarah Humphries with them. Soon as she saw me, she said, 'Well David, how dost?' " •- O, much after the old sort, Sarah,' said I; 'but that's neither here nor there; I am come to see doctor Franklin.' " ' Well then,' said she, ' thou art too late, for he is J tisi deucir " ' Alack a day,' said I, ' then a great man is gone.' "'Yes, indeed,' said' she, 'and a good one too; for it seemed as though he never thought the day went away as it ought, if he had not done somebody a service. However, David,' said she, ' he is not the worse off for all that now, where he is gone to: but come, as thee came to see Ben- jamin Franklin, thee shall see him yet.' And so she took me into his room. As we entered, she pointed to him, where he lay on his bed, and said, ' there, did thee ever see any thing look so natural?' " And he did look natural indeed. His eyes were close — but that you saw he did not breathe, you would have thought he was in a sweet sleep, he looked so calm and happy. Ob- serving that his face was fixed right towards the chimney, I cast my eyes that way, and behold ! just above the mantle- piece was a noble picture! O it was a noble picture, sure enough I It was the picture of our Saviour on the cross. " I could not help calling out, 'Bless us all, Sarah!' said [, ' what's all this?' " ' What dost mean, David,' said she, quite crusty. " ' Why, how came this picture here, Sarah ?' said I, 'you know that many people think he was not after this sort. ' " 'Yes,' said she, 'I know that too. But thee knows that many who makes a great fuss about religion have very little, while some who say but little about it have a good deal.' " ' That's sometimes the case, I fear, Sarah;' said I. " ' Well, and that was the case,' said she, ' with Benja- min Franklin. But be that as it may, David, since thee asks me about this great picture, I'll tell thee how it came here. Many weeks ago, as he lay, he beckoned me to him, and told me of this picture up stairs, and begged I would bring it to him. I brought it to him. His face brightened up as he looked at it; and he said, ' Aye, Sarah,^ said he, '• there'' s a picture ivorth looking at ! thaPs the picture of him who came into theivorldto teach men to love one another P Then af- 238 THE LIFE OF ter looking wistfully at it for some time, he said, 'Sarah,^ said he, ' set this picture irp over the mantlepiece, right before me as I lie ; for I like to look at it, ' and when I had fixed it up, he looked at it, and looked at it very much; and indeed, as thee sees, he died with his eyes fixed on it.' " 4 Happy Franklin! Thus doubly blest I Blest in life, by a diligent co- working with ''the great Shepherd," in his precepts of perfect love. — Blest in death, with his closing eyes piously fixed upon him, and meekly bowing to the last summons in joyful hope that through the force of his divine precepts, the "wintry storms" of hate will one day pass away, and one "eternal spring of love and peace encircle all." Now Franklin in his lifetime had written for himself an epitaph, to be put upon his grave, that honest posterity might see that he was no unbeliever, as certain enemies had slan- dered him, but that he firmly believed '* that his Redeemei liveth; and that in the latter day he shall stand upon the earth; and that though worms destroyed his body, yet in his flesh he should see God.^^ "THE BODY OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, PRINTERy LIKE THE COVER OF AN OLD BOOK, its contents torn out, and stripped of its lettering and gildings lies here food for worms^ Yet the work itself shall not be lost; rbi it will, as he believed, appear once more IN A NEW and more beautiful edition, corrected and amended BY THE AUTHOR.''^ Piis epitaph was never put upon Ids tomb. But the friend t^ man needs no stone of the vallev to perpetuate bis memo- DR. FRANKLIN. 239 rj. It lives among the clouds of heaven. The lightnings, in their dreadful courses, bow to the genius of Franklin. His magic rods, pointed to the skies, still watch the irrup tions of the fiery meteors. They seize them by their hissing heads as they dart forth from the dark chambers of the thunders; and cradled infants, half waked by the sud- den glare, are seen to curl the cherub smile hard by the spot where the dismal bolts had fallen. THK KND. BOOKS PUBLISHED BY URIAH HUNT & SON, AND FOR SALE AT THEIR BOOK-STORE, No. 44 NORTH FOURTH STREET, PHILAD. COMPRISING SCHOOL, MISGELLANEaUS,AND CLASSICAL BOOKS. A copy of any of these books will he sent through mail, postage prepaid, on remittance of the price attached. School Teachers and those having care of children are particularly invited to examine this list, as it includes many books unequalled for educational purposes. The Classical Student will find in it several leading Latin books, and the general reader will meet with much that is standard and good in literature. 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