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#跋 富蘭克林自傳

I believe I have omitted mentioning that, in my first voyage from Boston, being becalm'd off Block Island, our people set about catching cod, and hauled up a great many. Hitherto I had stuck to my resolution of not eating animal food, and on this occasion consider'd, with my master Tryon, the taking every fish as a kind of unprovoked murder, since none of them had, or ever could do us any injury that might justify the slaughter. All this seemed very reasonable. But I had formerly been a great lover of fish, and, when this came hot out of the frying-pan, it smelt admirably well. I balanc'd some time between principle and inclination, till I recollected that, when the fish were opened, I saw smaller fish taken out of their stomachs; then thought I, "If you eat one another, I don't see why we mayn't eat you." So I din'd upon cod very heartily, and continued to eat with other people, returning only now and then occasionally to a vegetable diet. So convenient a thing it is to be a reasonable creature, since it enables one to find or make a reason for everything one has a mind to do.

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, by
Benjamin Franklin
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at
Title: The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin
Author: Benjamin Franklin
Release Date: May 22, 2008 [EBook #148]
[Last updated: March 31, 2014]
Language: English
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN was born in Milk Street, Boston, on January 6, 1706.
His father, Josiah Franklin, was a tallow chandler who married twice,
and of his seventeen children Benjamin was the youngest son. His
schooling ended at ten, and at twelve he was bound apprentice to his
brother James, a printer, who published the "New England Courant." To
this journal he became a contributor, and later was for a time its
nominal editor. But the brothers quarreled, and Benjamin ran away,
going first to New York, and thence to Philadelphia, where he arrived
in October, 1723. He soon obtained work as a printer, but after a few
months he was induced by Governor Keith to go to London, where, finding
Keith's promises empty, he again worked as a compositor till he was
brought back to Philadelphia by a merchant named Denman, who gave him
a position in his business. On Denman's death he returned to his former
trade, and shortly set up a printing house of his own from which he
published "The Pennsylvania Gazette," to which he contributed many
essays, and which he made a medium for agitating a variety of local
reforms. In 1732 he began to issue his famous "Poor Richard's Almanac"
for the enrichment of which he borrowed or composed those pithy
utterances of worldly wisdom which are the basis of a large part of his
popular reputation. In 1758, the year in which he ceases writing for
the Almanac, he printed in it "Father Abraham's Sermon," now regarded
as the most famous piece of literature produced in Colonial America.
Meantime Franklin was concerning himself more and more with public
affairs. He set forth a scheme for an Academy, which was taken up
later and finally developed into the University of Pennsylvania; and he
founded an "American Philosophical Society" for the purpose of enabling
scientific men to communicate their discoveries to one another. He
himself had already begun his electrical researches, which, with other
scientific inquiries, he called on in the intervals of money-making and
politics to the end of his life. In 1748 he sold his business in order
to get leisure for study, having now acquired comparative wealth; and
in a few years he had made discoveries that gave him a reputation with
the learned throughout Europe. In politics he proved very able both as
an administrator and as a controversialist; but his record as an
office-holder is stained by the use he made of his position to advance
his relatives. His most notable service in home politics was his
reform of the postal system; but his fame as a statesman rests chiefly
on his services in connection with the relations of the Colonies with
Great Britain, and later with France. In 1757 he was sent to England
to protest against the influence of the Penns in the government of the
colony, and for five years he remained there, striving to enlighten the
people and the ministry of England as to Colonial conditions. On his
return to America he played an honorable part in the Paxton affair,
through which he lost his seat in the Assembly; but in 1764 he was
again despatched to England as agent for the colony, this time to
petition the King to resume the government from the hands of the
proprietors. In London he actively opposed the proposed Stamp Act, but
lost the credit for this and much of his popularity through his
securing for a friend the office of stamp agent in America. Even his
effective work in helping to obtain the repeal of the act left him
still a suspect; but he continued his efforts to present the case for
the Colonies as the troubles thickened toward the crisis of the
Revolution. In 1767 he crossed to France, where he was received with
honor; but before his return home in 1775 he lost his position as
postmaster through his share in divulging to Massachusetts the famous
letter of Hutchinson and Oliver. On his arrival in Philadelphia he was
chosen a member of the Continental Congress and in 1777 he was
despatched to France as commissioner for the United States. Here he
remained till 1785, the favorite of French society; and with such
success did he conduct the affairs of his country that when he finally
returned he received a place only second to that of Washington as the
champion of American independence. He died on April 17, 1790.
The first five chapters of the Autobiography were composed in England
in 1771, continued in 1784-5, and again in 1788, at which date he
brought it down to 1757. After a most extraordinary series of
adventures, the original form of the manuscript was finally printed by
Mr. John Bigelow, and is here reproduced in recognition of its value as
a picture of one of the most notable personalities of Colonial times,
and of its acknowledged rank as one of the great autobiographies of the
TWYFORD, at the Bishop of St. Asaph's,[0] 1771.
[0] The country-seat of Bishop Shipley, the good bishop,
as Dr. Franklin used to style him.--B.
DEAR SON: I have ever had pleasure in obtaining any little anecdotes
of my ancestors. You may remember the inquiries I made among the
remains of my relations when you were with me in England, and the
journey I undertook for that purpose. Imagining it may be equally
agreeable to[1] you to know the circumstances of my life, many of which
you are yet unacquainted with, and expecting the enjoyment of a week's
uninterrupted leisure in my present country retirement, I sit down to
write them for you. To which I have besides some other inducements.
Having emerged from the poverty and obscurity in which I was born and
bred, to a state of affluence and some degree of reputation in the
world, and having gone so far through life with a considerable share of
felicity, the conducing means I made use of, which with the blessing of
God so well succeeded, my posterity may like to know, as they may find
some of them suitable to their own situations, and therefore fit to be
[1] After the words "agreeable to" the words "some of" were
interlined and afterward effaced.--B.
That felicity, when I reflected on it, has induced me sometimes to say,
that were it offered to my choice, I should have no objection to a
repetition of the same life from its beginning, only asking the
advantages authors have in a second edition to correct some faults of
the first. So I might, besides correcting the faults, change some
sinister accidents and events of it for others more favorable. But
though this were denied, I should still accept the offer. Since such a
repetition is not to be expected, the next thing most like living one's
life over again seems to be a recollection of that life, and to make
that recollection as durable as possible by putting it down in writing.
Hereby, too, I shall indulge the inclination so natural in old men, to
be talking of themselves and their own past actions; and I shall
indulge it without being tiresome to others, who, through respect to
age, might conceive themselves obliged to give me a hearing, since this
may be read or not as any one pleases. And, lastly (I may as well
confess it, since my denial of it will be believed by nobody), perhaps
I shall a good deal gratify my own vanity. Indeed, I scarce ever heard
or saw the introductory words, "Without vanity I may say," &c., but
some vain thing immediately followed. Most people dislike vanity in
others, whatever share they have of it themselves; but I give it fair
quarter wherever I meet with it, being persuaded that it is often
productive of good to the possessor, and to others that are within his
sphere of action; and therefore, in many cases, it would not be
altogether absurd if a man were to thank God for his vanity among the
other comforts of life.
And now I speak of thanking God, I desire with all humility to
acknowledge that I owe the mentioned happiness of my past life to His
kind providence, which lead me to the means I used and gave them
success. My belief of this induces me to hope, though I must not
presume, that the same goodness will still be exercised toward me, in
continuing that happiness, or enabling me to bear a fatal reverse,
which I may experience as others have done: the complexion of my
future fortune being known to Him only in whose power it is to bless to
us even our afflictions.
The notes one of my uncles (who had the same kind of curiosity in
collecting family anecdotes) once put into my hands, furnished me with
several particulars relating to our ancestors. From these notes I
learned that the family had lived in the same village, Ecton, in
Northamptonshire, for three hundred years, and how much longer he knew
not (perhaps from the time when the name of Franklin, that before was
the name of an order of people, was assumed by them as a surname when
others took surnames all over the kingdom), on a freehold of about
thirty acres, aided by the smith's business, which had continued in the
family till his time, the eldest son being always bred to that
business; a custom which he and my father followed as to their eldest
sons. When I searched the registers at Ecton, I found an account of
their births, marriages and burials from the year 1555 only, there
being no registers kept in that parish at any time preceding. By that
register I perceived that I was the youngest son of the youngest son
for five generations back. My grandfather Thomas, who was born in
1598, lived at Ecton till he grew too old to follow business longer,
when he went to live with his son John, a dyer at Banbury, in
Oxfordshire, with whom my father served an apprenticeship. There my
grandfather died and lies buried. We saw his gravestone in 1758. His
eldest son Thomas lived in the house at Ecton, and left it with the
land to his only child, a daughter, who, with her husband, one Fisher,
of Wellingborough, sold it to Mr. Isted, now lord of the manor there.
My grandfather had four sons that grew up, viz.: Thomas, John, Benjamin
and Josiah. I will give you what account I can of them, at this
distance from my papers, and if these are not lost in my absence, you
will among them find many more particulars.
Thomas was bred a smith under his father; but, being ingenious, and
encouraged in learning (as all my brothers were) by an Esquire Palmer,
then the principal gentleman in that parish, he qualified himself for
the business of scrivener; became a considerable man in the county; was
a chief mover of all public-spirited undertakings for the county or
town of Northampton, and his own village, of which many instances were
related of him; and much taken notice of and patronized by the then
Lord Halifax. He died in 1702, January 6, old style, just four years
to a day before I was born. The account we received of his life and
character from some old people at Ecton, I remember, struck you as
something extraordinary, from its similarity to what you knew of mine.
"Had he died on the same day," you said, "one might have supposed a
John was bred a dyer, I believe of woolens. Benjamin was bred a silk
dyer, serving an apprenticeship at London. He was an ingenious man. I
remember him well, for when I was a boy he came over to my father in
Boston, and lived in the house with us some years. He lived to a great
age. His grandson, Samuel Franklin, now lives in Boston. He left
behind him two quarto volumes, MS., of his own poetry, consisting of
little occasional pieces addressed to his friends and relations, of
which the following, sent to me, is a specimen.[2] He had formed a
short-hand of his own, which he taught me, but, never practising it, I
have now forgot it. I was named after this uncle, there being a
particular affection between him and my father. He was very pious, a
great attender of sermons of the best preachers, which he took down in
his short-hand, and had with him many volumes of them. He was also
much of a politician; too much, perhaps, for his station. There fell
lately into my hands, in London, a collection he had made of all the
principal pamphlets, relating to public affairs, from 1641 to 1717;
many of the volumes are wanting as appears by the numbering, but there
still remain eight volumes in folio, and twenty-four in quarto and in
octavo. A dealer in old books met with them, and knowing me by my
sometimes buying of him, he brought them to me. It seems my uncle must
have left them here, when he went to America, which was about fifty
years since. There are many of his notes in the margins.
[2] Here follow in the margin the words, in brackets, "here
insert it," but the poetry is not given. Mr. Sparks
informs us (Life of Franklin, p. 6) that these volumes
had been preserved, and were in possession of Mrs. Emmons,
of Boston, great-granddaughter of their author.
This obscure family of ours was early in the Reformation, and continued
Protestants through the reign of Queen Mary, when they were sometimes
in danger of trouble on account of their zeal against popery. They had
got an English Bible, and to conceal and secure it, it was fastened
open with tapes under and within the cover of a joint-stool. When my
great-great-grandfather read it to his family, he turned up the
joint-stool upon his knees, turning over the leaves then under the
tapes. One of the children stood at the door to give notice if he saw
the apparitor coming, who was an officer of the spiritual court. In
that case the stool was turned down again upon its feet, when the Bible
remained concealed under it as before. This anecdote I had from my
uncle Benjamin. The family continued all of the Church of England till
about the end of Charles the Second's reign, when some of the ministers
that had been outed for nonconformity holding conventicles in
Northamptonshire, Benjamin and Josiah adhered to them, and so continued
all their lives: the rest of the family remained with the Episcopal
Josiah, my father, married young, and carried his wife with three
children into New England, about 1682. The conventicles having been
forbidden by law, and frequently disturbed, induced some considerable
men of his acquaintance to remove to that country, and he was prevailed
with to accompany them thither, where they expected to enjoy their mode
of religion with freedom. By the same wife he had four children more
born there, and by a second wife ten more, in all seventeen; of which I
remember thirteen sitting at one time at his table, who all grew up to
be men and women, and married; I was the youngest son, and the youngest
child but two, and was born in Boston, New England. My mother, the
second wife, was Abiah Folger, daughter of Peter Folger, one of the
first settlers of New England, of whom honorable mention is made by
Cotton Mather in his church history of that country, entitled Magnalia
Christi Americana, as "a godly, learned Englishman," if I remember the
words rightly. I have heard that he wrote sundry small occasional
pieces, but only one of them was printed, which I saw now many years
since. It was written in 1675, in the home-spun verse of that time and
people, and addressed to those then concerned in the government there.
It was in favor of liberty of conscience, and in behalf of the
Baptists, Quakers, and other sectaries that had been under persecution,
ascribing the Indian wars, and other distresses that had befallen the
country, to that persecution, as so many judgments of God to punish so
heinous an offense, and exhorting a repeal of those uncharitable laws.
The whole appeared to me as written with a good deal of decent
plainness and manly freedom. The six concluding lines I remember,
though I have forgotten the two first of the stanza; but the purport of
them was, that his censures proceeded from good-will, and, therefore,
he would be known to be the author.
"Because to be a libeller (says he)
I hate it with my heart;
From Sherburne town, where now I dwell
My name I do put here;
Without offense your real friend,
It is Peter Folgier."
My elder brothers were all put apprentices to different trades. I was
put to the grammar-school at eight years of age, my father intending to
devote me, as the tithe of his sons, to the service of the Church. My
early readiness in learning to read (which must have been very early,
as I do not remember when I could not read), and the opinion of all his
friends, that I should certainly make a good scholar, encouraged him in
this purpose of his. My uncle Benjamin, too, approved of it, and
proposed to give me all his short-hand volumes of sermons, I suppose as
a stock to set up with, if I would learn his character. I continued,
however, at the grammar-school not quite one year, though in that time
I had risen gradually from the middle of the class of that year to be
the head of it, and farther was removed into the next class above it,
in order to go with that into the third at the end of the year. But my
father, in the meantime, from a view of the expense of a college
education, which having so large a family he could not well afford, and
the mean living many so educated were afterwards able to
obtain--reasons that he gave to his friends in my hearing--altered his
first intention, took me from the grammar-school, and sent me to a
school for writing and arithmetic, kept by a then famous man, Mr.
George Brownell, very successful in his profession generally, and that
by mild, encouraging methods. Under him I acquired fair writing pretty
soon, but I failed in the arithmetic, and made no progress in it. At
ten years old I was taken home to assist my father in his business,
which was that of a tallow-chandler and sope-boiler; a business he was
not bred to, but had assumed on his arrival in New England, and on
finding his dying trade would not maintain his family, being in little
request. Accordingly, I was employed in cutting wick for the candles,
filling the dipping mold and the molds for cast candles, attending the
shop, going of errands, etc.
I disliked the trade, and had a strong inclination for the sea, but my
father declared against it; however, living near the water, I was much
in and about it, learnt early to swim well, and to manage boats; and
when in a boat or canoe with other boys, I was commonly allowed to
govern, especially in any case of difficulty; and upon other occasions
I was generally a leader among the boys, and sometimes led them into
scrapes, of which I will mention one instance, as it shows an early
projecting public spirit, tho' not then justly conducted.
There was a salt-marsh that bounded part of the mill-pond, on the edge
of which, at high water, we used to stand to fish for minnows. By much
trampling, we had made it a mere quagmire. My proposal was to build a
wharff there fit for us to stand upon, and I showed my comrades a large
heap of stones, which were intended for a new house near the marsh, and
which would very well suit our purpose. Accordingly, in the evening,
when the workmen were gone, I assembled a number of my play-fellows,
and working with them diligently like so many emmets, sometimes two or
three to a stone, we brought them all away and built our little wharff.
The next morning the workmen were surprised at missing the stones,
which were found in our wharff. Inquiry was made after the removers;
we were discovered and complained of; several of us were corrected by
our fathers; and though I pleaded the usefulness of the work, mine
convinced me that nothing was useful which was not honest.
I think you may like to know something of his person and character. He
had an excellent constitution of body, was of middle stature, but well
set, and very strong; he was ingenious, could draw prettily, was
skilled a little in music, and had a clear pleasing voice, so that when
he played psalm tunes on his violin and sung withal, as he sometimes
did in an evening after the business of the day was over, it was
extremely agreeable to hear. He had a mechanical genius too, and, on
occasion, was very handy in the use of other tradesmen's tools; but his
great excellence lay in a sound understanding and solid judgment in
prudential matters, both in private and publick affairs. In the
latter, indeed, he was never employed, the numerous family he had to
educate and the straitness of his circumstances keeping him close to
his trade; but I remember well his being frequently visited by leading
people, who consulted him for his opinion in affairs of the town or of
the church he belonged to, and showed a good deal of respect for his
judgment and advice: he was also much consulted by private persons
about their affairs when any difficulty occurred, and frequently chosen
an arbitrator between contending parties.
At his table he liked to have, as often as he could, some sensible
friend or neighbor to converse with, and always took care to start some
ingenious or useful topic for discourse, which might tend to improve
the minds of his children. By this means he turned our attention to
what was good, just, and prudent in the conduct of life; and little or
no notice was ever taken of what related to the victuals on the table,
whether it was well or ill dressed, in or out of season, of good or bad
flavor, preferable or inferior to this or that other thing of the kind,
so that I was bro't up in such a perfect inattention to those matters
as to be quite indifferent what kind of food was set before me, and so
unobservant of it, that to this day if I am asked I can scarce tell a
few hours after dinner what I dined upon. This has been a convenience
to me in travelling, where my companions have been sometimes very
unhappy for want of a suitable gratification of their more delicate,
because better instructed, tastes and appetites.
My mother had likewise an excellent constitution: she suckled all her
ten children. I never knew either my father or mother to have any
sickness but that of which they dy'd, he at 89, and she at 85 years of
age. They lie buried together at Boston, where I some years since
placed a marble over their grave, with this inscription:
ABIAH his Wife,
lie here interred.
They lived lovingly together in wedlock
fifty-five years.
Without an estate, or any gainful employment,
By constant labor and industry,
with God's blessing,
They maintained a large family
and brought up thirteen children
and seven grandchildren
From this instance, reader,
Be encouraged to diligence in thy calling,
And distrust not Providence.
He was a pious and prudent man;
She, a discreet and virtuous woman.
Their youngest son,
In filial regard to their memory,
Places this stone.
J.F. born 1655, died 1744, AEtat 89.
A.F. born 1667, died 1752, ----- 95.
By my rambling digressions I perceive myself to be grown old. I us'd
to write more methodically. But one does not dress for private company
as for a publick ball. 'Tis perhaps only negligence.
To return: I continued thus employed in my father's business for two
years, that is, till I was twelve years old; and my brother John, who
was bred to that business, having left my father, married, and set up
for himself at Rhode Island, there was all appearance that I was
destined to supply his place, and become a tallow-chandler. But my
dislike to the trade continuing, my father was under apprehensions that
if he did not find one for me more agreeable, I should break away and
get to sea, as his son Josiah had done, to his great vexation. He
therefore sometimes took me to walk with him, and see joiners,
bricklayers, turners, braziers, etc., at their work, that he might
observe my inclination, and endeavor to fix it on some trade or other
on land. It has ever since been a pleasure to me to see good workmen
handle their tools; and it has been useful to me, having learnt so much
by it as to be able to do little jobs myself in my house when a workman
could not readily be got, and to construct little machines for my
experiments, while the intention of making the experiment was fresh and
warm in my mind. My father at last fixed upon the cutler's trade, and
my uncle Benjamin's son Samuel, who was bred to that business in
London, being about that time established in Boston, I was sent to be
with him some time on liking. But his expectations of a fee with me
displeasing my father, I was taken home again.
From a child I was fond of reading, and all the little money that came
into my hands was ever laid out in books. Pleased with the Pilgrim's
Progress, my first collection was of John Bunyan's works in separate
little volumes. I afterward sold them to enable me to buy R. Burton's
Historical Collections; they were small chapmen's books, and cheap, 40
or 50 in all. My father's little library consisted chiefly of books in
polemic divinity, most of which I read, and have since often regretted
that, at a time when I had such a thirst for knowledge, more proper
books had not fallen in my way since it was now resolved I should not
be a clergyman. Plutarch's Lives there was in which I read abundantly,
and I still think that time spent to great advantage. There was also a
book of De Foe's, called an Essay on Projects, and another of Dr.
Mather's, called Essays to do Good, which perhaps gave me a turn of
thinking that had an influence on some of the principal future events
of my life.
This bookish inclination at length determined my father to make me a
printer, though he had already one son (James) of that profession. In
1717 my brother James returned from England with a press and letters to
set up his business in Boston. I liked it much better than that of my
father, but still had a hankering for the sea. To prevent the
apprehended effect of such an inclination, my father was impatient to
have me bound to my brother. I stood out some time, but at last was
persuaded, and signed the indentures when I was yet but twelve years
old. I was to serve as an apprentice till I was twenty-one years of
age, only I was to be allowed journeyman's wages during the last year.
In a little time I made great proficiency in the business, and became a
useful hand to my brother. I now had access to better books. An
acquaintance with the apprentices of booksellers enabled me sometimes
to borrow a small one, which I was careful to return soon and clean.
Often I sat up in my room reading the greatest part of the night, when
the book was borrowed in the evening and to be returned early in the
morning, lest it should be missed or wanted.
And after some time an ingenious tradesman, Mr. Matthew Adams, who had
a pretty collection of books, and who frequented our printing-house,
took notice of me, invited me to his library, and very kindly lent me
such books as I chose to read. I now took a fancy to poetry, and made
some little pieces; my brother, thinking it might turn to account,
encouraged me, and put me on composing occasional ballads. One was
called The Lighthouse Tragedy, and contained an account of the drowning
of Captain Worthilake, with his two daughters: the other was a sailor's
song, on the taking of Teach (or Blackbeard) the pirate. They were
wretched stuff, in the Grub-street-ballad style; and when they were
printed he sent me about the town to sell them. The first sold
wonderfully, the event being recent, having made a great noise. This
flattered my vanity; but my father discouraged me by ridiculing my
performances, and telling me verse-makers were generally beggars. So I
escaped being a poet, most probably a very bad one; but as prose
writing had been of great use to me in the course of my life, and was a
principal means of my advancement, I shall tell you how, in such a
situation, I acquired what little ability I have in that way.
There was another bookish lad in the town, John Collins by name, with
whom I was intimately acquainted. We sometimes disputed, and very fond
we were of argument, and very desirous of confuting one another, which
disputatious turn, by the way, is apt to become a very bad habit,
making people often extremely disagreeable in company by the
contradiction that is necessary to bring it into practice; and thence,
besides souring and spoiling the conversation, is productive of
disgusts and, perhaps enmities where you may have occasion for
friendship. I had caught it by reading my father's books of dispute
about religion. Persons of good sense, I have since observed, seldom
fall into it, except lawyers, university men, and men of all sorts that
have been bred at Edinborough.
A question was once, somehow or other, started between Collins and me,
of the propriety of educating the female sex in learning, and their
abilities for study. He was of opinion that it was improper, and that
they were naturally unequal to it. I took the contrary side, perhaps a
little for dispute's sake. He was naturally more eloquent, had a ready
plenty of words; and sometimes, as I thought, bore me down more by his
fluency than by the strength of his reasons. As we parted without
settling the point, and were not to see one another again for some
time, I sat down to put my arguments in writing, which I copied fair
and sent to him. He answered, and I replied. Three or four letters of
a side had passed, when my father happened to find my papers and read
them. Without entering into the discussion, he took occasion to talk
to me about the manner of my writing; observed that, though I had the
advantage of my antagonist in correct spelling and pointing (which I
ow'd to the printing-house), I fell far short in elegance of
expression, in method and in perspicuity, of which he convinced me by
several instances. I saw the justice of his remark, and thence grew
more attentive to the manner in writing, and determined to endeavor at
About this time I met with an odd volume of the Spectator. It was the
third. I had never before seen any of them. I bought it, read it over
and over, and was much delighted with it. I thought the writing
excellent, and wished, if possible, to imitate it. With this view I
took some of the papers, and, making short hints of the sentiment in
each sentence, laid them by a few days, and then, without looking at
the book, try'd to compleat the papers again, by expressing each hinted
sentiment at length, and as fully as it had been expressed before, in
any suitable words that should come to hand. Then I compared my
Spectator with the original, discovered some of my faults, and
corrected them. But I found I wanted a stock of words, or a readiness
in recollecting and using them, which I thought I should have acquired
before that time if I had gone on making verses; since the continual
occasion for words of the same import, but of different length, to suit
the measure, or of different sound for the rhyme, would have laid me
under a constant necessity of searching for variety, and also have
tended to fix that variety in my mind, and make me master of it.
Therefore I took some of the tales and turned them into verse; and,
after a time, when I had pretty well forgotten the prose, turned them
back again. I also sometimes jumbled my collections of hints into
confusion, and after some weeks endeavored to reduce them into the best
order, before I began to form the full sentences and compleat the
paper. This was to teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts. By
comparing my work afterwards with the original, I discovered many
faults and amended them; but I sometimes had the pleasure of fancying
that, in certain particulars of small import, I had been lucky enough
to improve the method or the language, and this encouraged me to think
I might possibly in time come to be a tolerable English writer, of
which I was extremely ambitious. My time for these exercises and for
reading was at night, after work or before it began in the morning, or
on Sundays, when I contrived to be in the printing-house alone, evading
as much as I could the common attendance on public worship which my
father used to exact on me when I was under his care, and which indeed
I still thought a duty, though I could not, as it seemed to me, afford
time to practise it.
When about 16 years of age I happened to meet with a book, written by
one Tryon, recommending a vegetable diet. I determined to go into it.
My brother, being yet unmarried, did not keep house, but boarded
himself and his apprentices in another family. My refusing to eat
flesh occasioned an inconveniency, and I was frequently chid for my
singularity. I made myself acquainted with Tryon's manner of preparing
some of his dishes, such as boiling potatoes or rice, making hasty
pudding, and a few others, and then proposed to my brother, that if he
would give me, weekly, half the money he paid for my board, I would
board myself. He instantly agreed to it, and I presently found that I
could save half what he paid me. This was an additional fund for
buying books. But I had another advantage in it. My brother and the
rest going from the printing-house to their meals, I remained there
alone, and, despatching presently my light repast, which often was no
more than a bisket or a slice of bread, a handful of raisins or a tart
from the pastry-cook's, and a glass of water, had the rest of the time
till their return for study, in which I made the greater progress, from
that greater clearness of head and quicker apprehension which usually
attend temperance in eating and drinking.
And now it was that, being on some occasion made asham'd of my
ignorance in figures, which I had twice failed in learning when at
school, I took Cocker's book of Arithmetick, and went through the whole
by myself with great ease. I also read Seller's and Shermy's books of
Navigation, and became acquainted with the little geometry they
contain; but never proceeded far in that science. And I read about
this time Locke On Human Understanding, and the Art of Thinking, by
Messrs. du Port Royal.
While I was intent on improving my language, I met with an English
grammar (I think it was Greenwood's), at the end of which there were
two little sketches of the arts of rhetoric and logic, the latter
finishing with a specimen of a dispute in the Socratic method; and soon
after I procur'd Xenophon's Memorable Things of Socrates, wherein there
are many instances of the same method. I was charm'd with it, adopted
it, dropt my abrupt contradiction and positive argumentation, and put
on the humble inquirer and doubter. And being then, from reading
Shaftesbury and Collins, become a real doubter in many points of our
religious doctrine, I found this method safest for myself and very
embarrassing to those against whom I used it; therefore I took a
delight in it, practis'd it continually, and grew very artful and
expert in drawing people, even of superior knowledge, into concessions,
the consequences of which they did not foresee, entangling them in
difficulties out of which they could not extricate themselves, and so
obtaining victories that neither myself nor my cause always deserved.
I continu'd this method some few years, but gradually left it,
retaining only the habit of expressing myself in terms of modest
diffidence; never using, when I advanced any thing that may possibly be
disputed, the words certainly, undoubtedly, or any others that give the
air of positiveness to an opinion; but rather say, I conceive or
apprehend a thing to be so and so; it appears to me, or I should think
it so or so, for such and such reasons; or I imagine it to be so; or it
is so, if I am not mistaken. This habit, I believe, has been of great
advantage to me when I have had occasion to inculcate my opinions, and
persuade men into measures that I have been from time to time engag'd
in promoting; and, as the chief ends of conversation are to inform or
to be informed, to please or to persuade, I wish well-meaning, sensible
men would not lessen their power of doing good by a positive, assuming
manner, that seldom fails to disgust, tends to create opposition, and
to defeat every one of those purposes for which speech was given to us,
to wit, giving or receiving information or pleasure. For, if you would
inform, a positive and dogmatical manner in advancing your sentiments
may provoke contradiction and prevent a candid attention. If you wish
information and improvement from the knowledge of others, and yet at
the same time express yourself as firmly fix'd in your present
opinions, modest, sensible men, who do not love disputation, will
probably leave you undisturbed in the possession of your error. And by
such a manner, you can seldom hope to recommend yourself in pleasing
your hearers, or to persuade those whose concurrence you desire. Pope
says, judiciously:
"Men should be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown propos'd as things forgot;"
farther recommending to us
"To speak, tho' sure, with seeming diffidence."
And he might have coupled with this line that which he has coupled with
another, I think, less properly,
"For want of modesty is want of sense."
If you ask, Why less properly? I must repeat the lines,
"Immodest words admit of no defense,
For want of modesty is want of sense."
Now, is not want of sense (where a man is so unfortunate as to want it)
some apology for his want of modesty? and would not the lines stand
more justly thus?
"Immodest words admit but this defense,
That want of modesty is want of sense."
This, however, I should submit to better judgments.
My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print a newspaper. It was
the second that appeared in America, and was called the New England
Courant. The only one before it was the Boston News-Letter. I remember
his being dissuaded by some of his friends from the undertaking, as not
likely to succeed, one newspaper being, in their judgment, enough for
America. At this time (1771) there are not less than five-and-twenty.
He went on, however, with the undertaking, and after having worked in
composing the types and printing off the sheets, I was employed to
carry the papers thro' the streets to the customers.
He had some ingenious men among his friends, who amus'd themselves by
writing little pieces for this paper, which gain'd it credit and made
it more in demand, and these gentlemen often visited us. Hearing their
conversations, and their accounts of the approbation their papers were
received with, I was excited to try my hand among them; but, being
still a boy, and suspecting that my brother would object to printing
anything of mine in his paper if he knew it to be mine, I contrived to
disguise my hand, and, writing an anonymous paper, I put it in at night
under the door of the printing-house. It was found in the morning, and
communicated to his writing friends when they call'd in as usual. They
read it, commented on it in my hearing, and I had the exquisite
pleasure of finding it met with their approbation, and that, in their
different guesses at the author, none were named but men of some
character among us for learning and ingenuity. I suppose now that I
was rather lucky in my judges, and that perhaps they were not really so
very good ones as I then esteem'd them.
Encourag'd, however, by this, I wrote and convey'd in the same way to
the press several more papers which were equally approv'd; and I kept
my secret till my small fund of sense for such performances was pretty
well exhausted and then I discovered it, when I began to be considered
a little more by my brother's acquaintance, and in a manner that did
not quite please him, as he thought, probably with reason, that it
tended to make me too vain. And, perhaps, this might be one occasion
of the differences that we began to have about this time. Though a
brother, he considered himself as my master, and me as his apprentice,
and accordingly, expected the same services from me as he would from
another, while I thought he demean'd me too much in some he requir'd of
me, who from a brother expected more indulgence. Our disputes were
often brought before our father, and I fancy I was either generally in
the right, or else a better pleader, because the judgment was generally
in my favor. But my brother was passionate, and had often beaten me,
which I took extreamly amiss; and, thinking my apprenticeship very
tedious, I was continually wishing for some opportunity of shortening
it, which at length offered in a manner unexpected.[3]
[3] I fancy his harsh and tyrannical treatment of me
might be a means of impressing me with that aversion
to arbitrary power that has stuck to me through my
whole life.
One of the pieces in our newspaper on some political point, which I
have now forgotten, gave offense to the Assembly. He was taken up,
censur'd, and imprison'd for a month, by the speaker's warrant, I
suppose, because he would not discover his author. I too was taken up
and examin'd before the council; but, tho' I did not give them any
satisfaction, they content'd themselves with admonishing me, and
dismissed me, considering me, perhaps, as an apprentice, who was bound
to keep his master's secrets.
During my brother's confinement, which I resented a good deal,
notwithstanding our private differences, I had the management of the
paper; and I made bold to give our rulers some rubs in it, which my
brother took very kindly, while others began to consider me in an
unfavorable light, as a young genius that had a turn for libelling and
satyr. My brother's discharge was accompany'd with an order of the
House (a very odd one), that "James Franklin should no longer print the
paper called the New England Courant."
There was a consultation held in our printing-house among his friends,
what he should do in this case. Some proposed to evade the order by
changing the name of the paper; but my brother, seeing inconveniences
in that, it was finally concluded on as a better way, to let it be
printed for the future under the name of BENJAMIN FRANKLIN; and to
avoid the censure of the Assembly, that might fall on him as still
printing it by his apprentice, the contrivance was that my old
indenture should be return'd to me, with a full discharge on the back
of it, to be shown on occasion, but to secure to him the benefit of my
service, I was to sign new indentures for the remainder of the term,
which were to be kept private. A very flimsy scheme it was; however,
it was immediately executed, and the paper went on accordingly, under
my name for several months.
At length, a fresh difference arising between my brother and me, I took
upon me to assert my freedom, presuming that he would not venture to
produce the new indentures. It was not fair in me to take this
advantage, and this I therefore reckon one of the first errata of my
life; but the unfairness of it weighed little with me, when under the
impressions of resentment for the blows his passion too often urged him
to bestow upon me, though he was otherwise not an ill-natur'd man:
perhaps I was too saucy and provoking.
When he found I would leave him, he took care to prevent my getting
employment in any other printing-house of the town, by going round and
speaking to every master, who accordingly refus'd to give me work. I
then thought of going to New York, as the nearest place where there was
a printer; and I was rather inclin'd to leave Boston when I reflected
that I had already made myself a little obnoxious to the governing
party, and, from the arbitrary proceedings of the Assembly in my
brother's case, it was likely I might, if I stay'd, soon bring myself
into scrapes; and farther, that my indiscrete disputations about
religion began to make me pointed at with horror by good people as an
infidel or atheist. I determin'd on the point, but my father now
siding with my brother, I was sensible that, if I attempted to go
openly, means would be used to prevent me. My friend Collins,
therefore, undertook to manage a little for me. He agreed with the
captain of a New York sloop for my passage, under the notion of my
being a young acquaintance of his, that had got a naughty girl with
child, whose friends would compel me to marry her, and therefore I
could not appear or come away publicly. So I sold some of my books to
raise a little money, was taken on board privately, and as we had a
fair wind, in three days I found myself in New York, near 300 miles
from home, a boy of but 17, without the least recommendation to, or
knowledge of any person in the place, and with very little money in my
My inclinations for the sea were by this time worne out, or I might now
have gratify'd them. But, having a trade, and supposing myself a
pretty good workman, I offer'd my service to the printer in the place,
old Mr. William Bradford, who had been the first printer in
Pennsylvania, but removed from thence upon the quarrel of George Keith.
He could give me no employment, having little to do, and help enough
already; but says he, "My son at Philadelphia has lately lost his
principal hand, Aquila Rose, by death; if you go thither, I believe he
may employ you." Philadelphia was a hundred miles further; I set out,
however, in a boat for Amboy, leaving my chest and things to follow me
round by sea.
In crossing the bay, we met with a squall that tore our rotten sails to
pieces, prevented our getting into the Kill and drove us upon Long
Island. In our way, a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, fell
overboard; when he was sinking, I reached through the water to his
shock pate, and drew him up, so that we got him in again. His ducking
sobered him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first out of his
pocket a book, which he desir'd I would dry for him. It proved to be
my old favorite author, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, in Dutch, finely
printed on good paper, with copper cuts, a dress better than I had ever
seen it wear in its own language. I have since found that it has been
translated into most of the languages of Europe, and suppose it has
been more generally read than any other book, except perhaps the Bible.
Honest John was the first that I know of who mix'd narration and
dialogue; a method of writing very engaging to the reader, who in the
most interesting parts finds himself, as it were, brought into the
company and present at the discourse. De Foe in his Cruso, his Moll
Flanders, Religious Courtship, Family Instructor, and other pieces, has
imitated it with success; and Richardson has done the same, in his
Pamela, etc.
When we drew near the island, we found it was at a place where there
could be no landing, there being a great surff on the stony beach. So
we dropt anchor, and swung round towards the shore. Some people came
down to the water edge and hallow'd to us, as we did to them; but the
wind was so high, and the surff so loud, that we could not hear so as
to understand each other. There were canoes on the shore, and we made
signs, and hallow'd that they should fetch us; but they either did not
understand us, or thought it impracticable, so they went away, and
night coming on, we had no remedy but to wait till the wind should
abate; and, in the meantime, the boatman and I concluded to sleep, if
we could; and so crowded into the scuttle, with the Dutchman, who was
still wet, and the spray beating over the head of our boat, leak'd
thro' to us, so that we were soon almost as wet as he. In this manner
we lay all night, with very little rest; but, the wind abating the next
day, we made a shift to reach Amboy before night, having been thirty
hours on the water, without victuals, or any drink but a bottle of
filthy rum, and the water we sail'd on being salt.
In the evening I found myself very feverish, and went in to bed; but,
having read somewhere that cold water drank plentifully was good for a
fever, I follow'd the prescription, sweat plentiful most of the night,
my fever left me, and in the morning, crossing the ferry, I proceeded
on my journey on foot, having fifty miles to Burlington, where I was
told I should find boats that would carry me the rest of the way to
It rained very hard all the day; I was thoroughly soak'd, and by noon a
good deal tired; so I stopt at a poor inn, where I staid all night,
beginning now to wish that I had never left home. I cut so miserable a
figure, too, that I found, by the questions ask'd me, I was suspected
to be some runaway servant, and in danger of being taken up on that
suspicion. However, I proceeded the next day, and got in the evening
to an inn, within eight or ten miles of Burlington, kept by one Dr.
Brown. He entered into conversation with me while I took some
refreshment, and, finding I had read a little, became very sociable and
friendly. Our acquaintance continu'd as long as he liv'd. He had been,
I imagine, an itinerant doctor, for there was no town in England, or
country in Europe, of which he could not give a very particular
account. He had some letters, and was ingenious, but much of an
unbeliever, and wickedly undertook, some years after, to travestie the
Bible in doggrel verse, as Cotton had done Virgil. By this means he
set many of the facts in a very ridiculous light, and might have hurt
weak minds if his work had been published; but it never was.
At his house I lay that night, and the next morning reach'd Burlington,
but had the mortification to find that the regular boats were gone a
little before my coming, and no other expected to go before Tuesday,
this being Saturday; wherefore I returned to an old woman in the town,
of whom I had bought gingerbread to eat on the water, and ask'd her
advice. She invited me to lodge at her house till a passage by water
should offer; and being tired with my foot travelling, I accepted the
invitation. She understanding I was a printer, would have had me stay
at that town and follow my business, being ignorant of the stock
necessary to begin with. She was very hospitable, gave me a dinner of
ox-cheek with great good will, accepting only a pot of ale in return;
and I thought myself fixed till Tuesday should come. However, walking
in the evening by the side of the river, a boat came by, which I found
was going towards Philadelphia, with several people in her. They took
me in, and, as there was no wind, we row'd all the way; and about
midnight, not having yet seen the city, some of the company were
confident we must have passed it, and would row no farther; the others
knew not where we were; so we put toward the shore, got into a creek,
landed near an old fence, with the rails of which we made a fire, the
night being cold, in October, and there we remained till daylight.
Then one of the company knew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little
above Philadelphia, which we saw as soon as we got out of the creek,
and arriv'd there about eight or nine o'clock on the Sunday morning,
and landed at the Market-street wharf.
I have been the more particular in this description of my journey, and
shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in your mind
compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since made
there. I was in my working dress, my best cloaths being to come round
by sea. I was dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuff'd out with
shirts and stockings, and I knew no soul nor where to look for lodging.
I was fatigued with travelling, rowing, and want of rest, I was very
hungry; and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch dollar, and
about a shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people of the boat
for my passage, who at first refus'd it, on account of my rowing; but I
insisted on their taking it. A man being sometimes more generous when
he has but a little money than when he has plenty, perhaps thro' fear
of being thought to have but little.
Then I walked up the street, gazing about till near the market-house I
met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and, inquiring
where he got it, I went immediately to the baker's he directed me to,
in Secondstreet, and ask'd for bisket, intending such as we had in
Boston; but they, it seems, were not made in Philadelphia. Then I
asked for a three-penny loaf, and was told they had none such. So not
considering or knowing the difference of money, and the greater
cheapness nor the names of his bread, I made him give me three-penny
worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls.
I was surpriz'd at the quantity, but took it, and, having no room in my
pockets, walk'd off with a roll under each arm, and eating the other.
Thus I went up Market-street as far as Fourth-street, passing by the
door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when she, standing at the
door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward,
ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went down Chestnut-street and
part of Walnut-street, eating my roll all the way, and, coming round,
found myself again at Market-street wharf, near the boat I came in, to
which I went for a draught of the river water; and, being filled with
one of my rolls, gave the other two to a woman and her child that came
down the river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go farther.
Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had
many clean-dressed people in it, who were all walking the same way. I
joined them, and thereby was led into the great meeting-house of the
Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking
round awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy thro' labor
and want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and continued
so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind enough to rouse me.
This was, therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in, in
Walking down again toward the river, and, looking in the faces of
people, I met a young Quaker man, whose countenance I lik'd, and,
accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could get
lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. "Here,"
says he, "is one place that entertains strangers, but it is not a
reputable house; if thee wilt walk with me, I'll show thee a better."
He brought me to the Crooked Billet in Water-street. Here I got a
dinner; and, while I was eating it, several sly questions were asked
me, as it seemed to be suspected from my youth and appearance, that I
might be some runaway.
After dinner, my sleepiness return'd, and being shown to a bed, I lay
down without undressing, and slept till six in the evening, was call'd
to supper, went to bed again very early, and slept soundly till next
morning. Then I made myself as tidy as I could, and went to Andrew
Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop the old man his father,
whom I had seen at New York, and who, travelling on horseback, had got
to Philadelphia before me. He introduc'd me to his son, who receiv'd
me civilly, gave me a breakfast, but told me he did not at present want
a hand, being lately suppli'd with one; but there was another printer
in town, lately set up, one Keimer, who, perhaps, might employ me; if
not, I should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would give me a
little work to do now and then till fuller business should offer.
The old gentleman said he would go with me to the new printer; and when
we found him, "Neighbor," says Bradford, "I have brought to see you a
young man of your business; perhaps you may want such a one." He ask'd
me a few questions, put a composing stick in my hand to see how I
work'd, and then said he would employ me soon, though he had just then
nothing for me to do; and, taking old Bradford, whom he had never seen
before, to be one of the town's people that had a good will for him,
enter'd into a conversation on his present undertaking and projects;
while Bradford, not discovering that he was the other printer's father,
on Keimer's saying he expected soon to get the greatest part of the
business into his own hands, drew him on by artful questions, and
starting little doubts, to explain all his views, what interests he
reli'd on, and in what manner he intended to proceed. I, who stood by
and heard all, saw immediately that one of them was a crafty old
sophister, and the other a mere novice. Bradford left me with Keimer,
who was greatly surpris'd when I told him who the old man was.
Keimer's printing-house, I found, consisted of an old shatter'd press,
and one small, worn-out font of English which he was then using
himself, composing an Elegy on Aquila Rose, before mentioned, an
ingenious young man, of excellent character, much respected in the
town, clerk of the Assembly, and a pretty poet. Keimer made verses
too, but very indifferently. He could not be said to write them, for
his manner was to compose them in the types directly out of his head.
So there being no copy, but one pair of cases, and the Elegy likely to
require all the letter, no one could help him. I endeavor'd to put his
press (which he had not yet us'd, and of which he understood nothing)
into order fit to be work'd with; and, promising to come and print off
his Elegy as soon as he should have got it ready, I return'd to
Bradford's, who gave me a little job to do for the present, and there I
lodged and dieted. A few days after, Keimer sent for me to print off
the Elegy. And now he had got another pair of cases, and a pamphlet to
reprint, on which he set me to work.
These two printers I found poorly qualified for their business.
Bradford had not been bred to it, and was very illiterate; and Keimer,
tho' something of a scholar, was a mere compositor, knowing nothing of
presswork. He had been one of the French prophets, and could act their
enthusiastic agitations. At this time he did not profess any
particular religion, but something of all on occasion; was very
ignorant of the world, and had, as I afterward found, a good deal of
the knave in his composition. He did not like my lodging at Bradford's
while I work'd with him. He had a house, indeed, but without
furniture, so he could not lodge me; but he got me a lodging at Mr.
Read's, before mentioned, who was the owner of his house; and, my chest
and clothes being come by this time, I made rather a more respectable
appearance in the eyes of Miss Read than I had done when she first
happen'd to see me eating my roll in the street.
I began now to have some acquaintance among the young people of the
town, that were lovers of reading, with whom I spent my evenings very
pleasantly; and gaining money by my industry and frugality, I lived
very agreeably, forgetting Boston as much as I could, and not desiring
that any there should know where I resided, except my friend Collins,
who was in my secret, and kept it when I wrote to him. At length, an
incident happened that sent me back again much sooner than I had
intended. I had a brother-in-law, Robert Holmes, master of a sloop
that traded between Boston and Delaware. He being at Newcastle, forty
miles below Philadelphia, heard there of me, and wrote me a letter
mentioning the concern of my friends in Boston at my abrupt departure,
assuring me of their good will to me, and that every thing would be
accommodated to my mind if I would return, to which he exhorted me very
earnestly. I wrote an answer to his letter, thank'd him for his
advice, but stated my reasons for quitting Boston fully and in such a
light as to convince him I was not so wrong as he had apprehended.
Sir William Keith, governor of the province, was then at Newcastle, and
Captain Holmes, happening to be in company with him when my letter came
to hand, spoke to him of me, and show'd him the letter. The governor
read it, and seem'd surpris'd when he was told my age. He said I
appear'd a young man of promising parts, and therefore should be
encouraged; the printers at Philadelphia were wretched ones; and, if I
would set up there, he made no doubt I should succeed; for his part, he
would procure me the public business, and do me every other service in
his power. This my brother-in-law afterwards told me in Boston, but I
knew as yet nothing of it; when, one day, Keimer and I being at work
together near the window, we saw the governor and another gentleman
(which proved to be Colonel French, of Newcastle), finely dress'd, come
directly across the street to our house, and heard them at the door.
Keimer ran down immediately, thinking it a visit to him; but the
governor inquir'd for me, came up, and with a condescension of
politeness I had been quite unus'd to, made me many compliments,
desired to be acquainted with me, blam'd me kindly for not having made
myself known to him when I first came to the place, and would have me
away with him to the tavern, where he was going with Colonel French to
taste, as he said, some excellent Madeira. I was not a little
surprised, and Keimer star'd like a pig poison'd. I went, however,
with the governor and Colonel French to a tavern, at the corner of
Third-street, and over the Madeira he propos'd my setting up my
business, laid before me the probabilities of success, and both he and
Colonel French assur'd me I should have their interest and influence in
procuring the public business of both governments. On my doubting
whether my father would assist me in it, Sir William said he would give
me a letter to him, in which he would state the advantages, and he did
not doubt of prevailing with him. So it was concluded I should return
to Boston in the first vessel, with the governor's letter recommending
me to my father. In the mean time the intention was to be kept a
secret, and I went on working with Keimer as usual, the governor
sending for me now and then to dine with him, a very great honor I
thought it, and conversing with me in the most affable, familiar, and
friendly manner imaginable.
About the end of April, 1724, a little vessel offer'd for Boston. I
took leave of Keimer as going to see my friends. The governor gave me
an ample letter, saying many flattering things of me to my father, and
strongly recommending the project of my setting up at Philadelphia as a
thing that must make my fortune. We struck on a shoal in going down
the bay, and sprung a leak; we had a blustering time at sea, and were
oblig'd to pump almost continually, at which I took my turn. We
arriv'd safe, however, at Boston in about a fortnight. I had been
absent seven months, and my friends had heard nothing of me; for my br.
Holmes was not yet return'd, and had not written about me. My
unexpected appearance surpriz'd the family; all were, however, very
glad to see me, and made me welcome, except my brother. I went to see
him at his printing-house. I was better dress'd than ever while in his
service, having a genteel new suit from head to foot, a watch, and my
pockets lin'd with near five pounds sterling in silver. He receiv'd me
not very frankly, look'd me all over, and turn'd to his work again.
The journeymen were inquisitive where I had been, what sort of a
country it was, and how I lik'd it. I prais'd it much, the happy life
I led in it, expressing strongly my intention of returning to it; and,
one of them asking what kind of money we had there, I produc'd a
handful of silver, and spread it before them, which was a kind of
raree-show they had not been us'd to, paper being the money of Boston.
Then I took an opportunity of letting them see my watch; and, lastly
(my brother still grum and sullen), I gave them a piece of eight to
drink, and took my leave. This visit of mine offended him extreamly;
for, when my mother some time after spoke to him of a reconciliation,
and of her wishes to see us on good terms together, and that we might
live for the future as brothers, he said I had insulted him in such a
manner before his people that he could never forget or forgive it. In
this, however, he was mistaken.
My father received the governor's letter with some apparent surprise,
but said little of it to me for some days, when Capt. Holmes returning
he showed it to him, ask'd him if he knew Keith, and what kind of man
he was; adding his opinion that he must be of small discretion to think
of setting a boy up in business who wanted yet three years of being at
man's estate. Holmes said what he could in favor of the project, but
my father was clear in the impropriety of it, and at last gave a flat
denial to it. Then he wrote a civil letter to Sir William, thanking
him for the patronage he had so kindly offered me, but declining to
assist me as yet in setting up, I being, in his opinion, too young to
be trusted with the management of a business so important, and for
which the preparation must be so expensive.
My friend and companion Collins, who was a clerk in the post-office,
pleas'd with the account I gave him of my new country, determined to go
thither also; and, while I waited for my father's determination, he set
out before me by land to Rhode Island, leaving his books, which were a
pretty collection of mathematicks and natural philosophy, to come with
mine and me to New York, where he propos'd to wait for me.
My father, tho' he did not approve Sir William's proposition, was yet
pleas'd that I had been able to obtain so advantageous a character from
a person of such note where I had resided, and that I had been so
industrious and careful as to equip myself so handsomely in so short a
time; therefore, seeing no prospect of an accommodation between my
brother and me, he gave his consent to my returning again to
Philadelphia, advis'd me to behave respectfully to the people there,
endeavor to obtain the general esteem, and avoid lampooning and
libeling, to which he thought I had too much inclination; telling me,
that by steady industry and a prudent parsimony I might save enough by
the time I was one-and-twenty to set me up; and that, if I came near
the matter, he would help me out with the rest. This was all I could
obtain, except some small gifts as tokens of his and my mother's love,
when I embark'd again for New York, now with their approbation and
their blessing.
The sloop putting in at Newport, Rhode Island, I visited my brother
John, who had been married and settled there some years. He received
me very affectionately, for he always lov'd me. A friend of his, one
Vernon, having some money due to him in Pensilvania, about thirty-five
pounds currency, desired I would receive it for him, and keep it till I
had his directions what to remit it in. Accordingly, he gave me an
order. This afterwards occasion'd me a good deal of uneasiness.
At Newport we took in a number of passengers for New York, among which
were two young women, companions, and a grave, sensible, matron-like
Quaker woman, with her attendants. I had shown an obliging readiness
to do her some little services, which impress'd her I suppose with a
degree of good will toward me; therefore, when she saw a daily growing
familiarity between me and the two young women, which they appear'd to
encourage, she took me aside, and said: "Young man, I am concern'd for
thee, as thou has no friend with thee, and seems not to know much of
the world, or of the snares youth is expos'd to; depend upon it, those
are very bad women; I can see it in all their actions; and if thee art
not upon thy guard, they will draw thee into some danger; they are
strangers to thee, and I advise thee, in a friendly concern for thy
welfare, to have no acquaintance with them." As I seem'd at first not
to think so ill of them as she did, she mentioned some things she had
observ'd and heard that had escap'd my notice, but now convinc'd me she
was right. I thank'd her for her kind advice, and promis'd to follow
it. When we arriv'd at New York, they told me where they liv'd, and
invited me to come and see them; but I avoided it, and it was well I
did; for the next day the captain miss'd a silver spoon and some other
things, that had been taken out of his cabbin, and, knowing that these
were a couple of strumpets, he got a warrant to search their lodgings,
found the stolen goods, and had the thieves punish'd. So, tho' we had
escap'd a sunken rock, which we scrap'd upon in the passage, I thought
this escape of rather more importance to me.
At New York I found my friend Collins, who had arriv'd there some time
before me. We had been intimate from children, and had read the same
books together; but he had the advantage of more time for reading and
studying, and a wonderful genius for mathematical learning, in which he
far outstript me. While I liv'd in Boston most of my hours of leisure
for conversation were spent with him, and he continu'd a sober as well
as an industrious lad; was much respected for his learning by several
of the clergy and other gentlemen, and seemed to promise making a good
figure in life. But, during my absence, he had acquir'd a habit of
sotting with brandy; and I found by his own account, and what I heard
from others, that he had been drunk every day since his arrival at New
York, and behav'd very oddly. He had gam'd, too, and lost his money,
so that I was oblig'd to discharge his lodgings, and defray his
expenses to and at Philadelphia, which prov'd extremely inconvenient to
The then governor of New York, Burnet (son of Bishop Burnet), hearing
from the captain that a young man, one of his passengers, had a great
many books, desir'd he would bring me to see him. I waited upon him
accordingly, and should have taken Collins with me but that he was not
sober. The gov'r. treated me with great civility, show'd me his
library, which was a very large one, and we had a good deal of
conversation about books and authors. This was the second governor who
had done me the honor to take notice of me; which, to a poor boy like
me, was very pleasing.
We proceeded to Philadelphia. I received on the way Vernon's money,
without which we could hardly have finish'd our journey. Collins
wished to be employ'd in some counting-house, but, whether they
discover'd his dramming by his breath, or by his behaviour, tho' he had
some recommendations, he met with no success in any application, and
continu'd lodging and boarding at the same house with me, and at my
expense. Knowing I had that money of Vernon's, he was continually
borrowing of me, still promising repayment as soon as he should be in
business. At length he had got so much of it that I was distress'd to
think what I should do in case of being call'd on to remit it.
His drinking continu'd, about which we sometimes quarrell'd; for, when
a little intoxicated, he was very fractious. Once, in a boat on the
Delaware with some other young men, he refused to row in his turn. "I
will be row'd home," says he. "We will not row you," says I. "You
must, or stay all night on the water," says he, "just as you please."
The others said, "Let us row; what signifies it?" But, my mind being
soured with his other conduct, I continu'd to refuse. So he swore he
would make me row, or throw me overboard; and coming along, stepping on
the thwarts, toward me, when he came up and struck at me, I clapped my
hand under his crutch, and, rising, pitched him head-foremost into the
river. I knew he was a good swimmer, and so was under little concern
about him; but before he could get round to lay hold of the boat, we
had with a few strokes pull'd her out of his reach; and ever when he
drew near the boat, we ask'd if he would row, striking a few strokes to
slide her away from him. He was ready to die with vexation, and
obstinately would not promise to row. However, seeing him at last
beginning to tire, we lifted him in and brought him home dripping wet
in the evening. We hardly exchang'd a civil word afterwards, and a
West India captain, who had a commission to procure a tutor for the
sons of a gentleman at Barbadoes, happening to meet with him, agreed to
carry him thither. He left me then, promising to remit me the first
money he should receive in order to discharge the debt; but I never
heard of him after.
The breaking into this money of Vernon's was one of the first great
errata of my life; and this affair show'd that my father was not much
out in his judgment when he suppos'd me too young to manage business of
importance. But Sir William, on reading his letter, said he was too
prudent. There was great difference in persons; and discretion did not
always accompany years, nor was youth always without it. "And since he
will not set you up," says he, "I will do it myself. Give me an
inventory of the things necessary to be had from England, and I will
send for them. You shall repay me when you are able; I am resolv'd to
have a good printer here, and I am sure you must succeed." This was
spoken with such an appearance of cordiality, that I had not the least
doubt of his meaning what he said. I had hitherto kept the proposition
of my setting up, a secret in Philadelphia, and I still kept it. Had
it been known that I depended on the governor, probably some friend,
that knew him better, would have advis'd me not to rely on him, as I
afterwards heard it as his known character to be liberal of promises
which he never meant to keep. Yet, unsolicited as he was by me, how
could I think his generous offers insincere? I believ'd him one of the
best men in the world.
I presented him an inventory of a little print'g-house, amounting by my
computation to about one hundred pounds sterling. He lik'd it, but
ask'd me if my being on the spot in England to chuse the types, and see
that every thing was good of the kind, might not be of some advantage.
"Then," says he, "when there, you may make acquaintances, and establish
correspondences in the bookselling and stationery way." I agreed that
this might be advantageous. "Then," says he, "get yourself ready to go
with Annis;" which was the annual ship, and the only one at that time
usually passing between London and Philadelphia. But it would be some
months before Annis sail'd, so I continu'd working with Keimer,
fretting about the money Collins had got from me, and in daily
apprehensions of being call'd upon by Vernon, which, however, did not
happen for some years after.
I believe I have omitted mentioning that, in my first voyage from
Boston, being becalm'd off Block Island, our people set about catching
cod, and hauled up a great many. Hitherto I had stuck to my resolution
of not eating animal food, and on this occasion consider'd, with my
master Tryon, the taking every fish as a kind of unprovoked murder,
since none of them had, or ever could do us any injury that might
justify the slaughter. All this seemed very reasonable. But I had
formerly been a great lover of fish, and, when this came hot out of the
frying-pan, it smelt admirably well. I balanc'd some time between
principle and inclination, till I recollected that, when the fish were
opened, I saw smaller fish taken out of their stomachs; then thought I,
"If you eat one another, I don't see why we mayn't eat you." So I
din'd upon cod very heartily, and continued to eat with other people,
returning only now and then occasionally to a vegetable diet. So
convenient a thing it is to be a reasonable creature, since it enables
one to find or make a reason for everything one has a mind to do.
Keimer and I liv'd on a pretty good familiar footing, and agreed
tolerably well, for he suspected nothing of my setting up. He retained
a great deal of his old enthusiasms and lov'd argumentation. We
therefore had many disputations. I used to work him so with my
Socratic method, and had trepann'd him so often by questions apparently
so distant from any point we had in hand, and yet by degrees lead to
the point, and brought him into difficulties and contradictions, that
at last he grew ridiculously cautious, and would hardly answer me the
most common question, without asking first, "What do you intend to
infer from that?" However, it gave him so high an opinion of my
abilities in the confuting way, that he seriously proposed my being his
colleague in a project he had of setting up a new sect. He was to
preach the doctrines, and I was to confound all opponents. When he
came to explain with me upon the doctrines, I found several conundrums
which I objected to, unless I might have my way a little too, and
introduce some of mine.
Keimer wore his beard at full length, because somewhere in the Mosaic
law it is said, "Thou shalt not mar the corners of thy beard." He
likewise kept the Seventh day, Sabbath; and these two points were
essentials with him. I dislik'd both; but agreed to admit them upon
condition of his adopting the doctrine of using no animal food. "I
doubt," said he, "my constitution will not bear that." I assur'd him
it would, and that he would be the better for it. He was usually a
great glutton, and I promised myself some diversion in half starving
him. He agreed to try the practice, if I would keep him company. I
did so, and we held it for three months. We had our victuals dress'd,
and brought to us regularly by a woman in the neighborhood, who had
from me a list of forty dishes to be prepar'd for us at different
times, in all which there was neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, and the
whim suited me the better at this time from the cheapness of it, not
costing us above eighteenpence sterling each per week. I have since
kept several Lents most strictly, leaving the common diet for that, and
that for the common, abruptly, without the least inconvenience, so that
I think there is little in the advice of making those changes by easy
gradations. I went on pleasantly, but poor Keimer suffered grievously,
tired of the project, long'd for the flesh-pots of Egypt, and order'd a
roast pig. He invited me and two women friends to dine with him; but,
it being brought too soon upon table, he could not resist the
temptation, and ate the whole before we came.
I had made some courtship during this time to Miss Read. I had a great
respect and affection for her, and had some reason to believe she had
the same for me; but, as I was about to take a long voyage, and we were
both very young, only a little above eighteen, it was thought most
prudent by her mother to prevent our going too far at present, as a
marriage, if it was to take place, would be more convenient after my
return, when I should be, as I expected, set up in my business.
Perhaps, too, she thought my expectations not so well founded as I
imagined them to be.
My chief acquaintances at this time were Charles Osborne, Joseph
Watson, and James Ralph, all lovers of reading. The two first were
clerks to an eminent scrivener or conveyancer in the town, Charles
Brogden; the other was clerk to a merchant. Watson was a pious,
sensible young man, of great integrity; the others rather more lax in
their principles of religion, particularly Ralph, who, as well as
Collins, had been unsettled by me, for which they both made me suffer.
Osborne was sensible, candid, frank; sincere and affectionate to his
friends; but, in literary matters, too fond of criticising. Ralph was
ingenious, genteel in his manners, and extremely eloquent; I think I
never knew a prettier talker. Both of them great admirers of poetry,
and began to try their hands in little pieces. Many pleasant walks we
four had together on Sundays into the woods, near Schuylkill, where we
read to one another, and conferr'd on what we read.
Ralph was inclin'd to pursue the study of poetry, not doubting but he
might become eminent in it, and make his fortune by it, alleging that
the best poets must, when they first began to write, make as many
faults as he did. Osborne dissuaded him, assur'd him he had no genius
for poetry, and advis'd him to think of nothing beyond the business he
was bred to; that, in the mercantile way, tho' he had no stock, he
might, by his diligence and punctuality, recommend himself to
employment as a factor, and in time acquire wherewith to trade on his
own account. I approv'd the amusing one's self with poetry now and
then, so far as to improve one's language, but no farther.
On this it was propos'd that we should each of us, at our next meeting,
produce a piece of our own composing, in order to improve by our mutual
observations, criticisms, and corrections. As language and expression
were what we had in view, we excluded all considerations of invention
by agreeing that the task should be a version of the eighteenth Psalm,
which describes the descent of a Deity. When the time of our meeting
drew nigh, Ralph called on me first, and let me know his piece was
ready. I told him I had been busy, and, having little inclination, had
done nothing. He then show'd me his piece for my opinion, and I much
approv'd it, as it appear'd to me to have great merit. "Now," says he,
"Osborne never will allow the least merit in any thing of mine, but
makes 1000 criticisms out of mere envy. He is not so jealous of you; I
wish, therefore, you would take this piece, and produce it as yours; I
will pretend not to have had time, and so produce nothing. We shall
then see what he will say to it." It was agreed, and I immediately
transcrib'd it, that it might appear in my own hand.
We met; Watson's performance was read; there were some beauties in it,
but many defects. Osborne's was read; it was much better; Ralph did it
justice; remarked some faults, but applauded the beauties. He himself
had nothing to produce. I was backward; seemed desirous of being
excused; had not had sufficient time to correct, etc.; but no excuse
could be admitted; produce I must. It was read and repeated; Watson
and Osborne gave up the contest, and join'd in applauding it. Ralph
only made some criticisms, and propos'd some amendments; but I defended
my text. Osborne was against Ralph, and told him he was no better a
critic than poet, so he dropt the argument. As they two went home
together, Osborne expressed himself still more strongly in favor of
what he thought my production; having restrain'd himself before, as he
said, lest I should think it flattery. "But who would have imagin'd,"
said he, "that Franklin had been capable of such a performance; such
painting, such force, such fire! He has even improv'd the original.
In his common conversation he seems to have no choice of words; he
hesitates and blunders; and yet, good God! how he writes!" When we next
met, Ralph discovered the trick we had plaid him, and Osborne was a
little laught at.
This transaction fixed Ralph in his resolution of becoming a poet. I
did all I could to dissuade him from it, but he continued scribbling
verses till Pope cured him. He became, however, a pretty good prose
writer. More of him hereafter. But, as I may not have occasion again
to mention the other two, I shall just remark here, that Watson died in
my arms a few years after, much lamented, being the best of our set.
Osborne went to the West Indies, where he became an eminent lawyer and
made money, but died young. He and I had made a serious agreement,
that the one who happen'd first to die should, if possible, make a
friendly visit to the other, and acquaint him how he found things in
that separate state. But he never fulfill'd his promise.
The governor, seeming to like my company, had me frequently to his
house, and his setting me up was always mention'd as a fixed thing. I
was to take with me letters recommendatory to a number of his friends,
besides the letter of credit to furnish me with the necessary money for
purchasing the press and types, paper, etc. For these letters I was
appointed to call at different times, when they were to be ready, but a
future time was still named. Thus he went on till the ship, whose
departure too had been several times postponed, was on the point of
sailing. Then, when I call'd to take my leave and receive the letters,
his secretary, Dr. Bard, came out to me and said the governor was
extremely busy in writing, but would be down at Newcastle before the
ship, and there the letters would be delivered to me.
Ralph, though married, and having one child, had determined to
accompany me in this voyage. It was thought he intended to establish a
correspondence, and obtain goods to sell on commission; but I found
afterwards, that, thro' some discontent with his wife's relations, he
purposed to leave her on their hands, and never return again. Having
taken leave of my friends, and interchang'd some promises with Miss
Read, I left Philadelphia in the ship, which anchor'd at Newcastle.
The governor was there; but when I went to his lodging, the secretary
came to me from him with the civillest message in the world, that he
could not then see me, being engaged in business of the utmost
importance, but should send the letters to me on board, wish'd me
heartily a good voyage and a speedy return, etc. I returned on board a
little puzzled, but still not doubting.
Mr. Andrew Hamilton, a famous lawyer of Philadelphia, had taken passage
in the same ship for himself and son, and with Mr. Denham, a Quaker
merchant, and Messrs. Onion and Russel, masters of an iron work in
Maryland, had engag'd the great cabin; so that Ralph and I were forced
to take up with a berth in the steerage, and none on board knowing us,
were considered as ordinary persons. But Mr. Hamilton and his son (it
was James, since governor) return'd from Newcastle to Philadelphia, the
father being recall'd by a great fee to plead for a seized ship; and,
just before we sail'd, Colonel French coming on board, and showing me
great respect, I was more taken notice of, and, with my friend Ralph,
invited by the other gentlemen to come into the cabin, there being now
room. Accordingly, we remov'd thither.
Understanding that Colonel French had brought on board the governor's
despatches, I ask'd the captain for those letters that were to be under
my care. He said all were put into the bag together and he could not
then come at them; but, before we landed in England, I should have an
opportunity of picking them out; so I was satisfied for the present,
and we proceeded on our voyage. We had a sociable company in the
cabin, and lived uncommonly well, having the addition of all Mr.
Hamilton's stores, who had laid in plentifully. In this passage Mr.
Denham contracted a friendship for me that continued during his life.
The voyage was otherwise not a pleasant one, as we had a great deal of
bad weather.
When we came into the Channel, the captain kept his word with me, and
gave me an opportunity of examining the bag for the governor's letters.
I found none upon which my name was put as under my care. I picked out
six or seven, that, by the handwriting, I thought might be the promised
letters, especially as one of them was directed to Basket, the king's
printer, and another to some stationer. We arriv'd in London the 24th
of December, 1724. I waited upon the stationer, who came first in my
way, delivering the letter as from Governor Keith. "I don't know such
a person," says he; but, opening the letter, "O! this is from
Riddlesden. I have lately found him to be a compleat rascal, and I
will have nothing to do with him, nor receive any letters from him."
So, putting the letter into my hand, he turn'd on his heel and left me
to serve some customer. I was surprized to find these were not the
governor's letters; and, after recollecting and comparing
circumstances, I began to doubt his sincerity. I found my friend
Denham, and opened the whole affair to him. He let me into Keith's
character; told me there was not the least probability that he had
written any letters for me; that no one, who knew him, had the smallest
dependence on him; and he laught at the notion of the governor's giving
me a letter of credit, having, as he said, no credit to give. On my
expressing some concern about what I should do, he advised me to
endeavor getting some employment in the way of my business. "Among the
printers here," said he, "you will improve yourself, and when you
return to America, you will set up to greater advantage."
We both of us happen'd to know, as well as the stationer, that
Riddlesden, the attorney, was a very knave. He had half ruin'd Miss
Read's father by persuading him to be bound for him. By this letter it
appear'd there was a secret scheme on foot to the prejudice of Hamilton
(suppos'd to be then coming over with us); and that Keith was concerned
in it with Riddlesden. Denham, who was a friend of Hamilton's thought
he ought to be acquainted with it; so, when he arriv'd in England,
which was soon after, partly from resentment and ill-will to Keith and
Riddlesden, and partly from good-will to him, I waited on him, and gave
him the letter. He thank'd me cordially, the information being of
importance to him; and from that time he became my friend, greatly to
my advantage afterwards on many occasions.
But what shall we think of a governor's playing such pitiful tricks,
and imposing so grossly on a poor ignorant boy! It was a habit he had
acquired. He wish'd to please everybody; and, having little to give,
he gave expectations. He was otherwise an ingenious, sensible man, a
pretty good writer, and a good governor for the people, tho' not for
his constituents, the proprietaries, whose instructions he sometimes
disregarded. Several of our best laws were of his planning and passed
during his administration.
Ralph and I were inseparable companions. We took lodgings together in
Little Britain at three shillings and sixpence a week--as much as we
could then afford. He found some relations, but they were poor, and
unable to assist him. He now let me know his intentions of remaining
in London, and that he never meant to return to Philadelphia. He had
brought no money with him, the whole he could muster having been
expended in paying his passage. I had fifteen pistoles; so he borrowed
occasionally of me to subsist, while he was looking out for business.
He first endeavored to get into the playhouse, believing himself
qualify'd for an actor; but Wilkes, to whom he apply'd, advis'd him
candidly not to think of that employment, as it was impossible he
should succeed in it. Then he propos'd to Roberts, a publisher in
Paternoster Row, to write for him a weekly paper like the Spectator, on
certain conditions, which Roberts did not approve. Then he endeavored
to get employment as a hackney writer, to copy for the stationers and
lawyers about the Temple, but could find no vacancy.
I immediately got into work at Palmer's, then a famous printing-house
in Bartholomew Close, and here I continu'd near a year. I was pretty
diligent, but spent with Ralph a good deal of my earnings in going to
plays and other places of amusement. We had together consumed all my
pistoles, and now just rubbed on from hand to mouth. He seem'd quite
to forget his wife and child, and I, by degrees, my engagements with
Miss Read, to whom I never wrote more than one letter, and that was to
let her know I was not likely soon to return. This was another of the
great errata of my life, which I should wish to correct if I were to
live it over again. In fact, by our expenses, I was constantly kept
unable to pay my passage.
At Palmer's I was employed in composing for the second edition of
Wollaston's "Religion of Nature." Some of his reasonings not appearing
to me well founded, I wrote a little metaphysical piece in which I made
remarks on them. It was entitled "A Dissertation on Liberty and
Necessity, Pleasure and Pain." I inscribed it to my friend Ralph; I
printed a small number. It occasion'd my being more consider'd by Mr.
Palmer as a young man of some ingenuity, tho' he seriously expostulated
with me upon the principles of my pamphlet, which to him appear'd
abominable. My printing this pamphlet was another erratum. While I
lodg'd in Little Britain, I made an acquaintance with one Wilcox, a
bookseller, whose shop was at the next door. He had an immense
collection of second-hand books. Circulating libraries were not then
in use; but we agreed that, on certain reasonable terms, which I have
now forgotten, I might take, read, and return any of his books. This I
esteem'd a great advantage, and I made as much use of it as I could.
My pamphlet by some means falling into the hands of one Lyons, a
surgeon, author of a book entitled "The Infallibility of Human
Judgment," it occasioned an acquaintance between us. He took great
notice of me, called on me often to converse on those subjects, carried
me to the Horns, a pale alehouse in ---- Lane, Cheapside, and
introduced me to Dr. Mandeville, author of the "Fable of the Bees," who
had a club there, of which he was the soul, being a most facetious,
entertaining companion. Lyons, too, introduced me to Dr. Pemberton, at
Batson's Coffee-house, who promis'd to give me an opportunity, some
time or other, of seeing Sir Isaac Newton, of which I was extreamely
desirous; but this never happened.
I had brought over a few curiosities, among which the principal was a
purse made of the asbestos, which purifies by fire. Sir Hans Sloane
heard of it, came to see me, and invited me to his house in Bloomsbury
Square, where he show'd me all his curiosities, and persuaded me to let
him add that to the number, for which he paid me handsomely.
In our house there lodg'd a young woman, a milliner, who, I think, had
a shop in the Cloisters. She had been genteelly bred, was sensible and
lively, and of most pleasing conversation. Ralph read plays to her in
the evenings, they grew intimate, she took another lodging, and he
followed her. They liv'd together some time; but, he being still out
of business, and her income not sufficient to maintain them with her
child, he took a resolution of going from London, to try for a country
school, which he thought himself well qualified to undertake, as he
wrote an excellent hand, and was a master of arithmetic and accounts.
This, however, he deemed a business below him, and confident of future
better fortune, when he should be unwilling to have it known that he
once was so meanly employed, he changed his name, and did me the honor
to assume mine; for I soon after had a letter from him, acquainting me
that he was settled in a small village (in Berkshire, I think it was,
where he taught reading and writing to ten or a dozen boys, at sixpence
each per week), recommending Mrs. T---- to my care, and desiring me to
write to him, directing for Mr. Franklin, schoolmaster, at such a place.
He continued to write frequently, sending me large specimens of an epic
poem which he was then composing, and desiring my remarks and
corrections. These I gave him from time to time, but endeavor'd rather
to discourage his proceeding. One of Young's Satires was then just
published. I copy'd and sent him a great part of it, which set in a
strong light the folly of pursuing the Muses with any hope of
advancement by them. All was in vain; sheets of the poem continued to
come by every post. In the mean time, Mrs. T----, having on his
account lost her friends and business, was often in distresses, and
us'd to send for me, and borrow what I could spare to help her out of
them. I grew fond of her company, and, being at that time under no
religious restraint, and presuming upon my importance to her, I
attempted familiarities (another erratum) which she repuls'd with a
proper resentment, and acquainted him with my behaviour. This made a
breach between us; and, when he returned again to London, he let me
know he thought I had cancell'd all the obligations he had been under
to me. So I found I was never to expect his repaying me what I lent to
him, or advanc'd for him. This, however, was not then of much
consequence, as he was totally unable; and in the loss of his
friendship I found myself relieved from a burthen. I now began to
think of getting a little money beforehand, and, expecting better work,
I left Palmer's to work at Watts's, near Lincoln's Inn Fields, a still
greater printing-house. Here I continued all the rest of my stay in
At my first admission into this printing-house I took to working at
press, imagining I felt a want of the bodily exercise I had been us'd
to in America, where presswork is mix'd with composing. I drank only
water; the other workmen, near fifty in number, were great guzzlers of
beer. On occasion, I carried up and down stairs a large form of types
in each hand, when others carried but one in both hands. They wondered
to see, from this and several instances, that the Water-American, as
they called me, was stronger than themselves, who drank strong beer!
We had an alehouse boy who attended always in the house to supply the
workmen. My companion at the press drank every day a pint before
breakfast, a pint at breakfast with his bread and cheese, a pint
between breakfast and dinner, a pint at dinner, a pint in the afternoon
about six o'clock, and another when he had done his day's work. I
thought it a detestable custom; but it was necessary, he suppos'd, to
drink strong beer, that he might be strong to labor. I endeavored to
convince him that the bodily strength afforded by beer could only be in
proportion to the grain or flour of the barley dissolved in the water
of which it was made; that there was more flour in a pennyworth of
bread; and therefore, if he would eat that with a pint of water, it
would give him more strength than a quart of beer. He drank on,
however, and had four or five shillings to pay out of his wages every
Saturday night for that muddling liquor; an expense I was free from.
And thus these poor devils keep themselves always under.
Watts, after some weeks, desiring to have me in the composing-room, I
left the pressmen; a new bien venu or sum for drink, being five
shillings, was demanded of me by the compositors. I thought it an
imposition, as I had paid below; the master thought so too, and forbad
my paying it. I stood out two or three weeks, was accordingly
considered as an excommunicate, and had so many little pieces of
private mischief done me, by mixing my sorts, transposing my pages,
breaking my matter, etc., etc., if I were ever so little out of the
room, and all ascribed to the chappel ghost, which they said ever
haunted those not regularly admitted, that, notwithstanding the
master's protection, I found myself oblig'd to comply and pay the
money, convinc'd of the folly of being on ill terms with those one is
to live with continually.
I was now on a fair footing with them, and soon acquir'd considerable
influence. I propos'd some reasonable alterations in their chappel[4]
laws, and carried them against all opposition. From my example, a
great part of them left their muddling breakfast of beer, and bread,
and cheese, finding they could with me be suppli'd from a neighboring
house with a large porringer of hot water-gruel, sprinkled with pepper,
crumbl'd with bread, and a bit of butter in it, for the price of a pint
of beer, viz., three half-pence. This was a more comfortable as well as
cheaper breakfast, and kept their heads clearer. Those who continued
sotting with beer all day, were often, by not paying, out of credit at
the alehouse, and us'd to make interest with me to get beer; their
light, as they phrased it, being out. I watch'd the pay-table on
Saturday night, and collected what I stood engag'd for them, having to
pay sometimes near thirty shillings a week on their account. This, and
my being esteem'd a pretty good riggite, that is, a jocular verbal
satirist, supported my consequence in the society. My constant
attendance (I never making a St. Monday) recommended me to the master;
and my uncommon quickness at composing occasioned my being put upon all
work of dispatch, which was generally better paid. So I went on now
very agreeably.
[4] "A printing-house is always called a chapel by the
workmen, the origin of which appears to have been that
printing was first carried on in England in an ancient
chapel converted into a printing-house, and the title
has been preserved by tradition. The bien venu among
the printers answers to the terms entrance and footing
among mechanics; thus a journeyman, on entering a
printing-house, was accustomed to pay one or more gallons
of beer for the good of the chapel; this custom was
falling into disuse thirty years ago; it is very properly
rejected entirely in the United States."--W. T. F.
My lodging in Little Britain being too remote, I found another in
Duke-street, opposite to the Romish Chapel. It was two pair of stairs
backwards, at an Italian warehouse. A widow lady kept the house; she
had a daughter, and a maid servant, and a journeyman who attended the
warehouse, but lodg'd abroad. After sending to inquire my character at
the house where I last lodg'd she agreed to take me in at the same
rate, 3s. 6d. per week; cheaper, as she said, from the protection she
expected in having a man lodge in the house. She was a widow, an
elderly woman; had been bred a Protestant, being a clergyman's
daughter, but was converted to the Catholic religion by her husband,
whose memory she much revered; had lived much among people of
distinction, and knew a thousand anecdotes of them as far back as the
times of Charles the Second. She was lame in her knees with the gout,
and, therefore, seldom stirred out of her room, so sometimes wanted
company; and hers was so highly amusing to me, that I was sure to spend
an evening with her whenever she desired it. Our supper was only half
an anchovy each, on a very little strip of bread and butter, and half a
pint of ale between us; but the entertainment was in her conversation.
My always keeping good hours, and giving little trouble in the family,
made her unwilling to part with me; so that, when I talk'd of a lodging
I had heard of, nearer my business, for two shillings a week, which,
intent as I now was on saving money, made some difference, she bid me
not think of it, for she would abate me two shillings a week for the
future; so I remained with her at one shilling and sixpence as long as
I staid in London.
In a garret of her house there lived a maiden lady of seventy, in the
most retired manner, of whom my landlady gave me this account: that she
was a Roman Catholic, had been sent abroad when young, and lodg'd in a
nunnery with an intent of becoming a nun; but, the country not agreeing
with her, she returned to England, where, there being no nunnery, she
had vow'd to lead the life of a nun, as near as might be done in those
circumstances. Accordingly, she had given all her estate to charitable
uses, reserving only twelve pounds a year to live on, and out of this
sum she still gave a great deal in charity, living herself on
water-gruel only, and using no fire but to boil it. She had lived many
years in that garret, being permitted to remain there gratis by
successive Catholic tenants of the house below, as they deemed it a
blessing to have her there. A priest visited her to confess her every
day. "I have ask'd her," says my landlady, "how she, as she liv'd,
could possibly find so much employment for a confessor?" "Oh," said
she, "it is impossible to avoid vain thoughts." I was permitted once
to visit her, She was chearful and polite, and convers'd pleasantly.
The room was clean, but had no other furniture than a matras, a table
with a crucifix and book, a stool which she gave me to sit on, and a
picture over the chimney of Saint Veronica displaying her handkerchief,
with the miraculous figure of Christ's bleeding face on it, which she
explained to me with great seriousness. She look'd pale, but was never
sick; and I give it as another instance on how small an income life and
health may be supported.
At Watts's printing-house I contracted an acquaintance with an
ingenious young man, one Wygate, who, having wealthy relations, had
been better educated than most printers; was a tolerable Latinist,
spoke French, and lov'd reading. I taught him and a friend of his to
swim at twice going into the river, and they soon became good swimmers.
They introduc'd me to some gentlemen from the country, who went to
Chelsea by water to see the College and Don Saltero's curiosities. In
our return, at the request of the company, whose curiosity Wygate had
excited, I stripped and leaped into the river, and swam from near
Chelsea to Blackfryar's, performing on the way many feats of activity,
both upon and under water, that surpris'd and pleas'd those to whom
they were novelties.
I had from a child been ever delighted with this exercise, had studied
and practis'd all Thevenot's motions and positions, added some of my
own, aiming at the graceful and easy as well as the useful. All these
I took this occasion of exhibiting to the company, and was much
flatter'd by their admiration; and Wygate, who was desirous of becoming
a master, grew more and more attach'd to me on that account, as well as
from the similarity of our studies. He at length proposed to me
travelling all over Europe together, supporting ourselves everywhere by
working at our business. I was once inclined to it; but, mentioning it
to my good friend Mr. Denham, with whom I often spent an hour when I
had leisure, he dissuaded me from it, advising me to think only of
returning to Pennsilvania, which he was now about to do.
I must record one trait of this good man's character. He had formerly
been in business at Bristol, but failed in debt to a number of people,
compounded and went to America. There, by a close application to
business as a merchant, he acquir'd a plentiful fortune in a few years.
Returning to England in the ship with me, he invited his old creditors
to an entertainment, at which he thank'd them for the easy composition
they had favored him with, and, when they expected nothing but the
treat, every man at the first remove found under his plate an order on
a banker for the full amount of the unpaid remainder with interest.
He now told me he was about to return to Philadelphia, and should carry
over a great quantity of goods in order to open a store there. He
propos'd to take me over as his clerk, to keep his books, in which he
would instruct me, copy his letters, and attend the store. He added
that, as soon as I should be acquainted with mercantile business, he
would promote me by sending me with a cargo of flour and bread, etc.,
to the West Indies, and procure me commissions from others which would
be profitable; and, if I manag'd well, would establish me handsomely.
The thing pleas'd me; for I was grown tired of London, remembered with
pleasure the happy months I had spent in Pennsylvania, and wish'd again
to see it; therefore I immediately agreed on the terms of fifty pounds
a year, Pennsylvania money; less, indeed, than my present gettings as a
compositor, but affording a better prospect.
I now took leave of printing, as I thought, for ever, and was daily
employed in my new business, going about with Mr. Denham among the
tradesmen to purchase various articles, and seeing them pack'd up,
doing errands, calling upon workmen to dispatch, etc.; and, when all
was on board, I had a few days' leisure. On one of these days, I was,
to my surprise, sent for by a great man I knew only by name, a Sir
William Wyndham, and I waited upon him. He had heard by some means or
other of my swimming from Chelsea to Blackfriar's, and of my teaching
Wygate and another young man to swim in a few hours. He had two sons,
about to set out on their travels; he wish'd to have them first taught
swimming, and proposed to gratify me handsomely if I would teach them.
They were not yet come to town, and my stay was uncertain, so I could
not undertake it; but, from this incident, I thought it likely that, if
I were to remain in England and open a swimming-school, I might get a
good deal of money; and it struck me so strongly, that, had the
overture been sooner made me, probably I should not so soon have
returned to America. After many years, you and I had something of more
importance to do with one of these sons of Sir William Wyndham, become
Earl of Egremont, which I shall mention in its place.
Thus I spent about eighteen months in London; most part of the time I
work'd hard at my business, and spent but little upon myself except in
seeing plays and in books. My friend Ralph had kept me poor; he owed
me about twenty-seven pounds, which I was now never likely to receive;
a great sum out of my small earnings! I lov'd him, notwithstanding,
for he had many amiable qualities. I had by no means improv'd my
fortune; but I had picked up some very ingenious acquaintance, whose
conversation was of great advantage to me; and I had read considerably.
We sail'd from Gravesend on the 23d of July, 1726. For the incidents
of the voyage, I refer you to my journal, where you will find them all
minutely related. Perhaps the most important part of that journal is
the plan[5] to be found in it, which I formed at sea, for regulating my
future conduct in life. It is the more remarkable, as being formed
when I was so young, and yet being pretty faithfully adhered to quite
thro' to old age.
[5] The "Journal" was printed by Sparks, from a copy made
at Reading in 1787. But it does not contain the Plan.
We landed in Philadelphia on the 11th of October, where I found sundry
alterations. Keith was no longer governor, being superseded by Major
Gordon. I met him walking the streets as a common citizen. He seem'd
a little asham'd at seeing me, but pass'd without saying anything. I
should have been as much asham'd at seeing Miss Read, had not her
friends, despairing with reason of my return after the receipt of my
letter, persuaded her to marry another, one Rogers, a potter, which was
done in my absence. With him, however, she was never happy, and soon
parted from him, refusing to cohabit with him or bear his name, it
being now said that he had another wife. He was a worthless fellow,
tho' an excellent workman, which was the temptation to her friends. He
got into debt, ran away in 1727 or 1728, went to the West Indies, and
died there. Keimer had got a better house, a shop well supply'd with
stationery, plenty of new types, a number of hands, tho' none good, and
seem'd to have a great deal of business.
Mr. Denham took a store in Water-street, where we open'd our goods; I
attended the business diligently, studied accounts, and grew, in a
little time, expert at selling. We lodg'd and, boarded together; he
counsell'd me as a father, having a sincere regard for me. I respected
and lov'd him, and we might have gone on together very happy; but, in
the beginning of February, 1726-7, when I had just pass'd my
twenty-first year, we both were taken ill. My distemper was a
pleurisy, which very nearly carried me off. I suffered a good deal,
gave up the point in my own mind, and was rather disappointed when I
found myself recovering, regretting, in some degree, that I must now,
some time or other, have all that disagreeable work to do over again.
I forget what his distemper was; it held him a long time, and at length
carried him off. He left me a small legacy in a nuncupative will, as a
token of his kindness for me, and he left me once more to the wide
world; for the store was taken into the care of his executors, and my
employment under him ended.
My brother-in-law, Holmes, being now at Philadelphia, advised my return
to my business; and Keimer tempted me, with an offer of large wages by
the year, to come and take the management of his printing-house, that
he might better attend his stationer's shop. I had heard a bad
character of him in London from his wife and her friends, and was not
fond of having any more to do with him. I tri'd for farther employment
as a merchant's clerk; but, not readily meeting with any, I clos'd
again with Keimer. I found in his house these hands: Hugh Meredith, a
Welsh Pensilvanian, thirty years of age, bred to country work; honest,
sensible, had a great deal of solid observation, was something of a
reader, but given to drink. Stephen Potts, a young countryman of full
age, bred to the same, of uncommon natural parts, and great wit and
humor, but a little idle. These he had agreed with at extream low
wages per week, to be rais'd a shilling every three months, as they
would deserve by improving in their business; and the expectation of
these high wages, to come on hereafter, was what he had drawn them in
with. Meredith was to work at press, Potts at book-binding, which he,
by agreement, was to teach them, though he knew neither one nor
t'other. John ----, a wild Irishman, brought up to no business, whose
service, for four years, Keimer had purchased from the captain of a
ship; he, too, was to be made a pressman. George Webb, an Oxford
scholar, whose time for four years he had likewise bought, intending
him for a compositor, of whom more presently; and David Harry, a
country boy, whom he had taken apprentice.
I soon perceiv'd that the intention of engaging me at wages so much
higher than he had been us'd to give, was, to have these raw, cheap
hands form'd thro' me; and, as soon as I had instructed them, then they
being all articled to him, he should be able to do without me. I went
on, however, very cheerfully, put his printing-house in order, which
had been in great confusion, and brought his hands by degrees to mind
their business and to do it better.
It was an odd thing to find an Oxford scholar in the situation of a
bought servant. He was not more than eighteen years of age, and gave
me this account of himself; that he was born in Gloucester, educated at
a grammar-school there, had been distinguish'd among the scholars for
some apparent superiority in performing his part, when they exhibited
plays; belong'd to the Witty Club there, and had written some pieces in
prose and verse, which were printed in the Gloucester newspapers;
thence he was sent to Oxford; where he continued about a year, but not
well satisfi'd, wishing of all things to see London, and become a
player. At length, receiving his quarterly allowance of fifteen
guineas, instead of discharging his debts he walk'd out of town, hid
his gown in a furze bush, and footed it to London, where, having no
friend to advise him, he fell into bad company, soon spent his guineas,
found no means of being introduc'd among the players, grew necessitous,
pawn'd his cloaths, and wanted bread. Walking the street very hungry,
and not knowing what to do with himself, a crimp's bill was put into
his hand, offering immediate entertainment and encouragement to such as
would bind themselves to serve in America.
He went directly, sign'd the indentures, was put into the ship, and
came over, never writing a line to acquaint his friends what was become
of him. He was lively, witty, good-natur'd, and a pleasant companion,
but idle, thoughtless, and imprudent to the last degree.
John, the Irishman, soon ran away; with the rest I began to live very
agreeably, for they all respected me the more, as they found Keimer
incapable of instructing them, and that from me they learned something
daily. We never worked on Saturday, that being Keimer's Sabbath, so I
had two days for reading. My acquaintance with ingenious people in the
town increased. Keimer himself treated me with great civility and
apparent regard, and nothing now made me uneasy but my debt to Vernon,
which I was yet unable to pay, being hitherto but a poor oeconomist.
He, however, kindly made no demand of it.
Our printing-house often wanted sorts, and there was no letter-founder
in America; I had seen types cast at James's in London, but without
much attention to the manner; however, I now contrived a mould, made
use of the letters we had as puncheons, struck the matrices in lead,
And thus supply'd in a pretty tolerable way all deficiencies. I also
engrav'd several things on occasion; I made the ink; I was
warehouseman, and everything, and, in short, quite a factotum.
But, however serviceable I might be, I found that my services became
every day of less importance, as the other hands improv'd in the
business; and, when Keimer paid my second quarter's wages, he let me
know that he felt them too heavy, and thought I should make an
abatement. He grew by degrees less civil, put on more of the master,
frequently found fault, was captious, and seem'd ready for an
outbreaking. I went on, nevertheless, with a good deal of patience,
thinking that his encumber'd circumstances were partly the cause. At
length a trifle snapt our connections; for, a great noise happening
near the court-house, I put my head out of the window to see what was
the matter. Keimer, being in the street, look'd up and saw me, call'd
out to me in a loud voice and angry tone to mind my business, adding
some reproachful words, that nettled me the more for their publicity,
all the neighbors who were looking out on the same occasion being
witnesses how I was treated. He came up immediately into the
printing-house, continu'd the quarrel, high words pass'd on both sides,
he gave me the quarter's warning we had stipulated, expressing a wish
that he had not been oblig'd to so long a warning. I told him his wish
was unnecessary, for I would leave him that instant; and so, taking my
hat, walk'd out of doors, desiring Meredith, whom I saw below, to take
care of some things I left, and bring them to my lodgings.
Meredith came accordingly in the evening, when we talked my affair
over. He had conceiv'd a great regard for me, and was very unwilling
that I should leave the house while he remain'd in it. He dissuaded me
from returning to my native country, which I began to think of; he
reminded me that Keimer was in debt for all he possess'd; that his
creditors began to be uneasy; that he kept his shop miserably, sold
often without profit for ready money, and often trusted without keeping
accounts; that he must therefore fall, which would make a vacancy I
might profit of. I objected my want of money. He then let me know
that his father had a high opinion of me, and, from some discourse that
had pass'd between them, he was sure would advance money to set us up,
if I would enter into partnership with him. "My time," says he, "will
be out with Keimer in the spring; by that time we may have our press
and types in from London. I am sensible I am no workman; if you like
it, your skill in the business shall be set against the stock I
furnish, and we will share the profits equally."
The proposal was agreeable, and I consented; his father was in town and
approv'd of it; the more as he saw I had great influence with his son,
had prevail'd on him to abstain long from dram-drinking, and he hop'd
might break him off that wretched habit entirely, when we came to be so
closely connected. I gave an inventory to the father, who carry'd it
to a merchant; the things were sent for, the secret was to be kept till
they should arrive, and in the mean time I was to get work, if I could,
at the other printing-house. But I found no vacancy there, and so
remain'd idle a few days, when Keimer, on a prospect of being employ'd
to print some paper money in New Jersey, which would require cuts and
various types that I only could supply, and apprehending Bradford might
engage me and get the jobb from him, sent me a very civil message, that
old friends should not part for a few words, the effect of sudden
passion, and wishing me to return. Meredith persuaded me to comply, as
it would give more opportunity for his improvement under my daily
instructions; so I return'd, and we went on more smoothly than for some
time before. The New Jersey jobb was obtain'd, I contriv'd a
copperplate press for it, the first that had been seen in the country;
I cut several ornaments and checks for the bills. We went together to
Burlington, where I executed the whole to satisfaction; and he received
so large a sum for the work as to be enabled thereby to keep his head
much longer above water.
At Burlington I made an acquaintance with many principal people of the
province. Several of them had been appointed by the Assembly a
committee to attend the press, and take care that no more bills were
printed than the law directed. They were therefore, by turns,
constantly with us, and generally he who attended, brought with him a
friend or two for company. My mind having been much more improv'd by
reading than Keimer's, I suppose it was for that reason my conversation
seem'd to be more valu'd. They had me to their houses, introduced me to
their friends, and show'd me much civility; while he, tho' the master,
was a little neglected. In truth, he was an odd fish; ignorant of
common life, fond of rudely opposing receiv'd opinions, slovenly to
extream dirtiness, enthusiastic in some points of religion, and a
little knavish withal.
We continu'd there near three months; and by that time I could reckon
among my acquired friends, Judge Allen, Samuel Bustill, the secretary
of the Province, Isaac Pearson, Joseph Cooper, and several of the
Smiths, members of Assembly, and Isaac Decow, the surveyor-general. The
latter was a shrewd, sagacious old man, who told me that he began for
himself, when young, by wheeling clay for the brick-makers, learned to
write after he was of age, carri'd the chain for surveyors, who taught
him surveying, and he had now by his industry, acquir'd a good estate;
and says he, "I foresee that you will soon work this man out of
business, and make a fortune in it at Philadelphia." He had not then
the least intimation of my intention to set up there or anywhere.
These friends were afterwards of great use to me, as I occasionally was
to some of them. They all continued their regard for me as long as
they lived.
Before I enter upon my public appearance in business, it may be well to
let you know the then state of my mind with regard to my principles and
morals, that you may see how far those influenc'd the future events of
my life. My parents had early given me religious impressions, and
brought me through my childhood piously in the Dissenting way. But I
was scarce fifteen, when, after doubting by turns of several points, as
I found them disputed in the different books I read, I began to doubt
of Revelation itself. Some books against Deism fell into my hands;
they were said to be the substance of sermons preached at Boyle's
Lectures. It happened that they wrought an effect on me quite contrary
to what was intended by them; for the arguments of the Deists, which
were quoted to be refuted, appeared to me much stronger than the
refutations; in short, I soon became a thorough Deist. My arguments
perverted some others, particularly Collins and Ralph; but, each of
them having afterwards wrong'd me greatly without the least
compunction, and recollecting Keith's conduct towards me (who was
another freethinker), and my own towards Vernon and Miss Read, which at
times gave me great trouble, I began to suspect that this doctrine,
tho' it might be true, was not very useful. My London pamphlet, which
had for its motto these lines of Dryden:
"Whatever is, is right. Though purblind man
Sees but a part o' the chain, the nearest link:
His eyes not carrying to the equal beam,
That poises all above;"
and from the attributes of God, his infinite wisdom, goodness and
power, concluded that nothing could possibly be wrong in the world, and
that vice and virtue were empty distinctions, no such things existing,
appear'd now not so clever a performance as I once thought it; and I
doubted whether some error had not insinuated itself unperceiv'd into
my argument, so as to infect all that follow'd, as is common in
metaphysical reasonings.
I grew convinc'd that truth, sincerity and integrity in dealings
between man and man were of the utmost importance to the felicity of
life; and I form'd written resolutions, which still remain in my
journal book, to practice them ever while I lived. Revelation had
indeed no weight with me, as such; but I entertain'd an opinion that,
though certain actions might not be bad because they were forbidden by
it, or good because it commanded them, yet probably these actions might
be forbidden because they were bad for us, or commanded because they
were beneficial to us, in their own natures, all the circumstances of
things considered. And this persuasion, with the kind hand of
Providence, or some guardian angel, or accidental favorable
circumstances and situations, or all together, preserved me, thro' this
dangerous time of youth, and the hazardous situations I was sometimes
in among strangers, remote from the eye and advice of my father,
without any willful gross immorality or injustice, that might have been
expected from my want of religion. I say willful, because the
instances I have mentioned had something of necessity in them, from my
youth, inexperience, and the knavery of others. I had therefore a
tolerable character to begin the world with; I valued it properly, and
determin'd to preserve it.
We had not been long return'd to Philadelphia before the new types
arriv'd from London. We settled with Keimer, and left him by his
consent before he heard of it. We found a house to hire near the
market, and took it. To lessen the rent, which was then but
twenty-four pounds a year, tho' I have since known it to let for
seventy, we took in Thomas Godfrey, a glazier, and his family, who were
to pay a considerable part of it to us, and we to board with them. We
had scarce opened our letters and put our press in order, before George
House, an acquaintance of mine, brought a countryman to us, whom he had
met in the street inquiring for a printer. All our cash was now
expended in the variety of particulars we had been obliged to procure,
and this countryman's five shillings, being our first-fruits, and
coming so seasonably, gave me more pleasure than any crown I have since
earned; and the gratitude I felt toward House has made me often more
ready than perhaps I should otherwise have been to assist young
There are croakers in every country, always boding its ruin. Such a
one then lived in Philadelphia; a person of note, an elderly man, with
a wise look and a very grave manner of speaking; his name was Samuel
Mickle. This gentleman, a stranger to me, stopt one day at my door,
and asked me if I was the young man who had lately opened a new
printing-house. Being answered in the affirmative, he said he was sorry
for me, because it was an expensive undertaking, and the expense would
be lost; for Philadelphia was a sinking place, the people already
half-bankrupts, or near being so; all appearances to the contrary, such
as new buildings and the rise of rents, being to his certain knowledge
fallacious; for they were, in fact, among the things that would soon
ruin us. And he gave me such a detail of misfortunes now existing, or
that were soon to exist, that he left me half melancholy. Had I known
him before I engaged in this business, probably I never should have
done it. This man continued to live in this decaying place, and to
declaim in the same strain, refusing for many years to buy a house
there, because all was going to destruction; and at last I had the
pleasure of seeing him give five times as much for one as he might have
bought it for when he first began his croaking.
I should have mentioned before, that, in the autumn of the preceding
year, I had form'd most of my ingenious acquaintance into a club of
mutual improvement, which we called the JUNTO; we met on Friday
evenings. The rules that I drew up required that every member, in his
turn, should produce one or more queries on any point of Morals,
Politics, or Natural Philosophy, to be discuss'd by the company; and
once in three months produce and read an essay of his own writing, on
any subject he pleased. Our debates were to be under the direction of
a president, and to be conducted in the sincere spirit of inquiry after
truth, without fondness for dispute, or desire of victory; and, to
prevent warmth, all expressions of positiveness in opinions, or direct
contradiction, were after some time made contraband, and prohibited
under small pecuniary penalties.
The first members were Joseph Breintnal, a copyer of deeds for the
scriveners, a good-natur'd, friendly, middle-ag'd man, a great lover of
poetry, reading all he could meet with, and writing some that was
tolerable; very ingenious in many little Nicknackeries, and of sensible
Thomas Godfrey, a self-taught mathematician, great in his way, and
afterward inventor of what is now called Hadley's Quadrant. But he
knew little out of his way, and was not a pleasing companion; as, like
most great mathematicians I have met with, he expected universal
precision in everything said, or was for ever denying or distinguishing
upon trifles, to the disturbance of all conversation. He soon left us.
Nicholas Scull, a surveyor, afterwards surveyor-general, who lov'd
books, and sometimes made a few verses.
William Parsons, bred a shoemaker, but loving reading, had acquir'd a
considerable share of mathematics, which he first studied with a view
to astrology, that he afterwards laught at it. He also became
William Maugridge, a joiner, a most exquisite mechanic, and a solid,
sensible man.
Hugh Meredith, Stephen Potts, and George Webb I have characteriz'd
Robert Grace, a young gentleman of some fortune, generous, lively, and
witty; a lover of punning and of his friends.
And William Coleman, then a merchant's clerk, about my age, who had the
coolest, dearest head, the best heart, and the exactest morals of
almost any man I ever met with. He became afterwards a merchant of
great note, and one of our provincial judges. Our friendship continued
without interruption to his death, upward of forty years; and the club
continued almost as long, and was the best school of philosophy,
morality, and politics that then existed in the province; for our
queries, which were read the week preceding their discussion, put us
upon reading with attention upon the several subjects, that we might
speak more to the purpose; and here, too, we acquired better habits of
conversation, every thing being studied in our rules which might
prevent our disgusting each other. From hence the long continuance of
the club, which I shall have frequent occasion to speak further of
But my giving this account of it here is to show something of the
interest I had, every one of these exerting themselves in recommending
business to us. Breintnal particularly procur'd us from the Quakers
the printing forty sheets of their history, the rest being to be done
by Keimer; and upon this we work'd exceedingly hard, for the price was
low. It was a folio, pro patria size, in pica, with long primer notes.
I compos'd of it a sheet a day, and Meredith worked it off at press; it
was often eleven at night, and sometimes later, before I had finished
my distribution for the next day's work, for the little jobbs sent in
by our other friends now and then put us back. But so determin'd I was
to continue doing a sheet a day of the folio, that one night, when,
having impos'd my forms, I thought my day's work over, one of them by
accident was broken, and two pages reduced to pi, I immediately
distributed and compos'd it over again before I went to bed; and this
industry, visible to our neighbors, began to give us character and
credit; particularly, I was told, that mention being made of the new
printing-office at the merchants' Every-night club, the general opinion
was that it must fail, there being already two printers in the place,
Keimer and Bradford; but Dr. Baird (whom you and I saw many years after
at his native place, St. Andrew's in Scotland) gave a contrary opinion:
"For the industry of that Franklin," says he, "is superior to any thing
I ever saw of the kind; I see him still at work when I go home from
club, and he is at work again before his neighbors are out of bed."
This struck the rest, and we soon after had offers from one of them to
supply us with stationery; but as yet we did not chuse to engage in
shop business.
I mention this industry the more particularly and the more freely, tho'
it seems to be talking in my own praise, that those of my posterity,
who shall read it, may know the use of that virtue, when they see its
effects in my favour throughout this relation.
George Webb, who had found a female friend that lent him wherewith to
purchase his time of Keimer, now came to offer himself as a journeyman
to us. We could not then employ him; but I foolishly let him know as a
secret that I soon intended to begin a newspaper, and might then have
work for him. My hopes of success, as I told him, were founded on
this, that the then only newspaper, printed by Bradford, was a paltry
thing, wretchedly manag'd, no way entertaining, and yet was profitable
to him; I therefore thought a good paper would scarcely fail of good
encouragement. I requested Webb not to mention it; but he told it to
Keimer, who immediately, to be beforehand with me, published proposals
for printing one himself, on which Webb was to be employ'd. I resented
this; and, to counteract them, as I could not yet begin our paper, I
wrote several pieces of entertainment for Bradford's paper, under the
title of the BUSY BODY, which Breintnal continu'd some months. By this
means the attention of the publick was fixed on that paper, and
Keimer's proposals, which we burlesqu'd and ridicul'd, were
disregarded. He began his paper, however, and, after carrying it on
three quarters of a year, with at most only ninety subscribers, he
offered it to me for a trifle; and I, having been ready some time to go
on with it, took it in hand directly; and it prov'd in a few years
extremely profitable to me.
I perceive that I am apt to speak in the singular number, though our
partnership still continu'd; the reason may be that, in fact, the whole
management of the business lay upon me. Meredith was no compositor, a
poor pressman, and seldom sober. My friends lamented my connection
with him, but I was to make the best of it.
Our first papers made a quite different appearance from any before in
the province; a better type, and better printed; but some spirited
remarks of my writing, on the dispute then going on between Governor
Burnet and the Massachusetts Assembly, struck the principal people,
occasioned the paper and the manager of it to be much talk'd of, and in
a few weeks brought them all to be our subscribers.
Their example was follow'd by many, and our number went on growing
continually. This was one of the first good effects of my having
learnt a little to scribble; another was, that the leading men, seeing
a newspaper now in the hands of one who could also handle a pen,
thought it convenient to oblige and encourage me. Bradford still
printed the votes, and laws, and other publick business. He had
printed an address of the House to the governor, in a coarse,
blundering manner, we reprinted it elegantly and correctly, and sent
one to every member. They were sensible of the difference: it
strengthened the hands of our friends in the House, and they voted us
their printers for the year ensuing.
Among my friends in the House I must not forget Mr. Hamilton, before
mentioned, who was then returned from England, and had a seat in it.
He interested himself for me strongly in that instance, as he did in
many others afterward, continuing his patronage till his death.[6]
[6] I got his son once L500.--[Marg. note.]
Mr. Vernon, about this time, put me in mind of the debt I ow'd him, but
did not press me. I wrote him an ingenuous letter of acknowledgment,
crav'd his forbearance a little longer, which he allow'd me, and as
soon as I was able, I paid the principal with interest, and many
thanks; so that erratum was in some degree corrected.
But now another difficulty came upon me which I had never the least
reason to expect. Mr. Meredith's father, who was to have paid for our
printing-house, according to the expectations given me, was able to
advance only one hundred pounds currency, which had been paid; and a
hundred more was due to the merchant, who grew impatient, and su'd us
all. We gave bail, but saw that, if the money could not be rais'd in
time, the suit must soon come to a judgment and execution, and our
hopeful prospects must, with us, be ruined, as the press and letters
must be sold for payment, perhaps at half price.
In this distress two true friends, whose kindness I have never
forgotten, nor ever shall forget while I can remember any thing, came
to me separately, unknown to each other, and, without any application
from me, offering each of them to advance me all the money that should
be necessary to enable me to take the whole business upon myself, if
that should be practicable; but they did not like my continuing the
partnership with Meredith, who, as they said, was often seen drunk in
the streets, and playing at low games in alehouses, much to our
discredit. These two friends were William Coleman and Robert Grace. I
told them I could not propose a separation while any prospect remain'd
of the Merediths' fulfilling their part of our agreement, because I
thought myself under great obligations to them for what they had done,
and would do if they could; but, if they finally fail'd in their
performance, and our partnership must be dissolv'd, I should then think
myself at liberty to accept the assistance of my friends.
Thus the matter rested for some time, when I said to my partner,
"Perhaps your father is dissatisfied at the part you have undertaken in
this affair of ours, and is unwilling to advance for you and me what he
would for you alone. If that is the case, tell me, and I will resign
the whole to you, and go about my business." "No," said he, "my father
has really been disappointed, and is really unable; and I am unwilling
to distress him farther. I see this is a business I am not fit for. I
was bred a farmer, and it was a folly in me to come to town, and put
myself, at thirty years of age, an apprentice to learn a new trade.
Many of our Welsh people are going to settle in North Carolina, where
land is cheap. I am inclin'd to go with them, and follow my old
employment. You may find friends to assist you. If you will take the
debts of the company upon you; return to my father the hundred pound he
has advanced; pay my little personal debts, and give me thirty pounds
and a new saddle, I will relinquish the partnership, and leave the
whole in your hands." I agreed to this proposal: it was drawn up in
writing, sign'd, and seal'd immediately. I gave him what he demanded,
and he went soon after to Carolina, from whence he sent me next year
two long letters, containing the best account that had been given of
that country, the climate, the soil, husbandry, etc., for in those
matters he was very judicious. I printed them in the papers, and they
gave great satisfaction to the publick.
As soon as he was gone, I recurr'd to my two friends; and because I
would not give an unkind preference to either, I took half of what each
had offered and I wanted of one, and half of the other; paid off the
company's debts, and went on with the business in my own name,
advertising that the partnership was dissolved. I think this was in or
about the year 1729.
About this time there was a cry among the people for more paper money,
only fifteen thousand pounds being extant in the province, and that
soon to be sunk. The wealthy inhabitants oppos'd any addition, being
against all paper currency, from an apprehension that it would
depreciate, as it had done in New England, to the prejudice of all
creditors. We had discuss'd this point in our Junto, where I was on
the side of an addition, being persuaded that the first small sum
struck in 1723 had done much good by increasing the trade, employment,
and number of inhabitants in the province, since I now saw all the old
houses inhabited, and many new ones building; whereas I remembered
well, that when I first walk'd about the streets of Philadelphia,
eating my roll, I saw most of the houses in Walnut-street, between
Second and Front streets, with bills on their doors, "To be let"; and
many likewise in Chestnut-street and other streets, which made me then
think the inhabitants of the city were deserting it one after another.
Our debates possess'd me so fully of the subject, that I wrote and
printed an anonymous pamphlet on it, entitled "The Nature and Necessity
of a Paper Currency." It was well receiv'd by the common people in
general; but the rich men dislik'd it, for it increas'd and
strengthen'd the clamor for more money, and they happening to have no
writers among them that were able to answer it, their opposition
slacken'd, and the point was carried by a majority in the House. My
friends there, who conceiv'd I had been of some service, thought fit to
reward me by employing me in printing the money; a very profitable jobb
and a great help to me. This was another advantage gain'd by my being
able to write.
The utility of this currency became by time and experience so evident
as never afterwards to be much disputed; so that it grew soon to
fifty-five thousand pounds, and in 1739 to eighty thousand pounds,
since which it arose during war to upwards of three hundred and fifty
thousand pounds, trade, building, and inhabitants all the while
increasing, till I now think there are limits beyond which the quantity
may be hurtful.
I soon after obtain'd, thro' my friend Hamilton, the printing of the
Newcastle paper money, another profitable jobb as I then thought it;
small things appearing great to those in small circumstances; and
these, to me, were really great advantages, as they were great
encouragements. He procured for me, also, the printing of the laws and
votes of that government, which continu'd in my hands as long as I
follow'd the business.
I now open'd a little stationer's shop. I had in it blanks of all
sorts, the correctest that ever appear'd among us, being assisted in
that by my friend Breintnal. I had also paper, parchment, chapmen's
books, etc. One Whitemash, a compositor I had known in London, an
excellent workman, now came to me, and work'd with me constantly and
diligently; and I took an apprentice, the son of Aquila Rose.
I began now gradually to pay off the debt I was under for the
printing-house. In order to secure my credit and character as a
tradesman, I took care not only to be in reality industrious and
frugal, but to avoid all appearances to the contrary. I drest plainly;
I was seen at no places of idle diversion. I never went out a fishing
or shooting; a book, indeed, sometimes debauch'd me from my work, but
that was seldom, snug, and gave no scandal; and, to show that I was not
above my business, I sometimes brought home the paper I purchas'd at
the stores thro' the streets on a wheelbarrow. Thus being esteem'd an
industrious, thriving young man, and paying duly for what I bought, the
merchants who imported stationery solicited my custom; others proposed
supplying me with books, and I went on swimmingly. In the mean time,
Keimer's credit and business declining daily, he was at last forc'd to
sell his printing house to satisfy his creditors. He went to
Barbadoes, and there lived some years in very poor circumstances.
His apprentice, David Harry, whom I had instructed while I work'd with
him, set up in his place at Philadelphia, having bought his materials.
I was at first apprehensive of a powerful rival in Harry, as his
friends were very able, and had a good deal of interest. I therefore
propos'd a partner-ship to him which he, fortunately for me, rejected
with scorn. He was very proud, dress'd like a gentleman, liv'd
expensively, took much diversion and pleasure abroad, ran in debt, and
neglected his business; upon which, all business left him; and, finding
nothing to do, he followed Keimer to Barbadoes, taking the
printing-house with him. There this apprentice employ'd his former
master as a journeyman; they quarrel'd often; Harry went continually
behindhand, and at length was forc'd to sell his types and return to
his country work in Pensilvania. The person that bought them employ'd
Keimer to use them, but in a few years he died.
There remained now no competitor with me at Philadelphia but the old
one, Bradford; who was rich and easy, did a little printing now and
then by straggling hands, but was not very anxious about the business.
However, as he kept the post-office, it was imagined he had better
opportunities of obtaining news; his paper was thought a better
distributer of advertisements than mine, and therefore had many, more,
which was a profitable thing to him, and a disadvantage to me; for,
tho' I did indeed receive and send papers by the post, yet the publick
opinion was otherwise, for what I did send was by bribing the riders,
who took them privately, Bradford being unkind enough to forbid it,
which occasion'd some resentment on my part; and I thought so meanly of
him for it, that, when I afterward came into his situation, I took care
never to imitate it.
I had hitherto continu'd to board with Godfrey, who lived in part of my
house with his wife and children, and had one side of the shop for his
glazier's business, tho' he worked little, being always absorbed in his
mathematics. Mrs. Godfrey projected a match for me with a relation's
daughter, took opportunities of bringing us often together, till a
serious courtship on my part ensu'd, the girl being in herself very
deserving. The old folks encourag'd me by continual invitations to
supper, and by leaving us together, till at length it was time to
explain. Mrs. Godfrey manag'd our little treaty. I let her know that
I expected as much money with their daughter as would pay off my
remaining debt for the printing-house, which I believe was not then
above a hundred pounds. She brought me word they had no such sum to
spare; I said they might mortgage their house in the loan-office. The
answer to this, after some days, was, that they did not approve the
match; that, on inquiry of Bradford, they had been inform'd the
printing business was not a profitable one; the types would soon be
worn out, and more wanted; that S. Keimer and D. Harry had failed one
after the other, and I should probably soon follow them; and,
therefore, I was forbidden the house, and the daughter shut up.
Whether this was a real change of sentiment or only artifice, on a
supposition of our being too far engaged in affection to retract, and
therefore that we should steal a marriage, which would leave them at
liberty to give or withhold what they pleas'd, I know not; but I
suspected the latter, resented it, and went no more. Mrs. Godfrey
brought me afterward some more favorable accounts of their disposition,
and would have drawn me on again; but I declared absolutely my
resolution to have nothing more to do with that family. This was
resented by the Godfreys; we differ'd, and they removed, leaving me the
whole house, and I resolved to take no more inmates.
But this affair having turned my thoughts to marriage, I look'd round
me and made overtures of acquaintance in other places; but soon found
that, the business of a printer being generally thought a poor one, I
was not to expect money with a wife, unless with such a one as I should
not otherwise think agreeable. In the mean time, that
hard-to-be-governed passion of youth hurried me frequently into
intrigues with low women that fell in my way, which were attended with
some expense and great inconvenience, besides a continual risque to my
health by a distemper which of all things I dreaded, though by great
good luck I escaped it. A friendly correspondence as neighbors and old
acquaintances had continued between me and Mrs. Read's family, who all
had a regard for me from the time of my first lodging in their house.
I was often invited there and consulted in their affairs, wherein I
sometimes was of service. I piti'd poor Miss Read's unfortunate
situation, who was generally dejected, seldom cheerful, and avoided
company. I considered my giddiness and inconstancy when in London as
in a great degree the cause of her unhappiness, tho' the mother was
good enough to think the fault more her own than mine, as she had
prevented our marrying before I went thither, and persuaded the other
match in my absence. Our mutual affection was revived, but there were
now great objections to our union. The match was indeed looked upon as
invalid, a preceding wife being said to be living in England; but this
could not easily be prov'd, because of the distance; and, tho' there
was a report of his death, it was not certain. Then, tho' it should be
true, he had left many debts, which his successor might be call'd upon
to pay. We ventured, however, over all these difficulties, and I took
her to wife, September 1st, 1730. None of the inconveniences happened
that we had apprehended, she proved a good and faithful helpmate,
assisted me much by attending the shop; we throve together, and have
ever mutually endeavored to make each other happy. Thus I corrected
that great erratum as well as I could.
About this time, our club meeting, not at a tavern, but in a little
room of Mr. Grace's, set apart for that purpose, a proposition was made
by me, that, since our books were often referr'd to in our
disquisitions upon the queries, it might be convenient to us to have
them altogether where we met, that upon occasion they might be
consulted; and by thus clubbing our books to a common library, we
should, while we lik'd to keep them together, have each of us the
advantage of using the books of all the other members, which would be
nearly as beneficial as if each owned the whole. It was lik'd and
agreed to, and we fill'd one end of the room with such books as we
could best spare. The number was not so great as we expected; and tho'
they had been of great use, yet some inconveniences occurring for want
of due care of them, the collection, after about a year, was separated,
and each took his books home again
And now I set on foot my first project of a public nature, that for a
subscription library. I drew up the proposals, got them put into form
by our great scrivener, Brockden, and, by the help of my friends in the
Junto, procured fifty subscribers of forty shillings each to begin
with, and ten shillings a year for fifty years, the term our company
was to continue. We afterwards obtain'd a charter, the company being
increased to one hundred: this was the mother of all the North
American subscription libraries, now so numerous. It is become a great
thing itself, and continually increasing. These libraries have
improved the general conversation of the Americans, made the common
tradesmen and farmers as intelligent as most gentlemen from other
countries, and perhaps have contributed in some degree to the stand so
generally made throughout the colonies in defense of their privileges.
Memo. Thus far was written with the intention express'd in the
beginning and therefore contains several little family anecdotes of no
importance to others. What follows was written many years after in
compliance with the advice contain'd in these letters, and accordingly
intended for the public. The affairs of the Revolution occasion'd the
Letter from Mr. Abel James, with Notes of my Life
(received in Paris).
"MY DEAR AND HONORED FRIEND: I have often been desirous of writing to
thee, but could not be reconciled to the thought that the letter might
fall into the hands of the British, lest some printer or busy-body
should publish some part of the contents, and give our friend pain, and
myself censure.
"Some time since there fell into my hands, to my great joy, about
twenty-three sheets in thy own handwriting, containing an account of
the parentage and life of thyself, directed to thy son, ending in the
year 1730, with which there were notes, likewise in thy writing; a copy
of which I inclose, in hopes it may be a means, if thou continued it up
to a later period, that the first and latter part may be put together;
and if it is not yet continued, I hope thee will not delay it. Life is
uncertain, as the preacher tells us; and what will the world say if
kind, humane, and benevolent Ben. Franklin should leave his friends
and the world deprived of so pleasing and profitable a work; a work
which would be useful and entertaining not only to a few, but to
millions? The influence writings under that class have on the minds of
youth is very great, and has nowhere appeared to me so plain, as in our
public friend's journals. It almost insensibly leads the youth into
the resolution of endeavoring to become as good and eminent as the
journalist. Should thine, for instance, when published (and I think it
could not fail of it), lead the youth to equal the industry and
temperance of thy early youth, what a blessing with that class would
such a work be! I know of no character living, nor many of them put
together, who has so much in his power as thyself to promote a greater
spirit of industry and early attention to business, frugality, and
temperance with the American youth. Not that I think the work would
have no other merit and use in the world, far from it; but the first is
of such vast importance that I know nothing that can equal it."
The foregoing letter and the minutes accompanying it being shown to a
friend, I received from him the following:
Letter from Mr. Benjamin Vaughan.
"PARIS, January 31, 1783.
"My DEAREST SIR: When I had read over your sheets of minutes of the
principal incidents of your life, recovered for you by your Quaker
acquaintance, I told you I would send you a letter expressing my
reasons why I thought it would be useful to complete and publish it as
he desired. Various concerns have for some time past prevented this
letter being written, and I do not know whether it was worth any
expectation; happening to be at leisure, however, at present, I shall
by writing, at least interest and instruct myself; but as the terms I
am inclined to use may tend to offend a person of your manners, I shall
only tell you how I would address any other person, who was as good and
as great as yourself, but less diffident. I would say to him, Sir, I
solicit the history of your life from the following motives: Your
history is so remarkable, that if you do not give it, somebody else
will certainly give it; and perhaps so as nearly to do as much harm, as
your own management of the thing might do good. It will moreover
present a table of the internal circumstances of your country, which
will very much tend to invite to it settlers of virtuous and manly
minds. And considering the eagerness with which such information is
sought by them, and the extent of your reputation, I do not know of a
more efficacious advertisement than your biography would give. All
that has happened to you is also connected with the detail of the
manners and situation of a rising people; and in this respect I do not
think that the writings of Caesar and Tacitus can be more interesting
to a true judge of human nature and society. But these, sir, are small
reasons, in my opinion, compared with the chance which your life will
give for the forming of future great men; and in conjunction with your
Art of Virtue (which you design to publish) of improving the features
of private character, and consequently of aiding all happiness, both
public and domestic. The two works I allude to, sir, will in
particular give a noble rule and example of self-education. School and
other education constantly proceed upon false principles, and show a
clumsy apparatus pointed at a false mark; but your apparatus is simple,
and the mark a true one; and while parents and young persons are left
destitute of other just means of estimating and becoming prepared for a
reasonable course in life, your discovery that the thing is in many a
man's private power, will be invaluable! Influence upon the private
character, late in life, is not only an influence late in life, but a
weak influence. It is in youth that we plant our chief habits and
prejudices; it is in youth that we take our party as to profession,
pursuits and matrimony. In youth, therefore, the turn is given; in
youth the education even of the next generation is given; in youth the
private and public character is determined; and the term of life
extending but from youth to age, life ought to begin well from youth,
and more especially before we take our party as to our principal
objects. But your biography will not merely teach self-education, but
the education of a wise man; and the wisest man will receive lights and
improve his progress, by seeing detailed the conduct of another wise
man. And why are weaker men to be deprived of such helps, when we see
our race has been blundering on in the dark, almost without a guide in
this particular, from the farthest trace of time? Show then, sir, how
much is to be done, both to sons and fathers; and invite all wise men
to become like yourself, and other men to become wise. When we see how
cruel statesmen and warriors can be to the human race, and how absurd
distinguished men can be to their acquaintance, it will be instructive
to observe the instances multiply of pacific, acquiescing manners; and
to find how compatible it is to be great and domestic, enviable and yet
"The little private incidents which you will also have to relate, will
have considerable use, as we want, above all things, rules of prudence
in ordinary affairs; and it will be curious to see how you have acted
in these. It will be so far a sort of key to life, and explain many
things that all men ought to have once explained to them, to give, them
a chance of becoming wise by foresight. The nearest thing to having
experience of one's own, is to have other people's affairs brought
before us in a shape that is interesting; this is sure to happen from
your pen; our affairs and management will have an air of simplicity or
importance that will not fail to strike; and I am convinced you have
conducted them with as much originality as if you had been conducting
discussions in politics or philosophy; and what more worthy of
experiments and system (its importance and its errors considered) than
human life?
"Some men have been virtuous blindly, others have speculated
fantastically, and others have been shrewd to bad purposes; but you,
sir, I am sure, will give under your hand, nothing but what is at the
same moment, wise, practical and good, your account of yourself (for I
suppose the parallel I am drawing for Dr. Franklin, will hold not only
in point of character, but of private history) will show that you are
ashamed of no origin; a thing the more important, as you prove how
little necessary all origin is to happiness, virtue, or greatness. As
no end likewise happens without a means, so we shall find, sir, that
even you yourself framed a plan by which you became considerable; but
at the same time we may see that though the event is flattering, the
means are as simple as wisdom could make them; that is, depending upon
nature, virtue, thought and habit. Another thing demonstrated will be
the propriety of everyman's waiting for his time for appearing upon the
stage of the world. Our sensations being very much fixed to the
moment, we are apt to forget that more moments are to follow the first,
and consequently that man should arrange his conduct so as to suit the
whole of a life. Your attribution appears to have been applied to your
life, and the passing moments of it have been enlivened with content
and enjoyment instead of being tormented with foolish impatience or
regrets. Such a conduct is easy for those who make virtue and
themselves in countenance by examples of other truly great men, of whom
patience is so often the characteristic. Your Quaker correspondent,
sir (for here again I will suppose the subject of my letter resembling
Dr. Franklin), praised your frugality, diligence and temperance, which
he considered as a pattern for all youth; but it is singular that he
should have forgotten your modesty and your disinterestedness, without
which you never could have waited for your advancement, or found your
situation in the mean time comfortable; which is a strong lesson to
show the poverty of glory and the importance of regulating our minds.
If this correspondent had known the nature of your reputation as well
as I do, he would have said, Your former writings and measures would
secure attention to your Biography, and Art of Virtue; and your
Biography and Art of Virtue, in return, would secure attention to them.
This is an advantage attendant upon a various character, and which
brings all that belongs to it into greater play; and it is the more
useful, as perhaps more persons are at a loss for the means of
improving their minds and characters, than they are for the time or the
inclination to do it. But there is one concluding reflection, sir,
that will shew the use of your life as a mere piece of biography. This
style of writing seems a little gone out of vogue, and yet it is a very
useful one; and your specimen of it may be particularly serviceable, as
it will make a subject of comparison with the lives of various public
cutthroats and intriguers, and with absurd monastic self-tormentors or
vain literary triflers. If it encourages more writings of the same
kind with your own, and induces more men to spend lives fit to be
written, it will be worth all Plutarch's Lives put together. But being
tired of figuring to myself a character of which every feature suits
only one man in the world, without giving him the praise of it, I shall
end my letter, my dear Dr. Franklin, with a personal application to
your proper self. I am earnestly desirous, then, my dear sir, that you
should let the world into the traits of your genuine character, as
civil broils may otherwise tend to disguise or traduce it. Considering
your great age, the caution of your character, and your peculiar style
of thinking, it is not likely that any one besides yourself can be
sufficiently master of the facts of your life, or the intentions of
your mind. Besides all this, the immense revolution of the present
period, will necessarily turn our attention towards the author of it,
and when virtuous principles have been pretended in it, it will be
highly important to shew that such have really influenced; and, as your
own character will be the principal one to receive a scrutiny, it is
proper (even for its effects upon your vast and rising country, as well
as upon England and upon Europe) that it should stand respectable and
eternal. For the furtherance of human happiness, I have always
maintained that it is necessary to prove that man is not even at
present a vicious and detestable animal; and still more to prove that
good management may greatly amend him; and it is for much the same
reason, that I am anxious to see the opinion established, that there
are fair characters existing among the individuals of the race; for the
moment that all men, without exception, shall be conceived abandoned,
good people will cease efforts deemed to be hopeless, and perhaps think
of taking their share in the scramble of life, or at least of making it
comfortable principally for themselves. Take then, my dear sir, this
work most speedily into hand: shew yourself good as you are good;
temperate as you are temperate; and above all things, prove yourself as
one, who from your infancy have loved justice, liberty and concord, in
a way that has made it natural and consistent for you to have acted, as
we have seen you act in the last seventeen years of your life. Let
Englishmen be made not only to respect, but even to love you. When
they think well of individuals in your native country, they will go
nearer to thinking well of your country; and when your countrymen see
themselves well thought of by Englishmen, they will go nearer to
thinking well of England. Extend your views even further; do not stop
at those who speak the English tongue, but after having settled so many
points in nature and politics, think of bettering the whole race of
men. As I have not read any part of the life in question, but know
only the character that lived it, I write somewhat at hazard. I am
sure, however, that the life and the treatise I allude to (on the Art
of Virtue) will necessarily fulfil the chief of my expectations; and
still more so if you take up the measure of suiting these performances
to the several views above stated. Should they even prove unsuccessful
in all that a sanguine admirer of yours hopes from them, you will at
least have framed pieces to interest the human mind; and whoever gives
a feeling of pleasure that is innocent to man, has added so much to the
fair side of a life otherwise too much darkened by anxiety and too much
injured by pain. In the hope, therefore, that you will listen to the
prayer addressed to you in this letter, I beg to subscribe myself, my
dearest sir, etc., etc.,
"Signed, BENJ. VAUGHAN."
Continuation of the Account of my Life, begun at Passy, near Paris,
It is some time since I receiv'd the above letters, but I have been too
busy till now to think of complying with the request they contain. It
might, too, be much better done if I were at home among my papers,
which would aid my memory, and help to ascertain dates; but my return
being uncertain and having just now a little leisure, I will endeavor
to recollect and write what I can; if I live to get home, it may there
be corrected and improv'd.
Not having any copy here of what is already written, I know not whether
an account is given of the means I used to establish the Philadelphia
public library, which, from a small beginning, is now become so
considerable, though I remember to have come down to near the time of
that transaction (1730). I will therefore begin here with an account of
it, which may be struck out if found to have been already given.
At the time I establish'd myself in Pennsylvania, there was not a good
bookseller's shop in any of the colonies to the southward of Boston.
In New York and Philad'a the printers were indeed stationers; they sold
only paper, etc., almanacs, ballads, and a few common school-books.
Those who lov'd reading were oblig'd to send for their books from
England; the members of the Junto had each a few. We had left the
alehouse, where we first met, and hired a room to hold our club in. I
propos'd that we should all of us bring our books to that room, where
they would not only be ready to consult in our conferences, but become
a common benefit, each of us being at liberty to borrow such as he
wish'd to read at home. This was accordingly done, and for some time
contented us.
Finding the advantage of this little collection, I propos'd to render
the benefit from books more common, by commencing a public subscription
library. I drew a sketch of the plan and rules that would be
necessary, and got a skilful conveyancer, Mr. Charles Brockden, to put
the whole in form of articles of agreement to be subscribed, by which
each subscriber engag'd to pay a certain sum down for the first
purchase of books, and an annual contribution for increasing them. So
few were the readers at that time in Philadelphia, and the majority of
us so poor, that I was not able, with great industry, to find more than
fifty persons, mostly young tradesmen, willing to pay down for this
purpose forty shillings each, and ten shillings per annum. On this
little fund we began. The books were imported; the library was opened
one day in the week for lending to the subscribers, on their promissory
notes to pay double the value if not duly returned. The institution
soon manifested its utility, was imitated by other towns, and in other
provinces. The libraries were augmented by donations; reading became
fashionable; and our people, having no publick amusements to divert
their attention from study, became better acquainted with books, and in
a few years were observ'd by strangers to be better instructed and more
intelligent than people of the same rank generally are in other
When we were about to sign the above-mentioned articles, which were to
be binding upon us, our heirs, etc., for fifty years, Mr. Brockden, the
scrivener, said to us, "You are young men, but it is scarcely probable
that any of you will live to see the expiration of the term fix'd in
the instrument." A number of us, however, are yet living; but the
instrument was after a few years rendered null by a charter that
incorporated and gave perpetuity to the company.
The objections and reluctances I met with in soliciting the
subscriptions, made me soon feel the impropriety of presenting one's
self as the proposer of any useful project, that might be suppos'd to
raise one's reputation in the smallest degree above that of one's
neighbors, when one has need of their assistance to accomplish that
project. I therefore put myself as much as I could out of sight, and
stated it as a scheme of a number of friends, who had requested me to
go about and propose it to such as they thought lovers of reading. In
this way my affair went on more smoothly, and I ever after practis'd it
on such occasions; and, from my frequent successes, can heartily
recommend it. The present little sacrifice of your vanity will
afterwards be amply repaid. If it remains a while uncertain to whom
the merit belongs, some one more vain than yourself will be encouraged
to claim it, and then even envy will be disposed to do you justice by
plucking those assumed feathers, and restoring them to their right
This library afforded me the means of improvement by constant study,
for which I set apart an hour or two each day, and thus repair'd in
some degree the loss of the learned education my father once intended
for me. Reading was the only amusement I allow'd myself. I spent no
time in taverns, games, or frolicks of any kind; and my industry in my
business continu'd as indefatigable as it was necessary. I was
indebted for my printing-house; I had a young family coming on to be
educated, and I had to contend with for business two printers, who were
established in the place before me. My circumstances, however, grew
daily easier. My original habits of frugality continuing, and my
father having, among his instructions to me when a boy, frequently
repeated a proverb of Solomon, "Seest thou a man diligent in his
calling, he shall stand before kings, he shall not stand before mean
men," I from thence considered industry as a means of obtaining wealth
and distinction, which encourag'd me, tho' I did not think that I
should ever literally stand before kings, which, however, has since
happened; for I have stood before five, and even had the honor of
sitting down with one, the King of Denmark, to dinner.
We have an English proverb that says, "He that would thrive, must ask
his wife." It was lucky for me that I had one as much dispos'd to
industry and frugality as myself. She assisted me cheerfully in my
business, folding and stitching pamphlets, tending shop, purchasing old
linen rags for the papermakers, etc., etc. We kept no idle servants,
our table was plain and simple, our furniture of the cheapest. For
instance, my breakfast was a long time bread and milk (no tea), and I
ate it out of a twopenny earthen porringer, with a pewter spoon. But
mark how luxury will enter families, and make a progress, in spite of
principle: being call'd one morning to breakfast, I found it in a
China bowl, with a spoon of silver! They had been bought for me
without my knowledge by my wife, and had cost her the enormous sum of
three-and-twenty shillings, for which she had no other excuse or
apology to make, but that she thought her husband deserv'd a silver
spoon and China bowl as well as any of his neighbors. This was the
first appearance of plate and China in our house, which afterward, in a
course of years, as our wealth increas'd, augmented gradually to
several hundred pounds in value.
I had been religiously educated as a Presbyterian; and tho' some of the
dogmas of that persuasion, such as the eternal decrees of God,
election, reprobation, etc., appeared to me unintelligible, others
doubtful, and I early absented myself from the public assemblies of the
sect, Sunday being my studying day, I never was without some religious
principles. I never doubted, for instance, the existence of the Deity;
that he made the world, and govern'd it by his Providence; that the
most acceptable service of God was the doing good to man; that our
souls are immortal; and that all crime will be punished, and virtue
rewarded, either here or hereafter. These I esteem'd the essentials of
every religion; and, being to be found in all the religions we had in
our country, I respected them all, tho' with different degrees of
respect, as I found them more or less mix'd with other articles, which,
without any tendency to inspire, promote, or confirm morality, serv'd
principally to divide us, and make us unfriendly to one another. This
respect to all, with an opinion that the worst had some good effects,
induc'd me to avoid all discourse that might tend to lessen the good
opinion another might have of his own religion; and as our province
increas'd in people, and new places of worship were continually wanted,
and generally erected by voluntary contributions, my mite for such
purpose, whatever might be the sect, was never refused.
Tho' I seldom attended any public worship, I had still an opinion of
its propriety, and of its utility when rightly conducted, and I
regularly paid my annual subscription for the support of the only
Presbyterian minister or meeting we had in Philadelphia. He us'd to
visit me sometimes as a friend, and admonish me to attend his
administrations, and I was now and then prevail'd on to do so, once for
five Sundays successively. Had he been in my opinion a good preacher,
perhaps I might have continued, notwithstanding the occasion I had for
the Sunday's leisure in my course of study; but his discourses were
chiefly either polemic arguments, or explications of the peculiar
doctrines of our sect, and were all to me very dry, uninteresting, and
unedifying, since not a single moral principle was inculcated or
enforc'd, their aim seeming to be rather to make us Presbyterians than
good citizens.
At length he took for his text that verse of the fourth chapter of
Philippians, "Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, honest,
just, pure, lovely, or of good report, if there be any virtue, or any
praise, think on these things." And I imagin'd, in a sermon on such a
text, we could not miss of having some morality. But he confin'd
himself to five points only, as meant by the apostle, viz.: 1. Keeping
holy the Sabbath day. 2. Being diligent in reading the holy
Scriptures. 3. Attending duly the publick worship. 4. Partaking of
the Sacrament. 5. Paying a due respect to God's ministers. These
might be all good things; but, as they were not the kind of good things
that I expected from that text, I despaired of ever meeting with them
from any other, was disgusted, and attended his preaching no more. I
had some years before compos'd a little Liturgy, or form of prayer, for
my own private use (viz., in 1728), entitled, Articles of Belief and
Acts of Religion. I return'd to the use of this, and went no more to
the public assemblies. My conduct might be blameable, but I leave it,
without attempting further to excuse it; my present purpose being to
relate facts, and not to make apologies for them.
It was about this time I conceiv'd the bold and arduous project of
arriving at moral perfection. I wish'd to live without committing any
fault at any time; I would conquer all that either natural inclination,
custom, or company might lead me into. As I knew, or thought I knew,
what was right and wrong, I did not see why I might not always do the
one and avoid the other. But I soon found I had undertaken a task of
more difficulty than I had imagined. While my care was employ'd in
guarding against one fault, I was often surprised by another; habit
took the advantage of inattention; inclination was sometimes too strong
for reason. I concluded, at length, that the mere speculative
conviction that it was our interest to be completely virtuous, was not
sufficient to prevent our slipping; and that the contrary habits must
be broken, and good ones acquired and established, before we can have
any dependence on a steady, uniform rectitude of conduct. For this
purpose I therefore contrived the following method.
In the various enumerations of the moral virtues I had met with in my
reading, I found the catalogue more or less numerous, as different
writers included more or fewer ideas under the same name. Temperance,
for example, was by some confined to eating and drinking, while by
others it was extended to mean the moderating every other pleasure,
appetite, inclination, or passion, bodily or mental, even to our
avarice and ambition. I propos'd to myself, for the sake of clearness,
to use rather more names, with fewer ideas annex'd to each, than a few
names with more ideas; and I included under thirteen names of virtues
all that at that time occurr'd to me as necessary or desirable, and
annexed to each a short precept, which fully express'd the extent I
gave to its meaning.
These names of virtues, with their precepts, were:
1. TEMPERANCE. Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation.
2. SILENCE. Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid
trifling conversation.
3. ORDER. Let all your things have their places; let each part of
your business have its time.
4. RESOLUTION. Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without
fail what you resolve.
5. FRUGALITY. Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself;
i.e., waste nothing.
6. INDUSTRY. Lose no time; be always employ'd in something useful;
cut off all unnecessary actions.
7. SINCERITY. Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly,
and, if you speak, speak accordingly.
8. JUSTICE. Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits
that are your duty.
9. MODERATION. Avoid extreams; forbear resenting injuries so much as
you think they deserve.
10. CLEANLINESS. Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, cloaths, or
11. TRANQUILLITY. Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common
or unavoidable.
12. CHASTITY. Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to
dulness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or
13. HUMILITY. Imitate Jesus and Socrates.
My intention being to acquire the habitude of all these virtues, I
judg'd it would be well not to distract my attention by attempting the
whole at once, but to fix it on one of them at a time; and, when I
should be master of that, then to proceed to another, and so on, till I
should have gone thro' the thirteen; and, as the previous acquisition
of some might facilitate the acquisition of certain others, I arrang'd
them with that view, as they stand above. Temperance first, as it
tends to procure that coolness and clearness of head, which is so
necessary where constant vigilance was to be kept up, and guard
maintained against the unremitting attraction of ancient habits, and
the force of perpetual temptations. This being acquir'd and
establish'd, Silence would be more easy; and my desire being to gain
knowledge at the same time that I improv'd in virtue, and considering
that in conversation it was obtain'd rather by the use of the ears than
of the tongue, and therefore wishing to break a habit I was getting
into of prattling, punning, and joking, which only made me acceptable
to trifling company, I gave Silence the second place. This and the
next, Order, I expected would allow me more time for attending to my
project and my studies. Resolution, once become habitual, would keep
me firm in my endeavors to obtain all the subsequent virtues; Frugality
and Industry freeing me from my remaining debt, and producing affluence
and independence, would make more easy the practice of Sincerity and
Justice, etc., etc. Conceiving then, that, agreeably to the advice of
Pythagoras in his Golden Verses, daily examination would be necessary,
I contrived the following method for conducting that examination.